It was easy to ignore the figure standing in the shadows that hovered around the door; impossible to miss, certainly, but easy to ignore. It wasn't that the boy was bad at going unnoticed, Ivy reflected, he just always seemed to stand out in the Guild. Like he belonged somewhere else- somewhere far, far away. He had the look of one who'd seen things- not that you didn't get a lot of those in the Assassin's Guild, but these were things that most people didn't even imagine seeing. Secrets. Painful ones.

Of course, it could have just been that he was do blessed shy- and who ever heard of a shy assassin? And that would be why he isn't an assassin, now wouldn't it? She chided herself silently while absently plucking a beaker of quirim oil from young Renler's hands. The boy looked up at her with wide, innocent green eyes, the barest hint of mischief glittering at the corners.

"Back to your seat, youngling. You'll finish that tincture without cheating, or I'll have you cleaning out the compost bin for the next three weeks." The Master Poisoner kept an eye on her students as they played with the various powders, oils, plants, and solvents that made up her specialty. They were children, none older than ten, but they would be highly trained and highly paid assassins very soon. "And stop sniggering, if you would, madame Catherine. Lady Coralin would be most displeased to learn that you received low marks in my class, of all classes. You would do well to strive towards mastering your mother's sense of poise."

The girl in question, oldest of the group at eleven and a half, made a face and went back to measuring out the appropriate amount of quirim root. Her partner at the table, a short but stocky girl child with a mane of red hair, was gnawing on her own supply of the deadly poisonous root as she boiled down the leaves of the plant, which contained a somewhat less deadly variant of the poison.

The portly assassiness sighed and eased herself onto a battered and slightly scorched looking stool. Her chin sank to her heavily beringed hands. "Master Blaine, I've been sniffing out thieves since before you were born. Do come in and take a seat- perhaps you can explain to your Foxbird the particular qualities of raw quirim root on an empty stomach."

The thin healer slid into the room, slightly shamefaced. "Good evening, Lady Ivy." His face was downcast, tilting his dark hair across the scarred half of his face. Ivy smiled kindly at the young man.

"Come, sit, sit. Children, pay your respects to the healer. Foxbird, spit out that root before your insides decide to view the world from outside your body by way of your mouth. I've heard that the regurgitation of the lungs is particularly painful, though I've never seen it myself. Generally the victim either dies or passes out well before it reaches that stage- but you seem to have a rather hardy constitution."

The redhead in question leapt up from her seat and launched herself across the room, squealing something that sounded vaguely like "Papa!" Blaine took the assault rather well; he managed to catch the ballistic ball of red hair without falling over. The other children took the more reserved route and murmered their greetings.

Ivy noted in her usual detatched manner that the healer boy only smiled when around his "daughter". Quite a remarkable pair, the two of them; one considered himself a monster, the other was considered by most others to be a monster. The children cared nothing for the rumors surrounding either the man or the girl; they saw both as friends, interesting and valuable ones, at that.

"Since I'll never get Foxy back in her seat now, why don't you explain to these children the medicinal values of quirim, Master Blaine?" It wouldn't hurt to try and bring him out of his shell; even the children sometimes made him tense. Evidently the only place Blaine was completely comfortable was the morgue; and the morgue of the Assassin's Guild gave even the High Master's pause.

The healer looked up through his concealing curtain of hair with an expression that bordered on panic- until Foxbird bit him. She was all innocence and amber eyes, but thankfully he could take the hint.

"Well...Lady Ivy was right about the poison- we get a few victims in the Wards every now and then, and it really isn't pretty. The root and leaves are what you're working with now, but the healers use the flowers to make an antidote for most conventional poisons..."

He would have made an excellent teacher, Ivy reflected. It was a shame about his face- and that mess with the thieves guild. Still, his parents would be proud of him, were they not haunting the Guildmasters right now. Certainly, he was well known and well liked, even with that fae animal child attatched to him. It was easy to ignore the rumors about her and accept the fact that she really was just a little girl- so long as you ignored the tail and the claws, too...
------------------------------------

I'm just trying to distract myself from the concept of Discworld slash right now. I wasn't even looking for it, honest! But you find the most random things in the strangest places...

What box do you get put in?
brought to you by Quizilla

Hmph. I almost take offense to that- it's not that I have no box, it's that I have many boxes...many, many boxes indeed.

Question:

Does anybody actually know what the hell that thing on Legato's shoulder is? Did Vogue get their claws on him? Modern art? Traumatizing accident as a child with a bit of fencing? Knives get his panties in a bunch and take it out on him? A mishap when learning to use his telekinesis?

The world may never know...(but, one must admit, that as villains go, Legato takes the cake for sheer eeeevilness, even with a stylized hedghog on his shoulder. Hey, anybody who can get away with wearing white after Labor Day like that has a certain kind of style...)

Jambalaya IS
a tasty combination of rice and various other odds and ends, namely andoulle sausage, shrimp, crawfish, onions, peppers, and a great deal of tabasco. Typically found in Louisiana or, if you aren't that lucky, Boudreaux's in Blacksburg. If you still aren't that lucky, I don't know how to help you.

Jambalaya IS NOT
fried rice with peanut butter and an egg, topped with soy sauce. NOT. Bad brother. Very BAD.
*gagging*

*evil chuckle* Running the newspaper is a fair amount of work, but an equal amount of fun, I suppose...they all seem to think that I know what I'm doing! Oh, I pity those poor, gullible fools! Wahaha! I think I need a sign to carry around..."This is me pretending to be organized."

Meh. Since I've been a retard and haven't checked my comments lately...hello, Heather, whomever you may be. Also, my box of random men and other things is public property; I'm always willing to share. :)

Also...whoever was looking for me on the 16th and the 26th, 'fess up. I'm right here; if you've got sumthin' to say, say it. (Or, you know, at least say hi...) And if you're Kaitlin, *hugs*!! Miss you girl!

Um...lemme t'ink...that's it, for now. I swear that once I evolve out of being Swamp Thing (thank you, Bo...*much rolling of eyes*) I will update Vera Dicere...but right now I'm just too damn lazy, and fairly tired to boot.

booto, bootere, bootsi, bootus: 3rd conjugation verb, to boot; the act of booting; to apply a boot to an object, ie someone's head, eg "Boottothehead*whump*"

...yes, I just made up a Latin word. Shush. Everyone knows Latin is just English with "us" on the end of every word.

