Monday, March 31, 2003

http://www.uspoliticsforum.com/emergency/

Click there. Laugh. The first page is better than the second. The brother is an asshole of royal proportions, but we love him anyway. Remeber, kiddies: If you catch fire, do not run.

Sunday, March 30, 2003

I really wish my artistic skillz could encompass the Manga Leather Effect. It's that shiny, wow-that-must-cut-off-circulation look to anything made of leather that you see in manga. Kaori Yuki does it remarkably well; just look at any scans of her Angel Sanctuary artbooks, and you'll see what I mean. Setsuna's pants are usually excellent examples of this. I just like the way it looks on gloves and jackets and whatnot...though it does, admittedly, look more than a little obscene most of the time.

Still. Being able to draw leather is a skill the world needs more of.
"Electrical Parade" is one crackheaded song. Woo!
I'm not colorblind, you know. I've just got no concept of color- I'm not cut out to be an artist or an interior decorator. I mean, I know the color wheel. I know all about complimentary and adjacent color schemes and shiz like that. I just can't put it into practice...

Coloring stuff is a bitch, especially when you're not relying on outlines to tell you where things are supposed to go. But right now I'm doing flashbacks to art one back in freshman year, the unit on surrealism...because I've always like Magritte beter than Dali, if only because I've a minimalists appreciation for simplicity.

Too many words, too many colors- life is chaos enough, life is art enough- should not our own personal art be the eye of the storm?

Frenetic simplicity...this picture always disturbed me slightly, which is probably why I never actually turned it in; extra credit done on a scrap of watercolor paper with watered down tempera paints. I always liked cubism better, though Picasso was a bastard and Braque should have gotten more credit. Cubist painting was fun; a wine bottle, a pomegranite, three mirrors, a coil of wires. Soft, smooth, shining curves turned into crystaline facets gleaming...and if you mix enough water into the tempera paint, you can almost pretend they're water colors, only less finicky, and if you hoarded dry paper towels and pressed them against the paint as it dried, they would leave a texture, raised and bubbly on the paper...and it was green and brown and red and dry yellow, and it was supposed to go to teen arts, but because it rained it did not...the judges saw it and commended the style and colors.

The picture that I'm talking about now, though, is something different. We watched movies in that class, all the time. Movies about artists and movements and Calder's circus. And I would take notes in my maroon and orange Virginia Tech notebook and doodle in the margins with gold gel pens. "I am Da-LI!" we would laugh at each other and sketch, then paint, and usually mutter jealously over Cathy's work and shake our heads over Andrea, and laugh at whatever Mr Miley had to say. The assignment was one surrealist painting, and I took chess pieces and seagulls and half open doors and placed them in a multihued sky and hated it. Then I took a face and placed it in space, and...I might still have the original in my closet somewhere. But it's time to recycle old ideas, and black tempera paint really doesn't capture a black sky very well, so...now I can do it with my tablet and make it even more disturbing the second time around.

...So, the CD player has gone from Carmina Burana to Cuban jazz to Eileen Ivers to George Winston...there should be one more CD on the loop...I am curious as to what crack will play next. I have The Persuasions Sing The Grateful Dead version of "Ship of Fools" stuck in my head.

How strange.

It's some sort of smooshy romantic jazz. Ugh. What was he thinking?

Friday, March 28, 2003

Truckin'

...Only not. Hitchiking elves, soft coloring- trying something new. I like the way it came out, more or less. The problem with these things is that after I put so many hours of work into them, I get tired, or I get bored, and then I give up...so there's a lot I could have done to make this look better that I didn't do. Perhaps I'll go back and fix it later, perhaps not. Probably not. Short attention span and whatnot.

There's a story behind this pic, though, and I'd love to know what it is...

Thursday, March 27, 2003

Vagrant Story? I love you. I really do- and not just for all the gratuitous fanservice and the brain break of a plot. I love you for how ridiculously fun your battle system is, and how spiff your graphics are, and for how I can spend hours just wasting time in your dungeons.

Therefore, I would like to say this: I do not ever, ever want to be subjected to a two hour dungeon crawl with no save space in sight after finding no end to nifty things and finally advancing the plot a bit- I do not want to finally escape from this dungeon crawl from hell, filled with traps and other nasty things, and decide to unlock a new door with one of my brand new sigils, only to find a HUNGRY, SNARLING DRAGON behind it.

So knock that shit off, yo. It ain't funny.

