Winamp, that was crackheaded. Appropriate, but crackheaded.

Squall and Laguna were pulled on "I Believe In a Thing Called Love." Yes, the crazy space octopus song. The really perky one. *snerk*

Nice one, winamp.

Out there where we're living on the dark side of the day
Something's in our way
What is hard to say
Rushing in and out like players in a phantom band
Life is out of hand
As night falls on the land

Time will not begin - It's in your mind
We'll get out when we get in
Shadows on the wind they touch the sky
We'll be walking on the wind
We'll be walking on[walking on] the wind

Guessing games are over - We can't answer number one
We crawl and then we run
And everything's been done
Laugh or cry; live or die - I been somewhere in between
The pissant and the king
Still the crowd will sing

Time will not begin - It's in your mind
We'll get out when we get in
Shadows on the wind they touch the sky
We'll be walking on the wind
We'll be WALKING ON [walking on] THE WIND

To know it in your bones
That time will come to pass
And time will never save you from your past

Here where we are living on the dark side of the day
Something's in our way
What is hard to say
The lost, the undiscovered will all be close at hand
When night falls on the land
All will understand

We will dance upon the water
We will walk upon the wind
We will tear down all the borders
Let the holy time begin

We will walk upon the wind
We will tear down all the borders
We will walk upon the wind
-Spock's Beard, "Walking on the Wind"
I might like this song as much as I like "The Doorway" or "Crack the Big Sky," actually. So much of Spock's Beard is just incredibly uplifting; the rest of it is random and strange, but the songs with lyrics that are halfway meaningful make me very, very happy.

I also always seem to find parallels between the songs and various characters or fandoms of mine...this one, in particular, is FFIV and FFX. More X than IV, really, but there are still parallels, and I'm enough of a dork to obsess over them.

w00t, SB, and their crazy guitar/drum solos. Next time I have a free half hour, I'll listen to "The Great Nothing." :)

"Funny how watching myself bleed, even a little bit, has cleared my mind. Of course, it could have just been the cake."

"You know what your problem is? You never learned to just say things. You always have to make these huge, sweeping gestures-"

"I really don't think scratching up my arm a bit is a huge, sweeping gesture-"

"Well you wanted it to be, didn't you? You keep trying to make these gestures, and you always fall short because you could never go through with it. I mean, look at this. All you really need is a band-aid, and in two weeks there won't even be a scab. What did you use, a safety razor?"

"...shut up."

"Yeah, I thought so. You should have just said something, baby. We'd have listened, you know. We're your friends, but we can't very well read your mind."

"Maybe you should work on that."

"Well, right now you're thinking of how embarassed you are to be sitting here with me while I put a band-aid on your bleeding arm. It's not even bleeding that much anymore, really. I hope your head is clear, but you could've achieved that by walking outside for a little while."

"Are you kidding? In this weather? I'd suffocate and die."

"Then stick your head in the refrigerator for a little while, Jesus! Don't sit around in your bathrobe, trying to break apart your razors with a rock- and what the hell were you doing with a rock in your room, anyway?"

"I collect them, dipshit. So I can break people's skulls in their sleep. Christ, I don't know, I thought it was pretty and I picked it up years ago- it just happened to be at hand when I was contemplating self-mutilation."

"See, it's people like you that make the people with real problems look bad."

"Thank you, that makes me feel so much better."

"Oh, shut up, honestly. What are you going to do when I leave, write bad poetry? I'm telling you, you need to talk to someone. I'm right here, I'll listen."

"I have nothing to say!"

"Bullshit. You have lots to say. Tell me how worthless you feel, tell me how much you hate asking for help, and how much you hate it when people have any sort of expectations for you, because you know you'll disappoint them. Just let it all out, I'm not going anywhere."

"If you know everything already, then why should I have to say anything?"

"Because if you don't, it just sits in your skull and rots like the rest of your brain does whenever you don't do anything but stare at a computer screen for hours on end. And then, when it's all rotted into purple goo, it'll drip out of your ears, and you know who they'll ask to clean it up? Me. And fuck that, man, I am not cleaining up your purple rotted brain goo. So, talk. Talk to me, baby, tell me why you tried to chew your arm off. I'm all ears."

"You're all psycho, that's what you are."

"Yeah, but I'm here, and right now I'm all you've got. So talk to me. I'll start singing if you don't."

"Oh, go on, I like a good serenade."

"Remember Bye Bye Birdie? Yeah? You don't fucking want me to serenade you, I don't have my backup with me today. So talk."

"You have shitty bedside manner, and you talk more than enough for the both of us."

"That's cool, baby, I'll just be quiet then."

"...you know, one would think, that of all the things a person could choose to do, making themselves bleed would be one of the easier ones. Couldn't even get that right."