You know, I had a very long and nonsensical post about yesterday (McCarter! Loot! Dead tragic gay playwrites of the sixties! *squeal*!) and today (Band...football...damn O...movies! Sweet Home Alabama! Cuteness and gay and Reese Witherspoon! Drunken southerners and that damn song! *giggle*) and how the culmination of the past several day's events have led me to feel quite lonely, but then the power went out and I lost it all. I was watching YYH at the time, anyway. So it didn't really matter that much.

And I was feeling sorry for myself, which I really need to avoid. I don't know if I'll go to yoga tomorrow; mumsy dearest and daddy darling are going to the shore, but I am not. I think I'll sleep in for once. (was up at 8 this morning. Watched Yugioh. Squealed. Went to band. Wept. Ain't that just the way it is?) I've determined that my general misery and sick-ishness of the past week or so was directly related to my lack of sleep. Sleep is goooood. I still don't understand insomniacs. Getting closer on the anorexic thing, but insomnia is still a concept that escapes me. (Not that I'm ever going to be close to being anorexic, mind you. I'm just starting to understand it better.)

I need to get off my lazy ass and start writing again...I think I'll write that round robin we did on the bus back from a competition freshman year...I wonder if Sonya will remember it? I feel a little guilty (all the time) about (everything) writing a story that's only one fourth mine, but if no one else wrote it...well, all's fair in art and war.

You'll have to excuse me. It's late and I'm still recovering from an excellent episode of Bebop and from finally kicking Elmdor's ass and stealing all of his clothes in Tactics. That full set of Genji armor looks so sexy on my Lancer. Mmm, there's something about a pixelized sprite in armor...Of course, now I have to kill Zarela, and that's really, really difficult when everyone is asleep and death sentenced. No matter. That's a task for another day; it's taken me several months to get that set of armor, I can wait another day to get out of that damn castle. (Two mastered thieves, one level eight theif, Beowulf as a Temple Knight with Excalibur and throw item, Orlandu as himself and able to lightning stab. Take out Celia and Lede first; Beowulf can put them to sleep or can don't act them while Cid lightning stabs them. If they stop bracelet Beo-beo, bring him back with a phoenix down and have him Shock! them. Fry the bitches first, then chicken the Marquis. Twice. It's so much easier to steal from someone with no brave. *evil laughter* Nevermind that Beowulf has only 45 brave and 62 faith. With Chicken and Shock! he doesn't need anything else. *further evil laughter, squared*)

Dealing with undead in the basement should be a piece of cake, but I'm a retard. Magic users are so very overrated in that game; all you need is a competent items list- phoenix down the skeletons and the knights and they'll be out immediately...until they resurrect. I've played this game so much that I've got a dozen little tricks up my sleeve...*glomps Tactics* I love this game...

I just saw Hard Luck Woman; I am now, naturally, listening to "Call Me, Call Me". With my Ed skin. My next DVD will be volume six. No argument.

I can't believe I'm going to finally see the end of the series in two weeks. Gods...it'll have been almost exactly one year- I saw the first episode of Bebop on my birthday, and I'll be seeing the last just three days before it this year.

Yes, I do get overly attatched to anime series. Escaflowne turned me into a weepy obsessive for a while; I watched Trigun for eight hours straight without a break for anything, even though it was very badly subtitled; even Fushigi Yuugi had a semi-profound effect on me (though that was probably only due to certain other factors that were involved at the time). Bebop is, without a doubt, my favorite anime to date. My Squall wallscroll has been ousted in favor of the Spike/Julia/Vicious scroll that James gave us- much less colorful, not half as nifty an image, but still able to take the place of honor on the wall. I haven't watched anything else that can compete in terms of numbers the times I've stared at the screen open mouthed and whimpering, or the times I've cheered or squealed. (YYH may begin to compete in terms of cheers and squeals, but it has yet to bring me to gaping shock even once. Bebop did it twice in one episode and made me squeal today.)

So. Hard Luck Woman- now my favorite episode, up there with Black Dog Serenade and Pierrot le Fou (which actually managed to make me cry. obsessive. completely.) Even if Bebop isn't proper anime, and even if my loving it so much clearly reveals my appreciation for American television, I still say it's my favorite.

Can't wait until next week...*anxious*

(Coincidentally, next week is the Hiei-centric episode of YYH that I have missed. Next week will be some good TV, no mistake.)

I want Villains by Necessity. And hot apple cider with cinammon sticks, and butter cookies and yellow-orange leaves in my hair. I want to learn to write something that isn't a memory told in third person. Something that won't hurt like a broken razor across my soul in the telling.

Oh, stop the drama already, I know, I know. Yeesh. I've got homework to do.

Dammit. All of it. I can sit here and stare at the screen and listen to all the damn music that I want and will the words to come as hard as I possibly can, and nothing will happen. Not a thing. Not one shining drop of liquid cool refreshing inspiration, not one grain of brilliant truth or brightness to lighten the darkness around me, not even the beginnings of a very bad poem.

I think I'm going to dig out Bird by Bird again and read it. No, not because Cesi reccommended it, why on earth would you think that? *shameless* And cryptic, don't forget cryptic. *pulls out hair* I hate this. Hate it hate it hate it. Maybe I'll read more of Poetry as Persuasion. Maybe I'll write an article for the Beacon. Maybe I'll shadowbox until my arms fall off.

Maybe I'll just shut up. *screams*

Pardon me as I bludgeon my moodswings into a slightly less damning shape.

If I weren't feeling so trashed right now, I'd write something inspired. I haven't been sick in a while. I've forgotten quite what it's like. And the lights in this room are way too bright.

And for the sheep: 50 you're welcomes for the remaining unspoken 45. The sentiment is quite understood.

How Emotional Are You?
brought to you by Quizilla

Uh...that, and my elbow hurts. *waaaaahh*

I really must find the Great Expectations soundtrack, if only to be able to listen to "Wishful Thinking" in the car or on the band bus...such a wonderful, melancholy song.