"Okay, Ashley, you have three choices! Door number one, door number two, and door number three! One door leads to riches and fame and shiny, shiny weapons; one door leads to safety and a save space; and another door leads to SNARLING, HUNGRY DOOM. Which will it be?"
"...Door number...two."
"I'm sorry! You chose SNARLING, FANGED DEATH WITH WINGS!!! Too bad, try again!"
"*screams like a little girl and runs away*"
*CHOMP*

*_* Easily traumatized- but I did make it to a save space, in the end. It just took me far too long, and there were far too many minions of evil in my way. Throwing in the dragon at the last minute was just unfair. *sulks*

Expect Saturday to be filled with much babble, and perhaps a transvestite or three. We're going to see Rocky Horror. *dances the time warp*

*falls over* ^_^

Wednesday, March 26, 2003

He liked the sounds. The white noise hum and whirrr of the propellers and the grumble of the engines, like a sleepy dragon snoring were always there, in the background, reminding him he was home. Even when the voices laughed and chatted and flirted loud enough to cover the slap of cards on the tables and the clink of chips sliding from hand to hand or the clatter of dice in the cup and across the soft felt matting, he could still feel the basso thrum of the engines beneath his feet. And he knew he was home, because when the engines murmured to themselves, they were flying, and home was the sky moreso than any city full of gold and sex and opportunity; this was home. Freedom was home, so the sky was home because the sky was freedom and this was freedom with the shuffle and rattle of money freely spent and wine freely drunk and obligations freely cast aside for a moment or two or a thousand- on and on for the rest of eternity. This was home, where he could close the door and trace pale scars over paler skin and watch it turn scarlet beneath the blade of a knife and no one would ever know or say a word because this was his home, and who were they to comment on a new scar among so many hundreds of others? Not when he was free to smile and laugh, even though laughing only brought back memories of her laugh, and how she had been home, as well, even more than the sky. Her laughter had been free, truly free, and because freedom was home, she was home, but it must have been wrong, too wrong to presume, because she'd found ways to test her freedom and she'd flown away, away- and so he was alone, with no place to call home.

But he liked the sounds, because they filled the air and drowned out the silence that was where her laughter should have been.

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

Setzer. Because I'm in a fangirlish sort of mood, and he's the sort of character to appreciate pretentious wankery. Don't mind me- it's just too much fun to say that word. :)

Just going towards proving Mr Broan even further...I should read more children's books. They might keep me from making cryptic comments. ;)

Monday, March 24, 2003

Okay, anyone who mentions the words "white horse" near me while holding either rope or velcro will be summarily beaten with a stick.

Otherwise, blame Kristen.
*blinkblink* Because I am really a crack monkey in a very bad disguise, I am now downloading The Cure.

Winamp pulled my brand new Squall/Laguna skin on "Just Like Heaven".

Just- don't ask me what I'm doing with a Squall/Laguna skin, would you? I do occasionally like to pretend I'm not a complete and total perverted freak of a social deviant. Occasionally. (Feel free to thwap me.)

But it's a pretty skin, or at least the image is pretty, even if the skin could use some work, and I'm a huge fan of the artist, and it's cute...*sweatdrop* Right. I'm only making things worse, aren't I? (Good thing the majority of you don't have a farkin' clue as to what I'm talkin' about...as for the rest of you- you should be used to this by now.)

Ah, '80s music, how do I love thee? Let me count the hair bands...

Sunday, March 23, 2003

Thank you, Neil Gaiman, for bringing this weekend to a whole new level of wrong:

http://www.casketstore.net/link%20pages/special%20caskets/Return.htm#top

...does it make me a horribly twisted and bad person if I say I want that one?
...I'm just thinkin', that would take a lot of stamps...

Saturday, March 22, 2003

I dunno, I always thought there was something at least a little inherently sexy about a mullet.

...now someone shoot me for that bit of randomness. Quick, before it's too late.
Go read:
Nine Swords
"That way it won't look so much like you've been going door to door collecting ass-beatings!"

No, really, it won't. Oh, ye gods, the snark! Rather lovely comic about...um...I'm not really sure what it's about, aside from Jhnih getting his ass repeatedly beaten by Riley. But it's pretty, if rather extensively gorey in places (Like when Jhnih loses his eye. Graphic. Just warnin' ya.) and thus far the morbid humor is threatening to make me spew tea out my nose...or it would, if I were drinking tea.

Riley, by the way, is in the box. As is Jhnih, but only because he can't seem to get rid of Riley and because he has such very bad luck with...everything.

Go read, if you feel up to dealing with gore and vampires and intense amounts of snark. You'll be a better person for it, I promise.