"That's okay. It hurts when you cut yourself. Hurting yourself ain't fun."

"I thought it would help. It didn't. I thought I could get things right for once, you know? Even if all I was doing was making myself bleed just for the sake of seeing blood, I thought I could get it right. I guess I was being selfish."

"Ain't no one else around here who wants to see you bleed, sweetheart. But there's nothing wrong with doing something for yourself. Even if you're trying to slit your wrists, there's nothing wrong with trying to feel better. Your methods leave something to be desired, but there's nothing wrong with the sentiment."

"But I didn't want to kill myself. I don't want to die, you know? I just...sometimes, I don't feel like being alive, either. All I do is make other people unhappy."

"I dunno, I find you pretty fucking hilarious most of the time."

"Even now?"

"Shit, especially now. You don't find this situation amusing? Here we are, sitting on the kitchen floor with a box of band aids and the remains of a yellow sheet cake, no frosting, while I act like an ass to get you to spill your heart. What's not to laugh at?"

"We're running out of cake."

"That's the spirit! Stay there, I'll get us some frosting. You think of something to say, and when I get back, I promise I won't listen, how about that? I'll just eat some cake, and you can talk if you want, I promise not to listen."

"You're learning."

"I try. Chocolate or vanilla?"

"Both?"

"Brilliant idea! I knew I liked you for a reason. Be right back- there'd better be cake left when I return. And leave the fucking band aid alone. Christ!"

"...yeah. Totally the cake."

See, I know the way my mind works. I know the way my self destructive habits kick in when I'm under stress. I know this happens every single year.

I have no excuse.

It's raining, which is not an excuse. I'm tired and slightly sick, which is also not an excuse.

There are three weeks left of school, and that's certainly not an excuse, but it frightens me more than I can say.

Fucking hell. I think I just need to hit something for a while, or I need to go home, or maybe find a corner in the stacks and hibernate for a little while. I need to move furniture or engage in wanton destruction or start drinking lots of caffeine.

A cigarette burns down to its filter in an ashtray, forgotten.

The sun sets through the grimy window, forgotten.

The faucet drips steadily, forgotten.

A man sits at his typewriter, staring at the keys, forgetting.

The problem, she said, slowly, carefully, clearly, Is not that we are lost. It is that we know precisely where we are, and we are desperately afraid someone else will find us.

There is one hour and fourteen minutes left until the end of the world. What are you doing?
The world does not give a damn.

I need a new plotline. Badly.

Tristan, Jim, and Carly are all Insert Acronym Here agents, which means they help monitor the gates between realities. Naturally the angels and demons have a monopoly on the inter-reality travel, but there are other races that used to travel quite frequently before the Inferno. Since earth is populated mostly by clueless humans, it was decided that having flights of dragons looking for new hunting grounds would be a generally bad idea. Tyler and Opal set up an organization to monitor all movement between realities; individuals who have not obtained permits or who haven't registered with the organization are prosecuted.

Dei is in charge, because after the Lyra and Toby escapade (whee, things I haven't written or even conceptualized!) he decided he needed a real job that didn't involve getting attached to people. Since most of the people working for him are fairly immortal, he doesn't need to worry about them dying or getting hurt- until Tris, Jim, and Carly stumble through the door in the tradition of nosy kids the world over. Their backstory is something tragic, I'm sure- dead parents, living on the street, blah blah blah angst whine blah.

For the record, it wasn't Dei's idea to give them jobs, it was Shateiel's- and her judgement when it comes to kids really should not be trusted. At all. Ever. But their age and the fact that they're humans gives them an advantage when it comes to interlopers trying to blend in with the population, so they are fairly useful. It's just that Tristan is perpetually unlucky and Jim is incredibly accident prone while Carly just has bad judgement and keeps on falling in love with their targets.

They amuse me with their teenaged angst and hero-worship of my other characters. (Dei is good at inspiring awe; Opal and Tyler are all-powerful, mostly, but he's the one who ended the war, and that sword of his is one nasty bugger. He's also still too pretty for his own good, but that's neither here nor there.)

Tristan is almost painfully ordinary; he's the oldest of the three but has no outstanding traits. Jim is smarter, Carly is more articulate- about the only thing Tris has going for himself is his honesty and his persistence. He's not stupid, not exactly- he's just not brilliant, either. Jim and Carly are his family, and he does everything he can to keep them safe and happy. Of course, now that they've all been more or less adopted by IAH, Tristan doesn't have as much of a purpose anymore. He's the sort of person who needs someone to take care of- and now that Jim and Carly are independent, he's floundering.