Must convince the other brother to buy me Daylight for the birthday...since all he ever gives me are CDs, this should not be too difficult...*plots*

I would just like to say that the box under my bed filled with random people/characters is getting very crowded. *grin* Because I just added Vimes, Carrot, Rincewind, Death (the Discworld incarnation), Death of Rats, Angua, Susan, and Lord Vetinari. Hell, I added Vetinari twice because he's just that wonderful.

Terry Pratchett, I *heart* u.
*giggle*

*ahem*
*SQUEAL* VIMES!!!!!!
...that is all.

Quiz
created by Polly Snodgrass.

WATER OF EARTH. Mommy! Well, you could be. You are good with plants and small creatures such as children. You're very generous and basically great hearted. You probably make mad whack cookies and are good at managing the household; also businesses. You'd make a good tax person, book keeper, gardener, massage therapist, etc. The ever domestic and practical one, you can stretch a penny and make ramen noodles go a long way.

Okay, it was either this or Queen of Swords- and she's the arsenic poisoner; the black widow; the heretic queen; the evil, crazy, aloof, scheming bitch. Dammit! It can't be healthy to be this conflicted...because heaven knows I would not make a good mother, even if I do make mad whack cookies. I don't do the finance thing, either...Air or Earth, Air or Earth...not as bad as being fire/water, I suppose...but it's still irritating.

(I'll be Janus, looking both ways but going neither, I'll be the twilight at the edge of dawn...)

I always did love the Song of Aeolus. Especially the beginning part, with the ethereal voices just singing the random notes...
La la so fa mi so la ti do ti la so fa
la la mi la la ti la
re re do ti la ti la
But then they sing it as a round, and it just sounds three times cooler. Then, of course, there's the rest of the song, which is full of random lower horn music and sound ve'y coo' indeed.

The prelude is sort of hypnotic, though. Something you can get lost in, listening to. I do love Adiemus, I do...

"Burlap, the fabric of tomorrow! It's not a skin rash, it's trendy!"

"You know, a bloodbath is usually really good at getting rid of unnecessary tension. So long as you don't get caught, of course."
"But I'd have to find someone to blame it on, and I'm not good at that."
"Ask ****. He'd have a list of people for you, I'm sure."
"I guess...but it's still so messy. I'm a little bit neurotic about cleaning things, you know. I see a dirty dish, I clean it."
"When are you visiting next? But seriously, if the mess bothers you, just use a blunt object."
"What if I crush their skulls? Then you get splattered brains, and that's even worse than blood."
"In that case, I'd suggest you use poison."
"Ehhh."
"Or napalm. There wouldn't be anything left to clean. It even gets rid of dust bunnies."
"But the dust bunnies would retaliate with tactical nukes!"
"Generally things that are napalmed don't retaliate with much. They might run around in circles a bit, and fall over, and maybe even twitch, but there's not much retaliation."
"The survivors would come after me."
"Widen your target range."
"And take out the house? There's stuff here that I like! I've got books here!"
"If you don't get them, the dust bunnies will."
"Silly, everyone knows dust bunnies don't read."
"Yeah, but the squirrels do."
"Well we got rid of them a while ago."
"Really..."

Yesss, we are deranged. Yes, that did put me in a much better mood. Woo. Happiness. Or some reasonable facsimile of it.

Aw, I'm having too much fun with winamp right now. It pulled Moxy Fruvous' "Sad Girl" on my dancer skin. That would be a fic bunny if I wrote fanfic, it would. And now it did it again with "Hey Jealousy". And "Yellow". But that's only amusing because the skin is yellow. Yellow skin, yellow song, almost amusing if you're really bored...(This is me just skipping through my playlist to see what gets pulled on what, of course. I'm supposed to be doing homework. Or college aps.)

"Walking on the Air" on Yue. Now that's fitting. "Don't Bother None" with Folken. Now that's not fitting. Amusing, certainly, but not fitting. "Drops of Jupiter" on Gene. *giggle* "No Such Thing" on Auron. *cackle* (Would've been more apropriate with Tidus, but I dun have a Tidus skin.) "Save Me" on Vincent. Aww. He's Superman in disguise! (I really should be doing my homework...)
And earlier it actually pulled Gene on "Losing My Religion", which made me giggle. The only reason that skin is so inappropriately titled is because the damn song was always playing when I was working on it.

My general thoughts on both skins? I like Gene's repeat button better, and I'd like his shuffle but better if I'd made it shiny; the little yin-yang thingy ought to glow like the quartered circle does when it's on. I like the fact that Gene doesn't have any volume or balance buttons- the ones on Dancer irritate me, as does Dancer's posbar. I do like the way the equalizer came out, though. And Dancer's playlist is better. Gene's got a much better color scheme, though, and the image was so much easier to edit. Dancer has better buttons, or she would if you could see them...and I like her equalizer/playlist buttons better.

I think I like Gene's overall effect better, but Dancer was much more work and it shows it, I think...I need to get to work on some more; any requests? (After I do my homework, of course...)

Let's see if this works...

dancer.zip
starwind.zip

WinAmp skins! The first one is of the Dancer from Final Fantasy Tactics, the second is of Gene from Outlaw Star. Gene with handcuffs, no less. :) I'm hoping the download will work- I really wish I had screencaps of them, but that option wasn't working well with my stupid computer, so you'll just have to download them to see how they are. Should you choose to download, pleaseplease tell me what you think!

I am angry at fanfiction.net. Very angry. Certainly they can take away the NC-17 fics. But they should change their slogan if they do. "Unleash your imagination and free your soul." What a joke. When you censor us, what do you think you're doing? *growls*

(aside from the censorship thing, I'm just annoyed that I'll have to look harder to find pr0n from now on. *sigh*)
whaaaaaat? ~_^

Thinking of video games...I have yet to finish Legend of Dragoon. Damn Lloyd and his silly silver hair and bastard attacks that keeelll me, keeeeellll me dead. And Albert, while incredibly amusing, isn't half so cool as Lavitz. And Kongol? Who-what? Can we say stock character? Oi. Shana needs to shoot herself with her own arrows, Meru needs to lay off the caffeine, whats-her-name has no personality ("Oh, the other girl needs to be kidnapped now- I'll take her place and her dragoon armor- but I'll be just as useless in battle!"), and Rose is possibly the niftiest female character ever. And Haskel- well...uh...*scratches head* Haskel? Why is your voice so squeaky?