Friday, March 21, 2003

Right, next time someone stop me before I go reading fanfic for games with ridiculously twisty plots before I finish said games. Just beat me over the head or something. Vagrant Story is going to break my brain, and reading twisted AU fics don't help it any.

By the way, if Guildenstern wears a skirt, then Rosencrantz is a ninny. And Neesa frightens me just a smidge. For some strange reason, I feel the urge to pat Grissom on the head repeatedly- but only so long as his haircut never resembles that of his brother. Duane, sweetheart, I'm not sorry I killed you. That haircut was offensive to god, I promise. Let's see, what else, what else...if the two main characters weren't so very badass, I'd never be able to forgive the fact that they both have girl's names...And it occurs to me that if one were to cross Ashley's pants with Sydney's pants...they wouldn't be wearing anything at all. And that is just plain disturbing. I mean, I thought Kuja's thong was bad, but at least he had scarvey things floating around.

Not, of course, that it isn't a...refreshing...change to see the male characters being objectified instead of the female characters, but it doesn't make it any less wrong. I don't think I've obsessed this much over clothing designs in general in a game since FFX, but at least in X they costumes were all consistent, barring Lulu's...dress. Then again, one just has to remember that VStakes place in southern France, and it all makes sense. The wacky fashion industry started in the fourteenth century, and it began with assless pants. *thwaps forehead*

Still, the fact that he's French only makes Rosencrantz more of a ninny. I keep expecting random red-shirts to put on round helmets and start threatening to taunt me a second time-ah! *snicker* At which point Ashley would probably freak out and have another flashback, with more Extra Creepy Ghost Children in it. Or there'd be another earthquake. Or a hidden cutscene involving Mullencamp and a bunch of line dancing zombies. (Who else thought the sword on her head was just a little bit silly? Come on, you know you did...) *blinkblink* There's too much potential for severe and mind bending wrongness in this game. I love it.

At the very least, I'll be cracking jokes at myself for a very long time. At the most, I'll start writing very random snippets of StreamOfConscious!Ashley or Insane!Mullencamp or Pathetic!Hardin...because I enjoy putting exlamation points between words instead of spaces. And because there's so much angst potential there that it will be difficult not to tap into it. *evil cackle*

Wednesday, March 19, 2003

(Vagrant Story)

*Ashley is sitting on top of an old television set, glaring at Sydney, who is sitting on the floor in front of the TV. Hardin is sitting on the couch, trying not to laugh as Grissom looks for his missing body parts*

Sydney: But-
Ashley: No.
Sydney: I-
Hardin: You heard the man, Sydney. Scram. Other side of the room.
Sydney: Silence, minion!
Ashley: You have five seconds to be twenty feet away from the tv before I get my crossbow, Sydney.
Sydney: *sulks* Fine.
Ashley: *fiddles with his hair* How's it look?
Hardin: A little more to the right, I think.
Ashley: *fiddles some more* Now?
*The TV snaps into focus*
Hardin: Perfect.
Sydney: *from behind the couch* Move your head Hardin! I can't see!
Hardin: *ducks* Damn it, Sydney! What have I told you about your damn mind tricks?
Sydney: It's not my fault my arms interfere with Ashley's antennae. If you'd let me sit closer to the TV, I wouldn't have to do that to you.
Grissom: *looking dead* Has anyone seen my left arm?
*Ashley turns his head, and the picture on the TV goes snowy again*
Synden and Hardin: Damn it, Grissom!
Callo: *very drunk* That's some unnatural shiz, right there.
----

I am so going to draw that. Only it'll be funnier as a comic, I promise. *sigh* And I haven't even gotten through the Snowfly Forest yet. Damn dragons. *sulks*
...Excuse me as I get my groove on.
Whoa. I didn't know I could reach those notes. *blinkblink* Uh, throat? Not that I don't think the whole thrummy contralto thing doesn't sound cool and what not, but...*voice cracks* Let's not do that anymore, eh?

Guess what I should be doing? Homework. Hah. And a physics take-home test for which I have forgotten all the material.

*sigh* Can't I just hit the reset button, or something? Or cash in my chips? Isn't there a "give up" option here?

*kicks school* I. Just. Don't. Care. Anymore. Only I do.

My hand hurts.