Naturally, in his floundering, he decides that the person who most needs his mothering is Dei. *palmsmack* Granted, somebody needs to make sure he doesn't subsist entirely on coffee and danishes, but Tristan is generally the last person most people would pick for the job.
Carly: When Angst Muffins Collide, news at ten.
Not that Tristan's especially angsty, he's just a teenager, and incredibly resentful of most things.

This has gone on far too long. blah.

(unfinished; post-Boffo plotline)

Jim tilted his chair back at a dangerous angle and cracked his knuckles, still staring at the computer screen. "Hey, Tris, come take a look."

Tristan put down his paintbrush and set aside the little pot of paint, leaving his figurines half painted at the table. "What's up?" He stood behind Jim's chair and tipped it forward, putting all four legs on the ground.

"You know Tyler and Opal Karolus, head of HG Tech?"

"Yeah, they only sign our paychecks and you only gush over them every other day. Don't give me that look, you have a pinup of Opal on your wall." Tristan rested his elbows on Jim's shoulders. "I know stalking them is your hobby, but if this isn't important, could I get back to my hobby?"

Jim swatted at Tristan's head and ducked out from under his friend's elbows. "At least I don't see them every day when I go to work. Why don't you ask the boss for a picture to put in your wallet, Tris? You know- no, never mind. Therapist is Carly's job." He pointed at the screen, tilting backwards again. "Here's a newspaper article from like, thirty, forty years ago. Turn of the century."

Tristan pushed Jim's chair firmly to the ground and scanned the article. "So some rich kid went apeshit and killed his dad's mistress- tell me again why I should care?"

Jim sighed. "This is clearly why I am the brains of this operation. Let me connect some dots for you. Before Tyler and Opal took over, HG Tech was called Karolus Industries. That rich kid is the oldest son of R K Karolus, who was supposed to inherit the company when his dad died. Here, look at this. It's about three years after the first article."

"And the rich guy dies; Tyler took the company 'cuz his brother gave it to him. What's important about this?"

Jim turned around in his chair to look directly at Tristan. "Dude. This was practically forty years ago. Tyler Karolus was eighteen when he inherited- R K died on his birthday, which happened to coincide with his half brother's. Does Tyler look like he's almost sixty? Does Opal? Look at these pictures."

"Jim. The boss' secretary has seven eyes on a good day. Carly's boyfriend has wings and can set you on fire with his mind. Tyler and Opal are just as much a part of our division as they are. Remember when the boss said there were exactly four humans in the division? Us and him. I'm not surprised." Tristan gave the younger boy a noogie.

"Watch the hair, you bastard! Take a closer look at the pictures. Who's that all the way on the right?"

Tristan rested his hands on the back of the chair and looked, then went very, very still.

"D'you think the boss looks like he's sixty-something? Deodat Karolus is seven years older than his brother."

For a few seconds it seemed like Tristan hadn't heard him, but the sound of splintering wood made it rather clear that he had. "Tris? You're buying me a new chair."

"Can I kill him first?" Tristan's voice was vague and distant, almost sleepy. The back of the chair splintered further between his fingers. "That lying bastard."

(once, there were muses, singing freely;
now they are muted and i must strain to
hear them weep.)

(unfinished, imitative)
There was light in the darkness, the new Holy
Trinity, gathered in the shadows of
The cross.

By this Power are our doubts
Resolved, dissolved into so much singing alcohol in the
Blood as we sing our praises to the faith. This
New religion leaves no room for our old selves.

(Song of Shadows)
(unfinished, because Zyn? Still has no character development.)

Von recognizes, sometimes, that he is surrounded by beautiful people, and that this is a totally unnatural phenomenon.

First there was Ari'i. He could hardly remember a time without her, without the slide of her soft, curving limbs and the taste of her sweet dark skin. The first time their eyes met, he knew her, knew what she was: the most beautiful woman in the world. There was a fire beneath her skin that lit up her eyes when she smiled and when she moved she glimmered, heavy and golden. She was beautiful, blindingly beautiful, in a way that mere humans could neither rival nor comprehend.

Then there was Cata, who came out of nothingness and often seemed as though she would wither away into so much nothingness once again. The sharp angle of her hips and the strip of bare skin between her tank top and her skirt were agressive and angry and brittle like broken glass. She glittered, too, with her harsh lines and angles refracting the light into thousands of tiny, fragile rainbows. Insubstantial and delicate, but sharp enough to make you bleed without realizing it, sharp enough to cut to the bone. But if you looked beyond her fashion magazine figure and the fishnets and spiked collars you saw the way her mascara bled around eyes that didn't just glitter but burned and raged with a light so intense it hurt. And then you wondered how she didn't burn up from the inside, with eyes like those. She was fragile and flawed and nearly broken, but she was lovely, dark and bleeding and beautiful.