Dart is a retard, making Rose the only worthwhile character. Doesn't balance out. That, and the in battle graphics are two shades of awful, as is the music, means that I'm not particularly fond of the game to begin with...I also have horrible hand-eye-coordination, so the additions attacks usually leave me cursing at the screen. (But I can do Gust of Wind Dance really well now! (This is only because it's Albert, of course...)) So, right now I'm stumped at Lloyd, because I really can't do shite if Dart can't do damage with his Explosion spell. It's almost looking like Seymour on Mt Gagazet from FFX. I can't remember if it was nine or eleven tries it took me to kill him...and each time, I'd have to sit through that damn movie sequence and grit my teeth at Seymour's whiny voice. *gaaaaahhh*

I will say that LoD is kinda cool, concept wise. I really like the character designs, at any rate. It was translated badly, though; I'm glad I bought WA2 instead, when I had the choice (but there are just as many things wrong with that game...), I guess.

If only the TV didn't keep fizzling- I don't like large black bars in the middle of the screen when I'm trying to steal Elmdor's Gengi armor in Tactics. Don't like 'em at all.

I should dearly like to have a Hallow'een party- a small one, with my boys and the roommates, and KAK, and KE, and Sonya, and perhaps Tom and Tom and Rob, though that is doubtful indeed...Just a little party, with music and video games and anime and laughter and cookies and talking. Possible me dancing (bouncing) just for the hell of it- a celebration for the dead, for the living, for the halfway there- for candy and costumes and the joys of being young and far too stressed out.

I know it won't happen, but I could hope for one all the same.

Addendum to previous post:

Because so few people in that class even want to write.
Because he made us read part of Red Sky at Morning.
Because he's an idiot.
Because I liked those writing prompts, dammit.
Because he has a reputation.
Because it's a reputation for being too nice.
More than anything,
Because the term "creative writer" is more than vaguely insulting.

*sigh* Oh, I'll get over it. I might even like the class. I just feel like I'm drifting, that's all. I wish...but nevermind. Nevermind indeed...

I'm supposed to have a finished, presentable piece of writing for Creative Writing by Tuesday. *tears out hair* What are we supposed to write for this? "Oh, anything. I just want you to write, that's all."
*screams*

I. Want. Discipline. I. Want. Structure. THE CREATIVE WRITING FAIRY DOES NOT SEE FIT TO SMACK ME ON THE HEAD WITH HER SPARKLY WAND!!!! THE ONLY IDEAS I HAVE ARE NOVEL LENGTH MONSTERS THAT I WILL *NOT* HAVE DONE BY TUESDAY!!!!
GAAAAHHHHHH!!!!

*deep breath* grr. That man is going to seriously get on my nerves...

Waking Pandora: my sad, sad attempt at writing mecha anime.

Suddenly it hits me that The Box wasn't just a hole in the ground, it was a door. Evil escaped, leaving hope behind...but now evil wants to get back in. So. A dillema: does the keeper of the Box (Dorabelle) try to save Pandora's World by keeping vice and greed and evil here, or does she let this other world that she could have called home be consumed by evils kept from their rightful place too long?

Nina and Dorabelle suddenly became interesting characters again.

And there are suddenly a hell of a lot more big robots.

"So, where do you get your inspiration from?"
"Teriyaki chicken. The sesame ginger marinaded kind."

I'm awaiting October with bated breath...I'll have to make a kickass halloween costume, since I'll have a sharp and pointy prop to go with it. *maniacal laugh* That, and I just really like October in general. Mmm, apple cider.

Oh, blogger, don't be a bitch. I'm the only bitch around here. There isn't room enough for the both of us. I mean it, Blogger.

So, I wonder what would happen if I wrapped myself in an American flag and threw myself onto a bonfire, suttee style?

*blinkblink* Oh, wow, that definitely takes the cake for crack-headed and completely inappropriate.

Still, I wonder what they'd do? Did you know that it takes seven hours for a human body to combust completely? Seven hours to ashes...

Have to go to a WTC memorial thing tonight and play the star spangled banner. Blaaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrg. Then I spend most of tomorrow doing the same thing. Blaaaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrg. *sigh* And both of my noismakers are out of commission. Like, seriously broken and not working. Suckage. I'm ganta have to send out the plastic one; can't do anything 'bout the wooden one. Again, suckage.

I should probably go and get ready now...*grouses*

There must be some kind of way outta here
said the joker to the thief
There's too much confusion...
I can't get no relief

Business men, they drink my wine
Plowman dig my earth
None were level on the mind
Nobody up at his word
hey, hey

No reason to get excited
The thief he kindly spoke
There are many here among us
Who feel that life is but a joke
But, uh...but you and I, we've been through that
And this is not our fate
So let us stop talkin' falsely now
The hour's getting late, hey

All along the watchtower
Princes kept the view
While all the women came and went
Barefoot servants, too
Outside in the cold distance
A wildcat did growl
Two riders were approaching
And the wind began to howl
-"All Along the Watchtower", Bob Dylan

Yes, that's actually a Bob Dylan song, not Jimi Hendrix, though it's Hendrix who is more known for playing it...I daresay I'd enjoy the Hendrix version better than the Bob Dylan one, but that's just because hamonicas irritate me sometimes. Anyway. I'm in an escapist sort of mood...don't wanna be nowhere, na'mean?

*snort* Something to that effect, at any rate. I haven't been in a particularly literary mood lately...but, I did write a Jubal snippet in class today. Apparently he has a tatoo on his right shoulderblade that he didn't tell me about. So...(beware a Jubal with a few shots of Johnny Walker in him... foul language, mild chauvinism, and slight incoherence abound)

-----------------------

"That?" *much twisting and turning to try and see the green and yellow splash of color on his shoulder* "Aw, fuck, musta been eight, nine centuries ago...I was cruising around above Mexico or South America or someplace south of here- I spent sixty damn years in Greenland before that, I was ready for some warm weather, you know? Aaaanyway, so there I was, enjoying the view of some nice foresty greenery (after years of living in a god damn desert, and then in the tundra, you've got no fucking clue how utterly fucking wonderful a bunch of fucking trees are) *waves arms to prove point, and knocks over shotglass* and what do I see but a sacrificial ceremony of some sort- buncha natives dressed up in dodo outfits wavin' around some knives about to slaughter a fucking baby fer gossakes- so I'm like 'fuck this shit, I haven't done a good deed in eighty years and I'll be damned if I'm gonna let some bastards murder a fucking baby'- you gotta understand, it hit a little close to home. I never even got a chance to see my kid until she was a fucking adult, and that hurts- but whatever.