Tuesday, March 18, 2003

on my way up north
up on the Ventura
I pulled back the hood
and I was talking to you
and I knew then it would be
a Life Long thing
but I didn't know that we
We could break a silver lining
And I'm so sad
like a good book
I can't put this
Day Back
a sorta fairytale
with you
a sorta fairytale
with you
things you said that day
up on the 101
the girl had come undone
I tried to downplay it
with a bet about us
You said that-
You'd take it
as long as I could
I could not erase it
And I'm so sad
like a good book
I can't put this
Day Back
a sorta fairytale
with you
a sorta fairytale
with you
and I ride along side
and I rode along side
You then
and I rode along side
till you lost me there
in the open road
And I rode along side
till the honey spread
itself so thin
for me to break your bread
for me to take your word
I had to steal it
And I'm so sad
like a good book
I can't put this
Day Back
a sorta fairytale
with you
a sorta fairytale
with you
I could pick back up
whenever I feel


down New Mexico way
something about
the open road
I knew that he was
looking for some Indian Blood and
find a little in you find a little
in me we may be
on this road but
We're just
Imposters
in this country you know
So we go along and we said
we'd fake it
feel better with
Oliver Stone
till I
almost smacked him -
seemed right that night and
I don't know what
takes hold
out there in the
Desert cold
These guys think they must
Try and just get over on us


And I'm so sad
like a good book
I can't put this
Day Back
a sorta fairytale
with you
a sorta fairytale
with you
and I was ridin' by
ridin' along side
for a while till you lost me
and I was ridin' by
ridin' along till you lost me
till you lost
me in
The Rear
View
you lost me
I said
way up North I took my day
all in all was a pretty nice
day and I put the Hood
right back where
You could taste heaven
perfectly
Feel out the summer breeze
didn't know when we'd be back
And I I don't
didn't think
We'd end up like
like this
-"A Sorta Fairy Tale" Tori Amos
-------
I did not realize Tori had a Michigan accent. That was why I couldn't understand her lyrics worth a damn. Or, should I say, a deem? The lyrics alone don't do the song justice, really...but again, it's more that you don't really need to understand the lyrics than any underlying meaning to them. It's a pretty song. Sad, but pretty.

I don't know that I ever believed in fairy tales, of course, but still...
...my head won't stop hurting, and neither will my heart. But I've gotten used to that.

Monday, March 17, 2003

blogger?
Right, so some people call them soulbonds, some people call them muses, I call them fucking annoying and distracting; you know how it goes, you're watching a show, or reading a book, and suddenly you've got someone in your head demanding attention and food and a storyline, and even if you both know you'll never ever ever actually write it, they still want something.

I think I prefer muse to soulbond, since soulbond has become so twisted...though muse typically applies to fanfic and such, for people who aren't terminally lazy. You know, people who actually get stuff done.

I've got four new muses, and I've never even watched one episode of Weiss Kreuz. But all four members of Schwarz are wreaking havoc, and Schuldich thinks he's Molly Ringwald and I swear if the mangled lyrics of "Don't Tell Mama" don't stop flashing before my eyes accompanied by some of the most disturbing images ever, I'm going to hurt something.

Gaaaaaaaahhhhhh. If it weren't so horribly, horribly, horribly wrong, I might actually write this, because it is hilariously ridiculous...but oh, so wrong...

I'm rather annoyed, though, because Schwarz popped up and displaced Ashley, who is rather maladjusted, as far as muses go...and Ashley displaced the FFVII crew, who were just getting back in the swing of things, so now I've got disgruntled muses in addition to loud, obnoxious, and horribly twisted ones...

It's no wonder I've been getting so many splitting headaches recently. *sigh* Oh goodness, look at the time, and I STILL HAVEN'T DONE MY SHAKESPEARE PAPER THAT WAS DUE LAST WEDNSDAY. Haven't done my calc or Latin homework either, come to think of it. I'M SUCH A SLACKING SENIOR AND NOW I'M SCREWED.

...*sigh* Ah, well. Such is life. ...ooh, pretty art!

Sunday, March 16, 2003

http://artists.mp3s.com/artists/52/bentframe.html

Download the Star Warz Gangsta Rap and Vader's Techno Mix. You know you want to.

"It's the V to the A to the D-E-R. Vader. With my slick suede suit that's black like tar, I'll be fuckin' you up no matter who you are..."

*dies laughing* Seriously, you must download and listen, if only to hear Pimp Daddy Yoda. *dies again*
damn it blogger!

Saturday, March 15, 2003

"Why are you bothering with a glass? You're going to drink all of it anyway."

They were sitting on the floor of Von's living room, just the two of them; Cata was with Zyn in the bedroom, attempting to get him to calm down after his most recent fit of hysterics. Ari'i watched dispassionately as Von carefully filled another glass and knocked it back. She was very good at dispassionate. Years of practice had made her very good at dispassionate, indeed. He refused to look at her, and did not answer.