*pours himself another, knocks it back*

"Heh. Shit, that was fun- I just dropped out of the sky like a fucking arrow or a rock or something and they scatter. Like pigeons. Fucking birdbrains- but I'm one to talk, right? Yeah, well- the head priest threw a hissy fit, so I tol' him to shut the fuck up- an 'e did. Brat started wailing, so I told it to shut the fuck up- it did. I guess maybe s'a good thing I din' raise my kid...but at least she woulda cried in tune, so I prolly wouldn'ta shouted...heh. Then ev'body got down on their knees and started chanting, and bang! I'm the tribe's new mascot. I told the bastard the brat'd take his place, so he'd better quit waving that knife around. Fucker growled at me, tried to kill me a few times- the tribe clubbed him to death 'ventually, I think. Doesn't matter.

*pours one more, fiddles with the glass for a while*

"Kid turned out pretty nice- spoiled rotten, but not too horrible. Had a bunch of mindless nurses- bitches, alluvum, always tryin' to sleep with me or sabotage each other or poison someone- didn't matter who. Women. Go figure. *downs it* Bitch squad got me drunk off my ass, kinda like yer gettin' me now, on'y worser...heh. I passed out, and woke up...with the birdy on my shoulder. Ha- fucking junior priest did it- nice kid, nearly shat hisself when I woke up. 'fraid I'd call wrath a th'gods on 'im er sumthin'...*shakes himself* Yeah. Lemme think...I stayed there fer...'til Naamah was six, maybe. S'what I called 'er- wasn't her name, but s'what I called 'er. Useta be my sister's name...reminded me of her. Left when the natives got restless, y'know? Didn't like bein' in one place too long...too many people- too many ties to break.

"Right, the tattoo- old legend said that crows useta be white, but it flew too close to the sun and got burnt. The junyer priest said he thought it was 'cuz the old, old gods, nameless gods o' fire an' darkness, got mad at if fer somethin'...and then 'e said I musta per-personally done somethin' awful to make 'em angry- 'cuz otherwise nobody'd ever dark'n th'feathers of a thunderbird. Said 'e gave me the tattoo t'remind me of th'clouds- an' my home wi' them. Heh." *sobers slightly, shakes head sadly* "It'd take more than a few centuries before I forgot that...or those people. Pour me 'nother drink, wilya? Throat's dry as the fucking desert."
---------

I love how I'm sometimes just hit with revelations- Jubal is especially fun because he's been around for so very long and he's seen so very much...I think, though, that Naamah was actually his half-sister- but I could be wrong. I'm not in the mood to check, though there is a proliferation of Bibles in this house. Regardless, I think I like writing rather tipsy monologues. They amuse me.

*sigh* Disliking school still...but I did my homework. At home. Before midnight.

Amazing.

In creative writing today we had to write for ten minutes with a very simple prompt (nothing at all like the page long monsters we'd get at WFC): "In the beginning. Now write."

After two pages of babble, I came to the conclusion that, in the beginning, there were soap bubbles. (pop!)

That's either very profound, or on crack. *wanders off chasing soap bubbles*

Yes, back to this. I liked this template. Blocky. Colorful. Simple.
It worked.

And, as quite a few people know, I hate change. Hate it, hate it, hate it. 'scuse me, greatly dislike it. But. It happens. So, I deal.

However, when the layout gets to be so awkward and irritating that it makes me want to step on something, a change is frequently necessary in terms of going backwards. Going backwards still gets you somewhere, you know. Maybe not where you wanted to go, but you still end up somewhere.

Well, it's a start. I've got to go, so I can't do anything else to fix this...I hate school. I have a ridiculous amount of work to do. :(

tweet, tweet?

testing?

Apples and oranges...
There's plenty of similarity. You can compare them quite easily; apples and oranges. It's not like you're trying to compare a skyscraper and a cow. That would be rather difficult. But fruit? Simplicity.

Apples are harder, but with a thin skin. You can break through them easily to tear them apart. Oranges are a bit difficult; tough skin, but nothing but juice and stringy softness inside. Oranges will bounce higher when you drop them. Apple seeds are small and dark, with a silky shell around chewy whiteness. Supposedly they're poisonous; locked within a tough core, most people find them too isolated to bother with. Orange seeds, on the other hand, are loud and large and pale, invading the ruit in a random manner. You could try to bite down on them, but they won't break easily; in texture they are rough and striated, but still they're shape is streamlined enough to slip down an unususpecting eater's throat.

Certainly, they are very different. But they aren't radical differences (the cow's black and white blotches, in comparison to the skyscraper's cool gray, black, and mirror tones- it doesn't work), differences that mean nothing. They contrast. Thin skinned and hard, tough but juicy. Either would do to refresh a weary worker at the end of the day; crisp, sweet, tangy- you could describe either fruit with those words. So why does everyone act as though the two are as incompatible as that poor cow on top of the skyscraper?

They aren't that different. So maybe, one day, an orange will decide that it's tired of being unjustly segregated; maybe someday it will find a place in that bowl of apples on the table. Until then, it's just going to sit here and sulk.

Oh, yes (scribble being down and me not much liking diaryland)- Sheryl Crow is awesome. The concert last night kicked more ass than a steel-toed boot. I'd forgotten how much I liked her music in general- last night was utterly fan-fucking-tastic, despite the fact that I felt too self-conscious to get up and start dancing around in the aisles. I need to find out what the names of all the songs she played last night are- 'specially the one she played right after "Soak up the Sun". That one was coo'.

"Steve McQueen" is my new favorite screaming song, but the album version just doesn't do it justice. *sigh* Man, even after band practice and the promise of a six hour stint in a concession stand coming up, I'm still in happy live-music-bright-lights-sexy-guitarists-in-tight-pants-dancing-on-stage-and-Sheryl-Crown-and-Michelle-Branch bliss. That's some good bliss there, that is. *grin* Sheryl Crow put on an amazing concert; we missed the first fifteen minutes of Michelle Branch (and I assume that she opened with "Everywhere", which is really the song I would've liked to have heard live) but we got to see her do "All You Wanted", which was fairly coo'.

But aaaaahhh! it kicked ass! I wanted an overpriced t-shirt...or even an overpriced bandana to wrap around my hat...alas, it was not to be. I might be able to find one online, though...that'd be fairly coo'.

It's just a very happy thing you know. *happy squeal!*

(That, and I've rediscovered Escaflowne fanfiction. Mmm, Folken. *fangirlish sigh*)

Boffo:
I really am just trying to retell Escaflowne. Pardon me as I bash my head against a wall. (Dei and Folken would angst so prettily together, don't you think?)

On a side note, I hate school. I hate it with a passion that is very rare for me indeed. However, the bliss that is study hall is an entirely new experience...a whole period, in which I can do whatever I want? Why did I wait three years for this? Oh, wait, I was taking Latin. I already had one of those. Nevermind...(and I'm still taking Latin. Latin VI. One would think that I would be able to understand the dmaned language, no? Heh. You're funnny.)

On the first day of school, my teacher gave to me
An eraser shaped like a tree
On the second day of school, my teacher gave to me
2 pencils
and an eraser shaped like a tree
On the third day of school, my teacher gave to me
3 notebooks
2 pencils
and an eraser shaped like a tree
On the fourth day of school, my teacher gave to me
4 assignements
3 notebooks
2 pencils
and an eraser shaped like a tree
On the fifth day of school my teacher gave to me
5 BINDER CLIPS
4 assignments
3 notebooks
2 pencils
and an eraser shaped like a tree!

...heh. I wrote the original version of that in fifth grade, I think...with the help of some other kids in my reading class. It seemed appropriate. *shrug* As the days go on, they get really, really stupid, too...which is why I've stopped at five. (that, and I don't feel like remembering any more of it. ^_^)

Oh, have I mentioned how much I absolutely love Bare Naked Ladies? Mmm, Canada. I've been listening to Gordon lately..."The Flag" especially. It's a very Tyler/Opal after-the-story kind of song. (Yes, I'm horrible to my characters, absolutely horrible. It's not as bad as it sounds, really; I'll have to write that scene before it drives me crazy...)

The phone rings, it's early, it's seven o'clock.
He says sorry I woke you, but I just had to talk
You know last night, remember when I tried to choke you?
I didn't mean it, I was drunk, it was only a joke.
You should know that by now,
when the chequered flag comes down,
no one no one no one has won the race.

The next night he's over and over and under
and after he's finished she lies there and wonders
just why does she need him and why does she stay here
and then in the darkness she'll quietly say Dear,
you've never really known that when the white flag is flown,
no one no one no one has won the war.

They're complicated people
leading complicated lives,
and he complicates their problems
by telling complicated lies
He tells her he's sorry, she tells him it's over,
he tells her he's sorry, she says over and over
You've never really known that when the white flag is flown,
no one no one no one has won the war.

There goes a forest and there goes a bluebird
There goes a partridge and there goes a Go Train
There goes an angel and there goes a steeple
There goes a cop car and there goes an eagle
There goes a raven and there go the ribbons
There goes a raven and there go the ribbons
There goes a raven and there go
The ribbons the ribbons the ribbons
The ribbons of the flag
-BNL "The Flag"

I promise it's not as bad as it sounds. Tyler and Opal don't get that tragic...the song just reminds me of them, that's all. Other tracks from Gordon that I love? "Ninth Grade" and "Brian Wilson", naturally. "Hello City" amuses me, as well.

Right now The Talking Heads are playing in the background; daddy dearest is renting the DVD...My god, David Byrne's cheekbones. *giggle* Mmm 80's music. I rather like The Talking Heads.

"BURNING DOWN THE HOUSE!!"
Seriously, watching this is almost as amusing as Michael Stipe's dancing. ;)

Gah...make the phone stop ringing. Obnoxious creation of evil. Beellaaaaaarrrrggg.

Well. School starts tomorrow. Interesting. (ohidon'twanttogobackidontwanttogobackiwasfeelingfinebeforedontmakemegobackiwashappyhere-youremakingmegobackandihateyouforit)

We'll see how things go.

If a zombie is resurrected in Haiti...

Is it called deja voodoo?

(Damn the man for forwarding this to me!)

Heh...I found an old story concept in one of my random notebooks the other day...it went something like this: (as always, very vague and fuzzy)

It's the end of the world (isn't it always?) and the forces of good are going all out in the last battle against the forces of Chaos, Evil, and Anarchy. It's World War III, and the good guys are outnumbered. But, they have The General, the most brilliant tactician of the age, on their side. With him leading the forces, they're sure to win. And they would have, too. He had the plan worked out perfectly, but for a cluster of enemy bombers that made it through and managed to harass the area he was in...so, he quickly scrawled instructions for the other half of his troops, off on the other side of a small mountain range, and sent them off by carrier pigeon. (All other lines of communication were down.) He sent off a note with quick instructions, but the men in charge of the other forces would know what to do. There was just one problem.

The General has terrible handwriting. So, rather than waiting for The General to move his own troops into position, the other forces rush in, and are slaughtered. The General and his troops arrived just in time to witness the carnage and be obliterated themselves. Of course, none of the enemy survived, either, but they still won. Good only triumphs when there's someone left over after the battle. And this time, there wasn't.

The General had been knocked out by a piece of flying debris; when he came to, he was the last living person on the battlefield. Over a million men, cut down in cold blood, all because of his bad penmanship.

Ouch.

All of those dead people caused a serious backlog in the processing departments of the afterworld, so death finally said "Screw this, the lot of you can go back to the surface. Try and fix things if you want." Then Karma took over and organized all those lost souls, and gave them a leader in the form of the Spokesperson. Spokesperson then appeared to The General on the ravaged battlefield, and demanded to know what the hell he thought he was doing, just standing there. Karma had a good laugh, and sat back to watch the show.

Spokesperson (and the million odd lost souls she represented) and the General then set off doing a world tour sort of thing, helping people and preventing the spread of anarchy as best they could. Armed with a limited amount of explosives (because we all know how difficult it is to find TNT in a post-apocalyptic world...) and gradually improving handwriting, The General actually manages to cause the downfall of the anarchists, and he somehow restores order to the world. Spokesperson and everyone else is able to move on (as Death finally gets a better secretary) and The General finally forgives himself for losing the war.

No, I wasn't on crack, yes, those tense changes are kinda wonky, no, I'm never going to write this. It just amused the hell out of me- next time you have to read bad handwriting, just be thankful that people tend to type up the important stuff nowadays...

"I wanted you to move in from the west, not charge in and do your best!"
It's like one of those stupid Sprint commercials...*giggle*

Little bit about Song of Shadows (working title)

Okay, so the main character is Cata Falk (I amuse myself sometimes...) who is not related in any way to my cleric D&D charactere, Catafalque, though Nocturne bears a slight resemblance to that particular scythe bearing minion of evil. Anyway. Cata is working her way through college by doing clerical stuff at a small law firm...the work is menial but the pay isn't bad and she really likes her boss. I'm still a little fuzzy on the details of her meeting Umbra and becoming Nocturne...that'll come to me eventually.

Umbra is Latin for shadow, but it can also mean ghost; that's basically what Umbra is- a ghost or shadow of some sort. Cata still has her own shadow when the sun is shining, but she also has Umbra- if you look closely, you can see the two separate shadows, but unless Umbra is actually moving around, it's impossible to tell it's there.

Nocturne is the arse-kicking defender of justice or whatever; it should be noted that Cata, Umbra, and Nocturne are three separate entities- Nocturne isn't just Cata's alter-ego. She's a completely different person. (Well, they aren't that different...Nocturne has a less spastic sense of humor, and she's a bit quieter than Cata, but otherwise they really are very similar.) I think Nocturne uses Umbra as a channel of some sort to enter the real world and occupy the space that is Cata. That's why they look so similar; Nocturne fills in the space that Cata leaves when they switch places. Not too sure on the background behind this, of course...I'll figure it out later.

Zyn Margols is slightly older than Cata; he's a journalist for a local paper. Very twitchy. Sunburns easily (he's a redhead). Both he and Cata come from rather abusive backgrounds- for Cata this means she's more on the offensively defensive side (sarcstic, antisocial, etc.) For Zyn, this means he's very high strung and something of a wuss. His childhood was not happy, not at all. He really, really likes Cata, once they get to know each other; she, of course, is too busy oggling her boss to notice.

Imbrium is a ghost shadow like Umbra (Latin for tears, as in mare imbrium on the moon- thank you, Piers Anthony), but Imbri is somewhat less benign. Imbrium has almost absolute control over Zyn, and rather than channelling someone else into Zyn's space, he takes over on his own and wreaks four different kinds of havoc throughout the city. Imbri and Umbra have some sort of history together, as do Nocturne and the guy Imbri is supposed to channel- they're all connected, but again, I haven't really gotten that far.

Arii Vahine is one of Cata's coworkers; people obey her unquestioningly, and she really is the most beautiful woman in the world. After Cata tells her to bug off and make her own cup of coffee, they become best friends- Arii is also connected to the ghost shadows somehow, though right now she doesn't have one of her own. She doesn't really need one, though...if some random minion of darkness were to attack her, she'd just tell it to go away (while reaplying her eyeliner), and it would slink off with its tail between its legs.

Glen Roberts is Cata's boss...and he's just very confused. Cute, but confused. He might be gay, but I doubt it. He's probably just confused. Beyond providing a convenient target for attackers and a bit of eyecandy, I'm not sure what he does. Run a law firm, I assume- but he seems to be rather lazy and laid back, so I'm not sure how he manages this. It's a mystery. (Maybe the ghosts are responsible. Maybe he's just lucky. The world may never know...)

Those are the four main characters and their parasites...Cata and her minifridge full of Dr Pepper have taken up residence in a corner of my head; Anya is grumbling about the loss of her couch and Tyler wants something to drink. *shakes head* It's only a matter of time before all of my stories run together, you know. My characters would probably start a huge, apocalypse-inducing fight, before getting bored and wandering off to play poker. cha'...

Hn...methinks the Orphan Sporks did a better rendition of this song...but still. U2. Huzzah. ...I think I just got unlucky and downloaded a crappy version of the song, though. *sigh* Eh. It happens.

Open a box and find...

A foil-wrapped object, approximately the size of a hamburger. Unwrapped, it is indeed a burger, with the only difference being a slight discoloration of the meat. The word "Dodoburger" is repeatedly printed along the inside surface of the wrapper.

Odd socks.

Hundreds and hundreds of the little plastic capsules that are used to contain the toys, stickers, and trinkets dispensed by vending machines. Each capsule contains a "lick and press" kiddie tattoo of a barcode, with instructions for placing on the palm or forehead. Each bar code is unique, and the tattoos are permanent

A M-16, embedded up to the stock in concrete. Whoever removes it will win the next presidential election (by write-in if necessary) and enjoy tremendous popular support. His closest advisor will betray him.

The pop-up version of the Necronomicon.

A sheaf of regular office paper. Carefully printed in the center of both sides of each sheet is "See Other Side."

*giggle* This is going to amuse me for a few hours, at least...

Because I suddenly suffered a flashback to RUMUN 2001, complete with Orphan Sporks and longing glances and guitars in the lobby and suspicious Mexican sandwiches, I am now downloading Bloody Sunday, by U2. Because the soloist's voice cracked during the refrain, and it was the last song they sang, and I was an idiot then but am less of an idiot now.

I'll be your golden idol goddess
If you sacrifice your heart
Even though I couldn't care less
Worship on your knees, little man
Only the worthy will pass my test.

I'll be your pagan devil deity
You can beg me for your soul
No matter what, you'll never be free of me
I've got you in my claws, little man
Is this the punishment you want for eternity?

--------
I've gotta stop it with the disturbing Satanic imagery, I really do...*snort* Eh, well. They say poetry (even bad poetry) sheds a light on the soul...hn.

I've got so much random work to do...:( I'm lazy. Horribly lazy. I'll get around to fixing up some of these things eventually- turn them into not-quite-so-bad pieces of poetry, maybe.

Aiyaiyai...my head hurts. I swear my parents are going to drive me off the deep end one of these days. The really deep end. *glare*

I do believe I would seriously maim for something signed by Yoshitaka Amano, or for The Sky collection. Hell, I'd step on someone's toes very hard for some of the random merchandise from the store. *drool*

Gah! I want the "Mistrust Certain Flowers" poster! And I am cursing myself and several minor deities for not buying Dream Hunters when I had the chance. Creepy Neil Gaiman + Shiny AmanoArt= Goooooood. . . . N.Y....salad? Vegetable. . . fairies? out of stock...*sniffle* Ah! They make socks! AmanoArt socks! In three different colors! And they're ridiculously expensive! But they're socks! And I so would beat someone over the head for the Think Like Amano book. I'd beat them over the head really hard. "Paint Your Lunch"! Posters! Auuugh! Coolness! *squeal* "Refuse to wear your glasses"! *squeal* And you get a discount if you buy all three! *squeal* And...Amano + Marvel= ohwowholyshitcoolness!!!! An Amano version of Wolverine? Say it with me now: Duuuuuude!

(Vera really should not go surfing through stores and such of Amano merchandise when it is late at night and her blog is handy. She will most likely squeal both in text and out loud.)

Dammit, now I'm going to have to dig out my FFIX artbook just to stare at the pictures in the back and drool over them. Some of his stuff is rather...weird; it's something you have to be in the right mood to enjoy. And right now I'm in an Amano mood. So pretty...*sigh*

Huh. I spoke to the brother a little while ago; we discussed AnimeNext. I won't be able to go 'cept on Sunday and perhaps Friday if I cut school and skip a football game. Still. I'll go, come hell or Highwind *cough*, and I'll get to see the brother dressed as a ronin of some sort. (Security is not allowed to drink on duty without supervision of the supervisor...and as the supervisor is James, that simply means he's got to share. *snigger*) I'm anticipating intense amounts of fun, tho I should get to work on a costume of my own. (Ah, if only Amelia wore black! I don't wanna wear white...*blech*)

Ooh, also: we've gotten some sort of cable upgrade. I HAVE THE CARTOON NETWORK!! BWAHAHAHAHA!!! HEAR ME LAUGH, OH YE INFIDELS, HEAR ME LAUGH!!!!

Ahhh, that feels good. Never you mind that most of the shows are potentially brain-imploding. I'll get to watch Outlaw Star and five different versions of Gundam and YuYu Hakusho (mmm, Hiei) on my own time! w00t! *happy dance*

"What are you doing Jackie? You don't have to wiggle your foot- just wiggle your butt! Come on, now, wiggglewigglewiggle! There you go, it's easy!"
"Wiggle-wiggle?"
"No, no, no! WiGgleWiggLeWigglE!!!"
"Wiggle-wigglewiggle!"
"Yes!"

I'm feeling so completely uninspired right now that it really isn't funny. I tried to work on Boffo this afternoon, but in the end I gave up; the room keeps tilting to the side, and I really don't like it when my current location decides to turn itself on its ear.

A friend of my mom's died today; she had cancer, but mom was talking with her and having lunch with her a week ago. She was feeling better then.

Apparently, she slid downwards so quickly no one could stop it. And then she was gone.

...She had a son named AJ, who was a friend of the brothers; I never knew her well, but I remember her.

It's...difficult. To express in words. In anything, really. If the sun made a right angle turn halfway up the sky, what would you do? What could you do? Would it really matter? That the sun no longer set in the west, but took a wrong turn and ended up north? Or south?

Would it really matter?

I've never really liked contemplating death...not of actual people, actual living things. My own death...doesn't interest me. Neither does yours. Nor does the death of Mother Theresa, or George Burns or anyone else. The deaths of three thousand people at the World Trade Center...well, that's a slightly different matter. That was the death of a number. Numbers can die, and we can feel simple, abstract horror. Individual deaths are so much more personal...but no more real.

What's real are the living people who remain after a death. A dead body isn't real anymore. A corpse is a non-person. If you woke up tomorrow morning, and you were the last living creature on the planet, what would you do? If you were all alone, suddenly and completely, what would you do?

I would make myself breakfast- pancakes, maybe waffles. Something fancy, with eggs and butter and sugar. Fresh fruit, too. Then, I'd go back to sleep.

I doubt that I'd wake up.

...I think I'll stop now. It's...a little too difficult right now. And the room just tilted the other way.

But really, I'd be fine.

And...I'm back! I'm not dead! I'm not ignoring you! I just wasn't here!

But now I am. So.

Nothing really new, aside from the fact that my feet hurt (yet I still love marching...perhaps I *do* understand sporty people, on some level. A very small level. Narrow. Rather cramped.) Spent the weekend at the shore, for the last time this summer...it rained, and I was happy. I woke up to the sound of rain, I went to sleep to the sound of rain, I dreamed of pirates. *blink* Not too sure about that one...but. It was a good weekend. I read a lot. Started and finished Dragon Prince by Melanie Rawn (I don't get how she makes me like all of the protagonists and hate all the bad guys- I never do that. I'm always rooting for the villain. But I really, really like Rohan and Sioned. And I really didn't like Ianthe or Roelstra. It's weird.) and also Sword-Dancer by Jennifer Roberson. Good books, both of them. Now I've got to find the rest of the series, in both cases. This will probably involve many used book stores, as they're both very old series. Suckage.

The sky was blue today- very blue, behind the clouds. Impossibly blue. Lapis lazuli without flecks of pyrite blue. Not sapphire blue, though. It was an opaque blue, a butterfly wing blue.
The car ride home was very long, and at times it seemed as if the clouds were racing us home, speeding across the sky like demons out of heaven.

I really don't want summer to end this time. It's September, and I didn't even notice August ending. I think something else more important has ended, now. I'm just not sure what it is...and that frightens me, a little. Maybe a lot.

Maybe more than a lot.

We'll see how things work out, I suppose. Nothing else I can do, really. It's a very good thing that I've gotten very good at waiting. I just wish I knew what I was waiting for.