So she tried again. "You shouldn't have touched him."

Another glass, this one not so careful, spilling cheap vodka on the expensive carpeting. "I didn't touch him." His voice was rough. "Didn't even go near him."

"Then explain why he can't look at you without breaking down, Von." She was good at being icy, too. She knew he was telling the truth, she always knew when they told the truth, but she was angry enough to push further. She had no business, but she would do it anyway. "Explain why it took two of us to restrain him and keep him from setting the whole building on fire."

He set the glass next to the bottle, out of the way, and tilted his head back against the couch. "He remembered something. We were talking about- about chess, how he used to play in school, how I won that tournament four years ago. He was laughing, he was happy, he was fucking smiling, and he only ever smiles at Cata. I thought that maybe for a minute he might have actually started to trust me a little, that we could start figuring out what the hell went wrong with Neisha and the others. And then he just- broke. Snapped in half and started screaming about Aleks and Gavin and Sable." His jaw clenched; an involuntary spasm of pain. Ari'i could see a bruise, half formed, across his cheekbone. Strange how she hadn't noticed it before.

"He hit you." She inched closer, examining the bruise with careful fingers. "He didn't mean it, Von."

"I'm fine, and yes, he did." His voice had gone from rough to weary, so very weary. "You remember who I was then, who he was. Who he was to me. And now he remembers, and it disgusts him so much that he can't stand to be in the same room with me anymore."

She knew very well what Gavin had felt for Aleks; that conversation had been one of the first memories she'd recovered. But then, Giselle had married Aleks anyway, despite what any of them had felt. That had been her first mistake, and by far, the worst. She was determined now to not let another one happen- she just wasn't sure how.

Her hand was still on his face, but now his fingers had crept up to interlace with hers. "Von, don't do this to yourself. It won't do any good- not when he can barely remember who he is in this life, let alone the other one." There was something in his eyes that she didn't like; something desperate and frightening. Their faces were very close, now; only inches away.

"Would you forgive me if I kissed you?"

Centimeters, now, and she had to close her eyes to keep them from crossing. "No."

He kissed her anyway, and she knew that it didn't matter anymore, not here on the livingroom floor with shades lurking in the darkness of their minds and souls. Mothing mattered anymore; they were both damned.
-------------

That took forever to finish, and it isn't finished properly, anyway. Couldn't get that image out of my head, though; "Would you forgive me?" kept running through my head and I couldn't let it run away without due consideration.

Von has many issues. Large, screaming issues, with teeth. And he sleeps around. Ari'i has a guilt complex or twelve, but it's her own fault for manipulating every. single. person. she's. ever. met. She used to sleep around, but is currently going through one of those "Oh god please no don't touch me" phases. Cata is severely depressed and cycles through various eating disorders as the mood takes her. Her parents were abusive, too, and she has problems with people. You know, people in general. Zyn doesn't know who he is; can't remember his own name or his background. He doesn't know where to even begin looking for the truth; all he has are nasty flashbacks to his current past and Aleks' life that tend to leave him in a hysterical heap of angst. Add all their issues to the fact that they're carrying around parasitic shadow creatures in their souls, and you've got one severely fucked up bunch of people.

I blame them all on the fact that I watch too much Law and Order and have been subjected to too much Oprah recently. Everything else comes from personal experience or various aspects of my self. I think they disturb me too much to write them properly, actually...but it's fun to do occasional vignettey things like this occasionally.

Friday, March 14, 2003

*sigh*
...I wish I were goth.
What's black and white and red all over?
Fluffer-nutters- I mean, Farfarello. (Though 'nutters' does about describe him...)

Quite disturbing, actually, but ridiculous fun to draw. Warnings for blood and self-mutilation and eye patches.
(I'm actually probably going to blame Claudia for this...but I think she'll be okay, so we'll chalk it up to an 'it's late and i'm tired' and leave it alone, 'kay?)
Growing up is simply another name for the process of finding our own voice.

Thursday, March 13, 2003

...So, last year? Last year I had a copy of Dante's Inferno. Maybe it was two years ago. Dun remember. Anyway. I think I brought it to school and put it in my backpack- you know, light reading for when class got boring, that sort of thing. I never saw it again.

*grump* Must...read...complex...Christian...mythology...now...*glurblefloopdies*

Just think of all the obscure references that have been made from that book, over the years- so many references, and I don't catch any of them! Must...add...to...store...of...useless...knowledge...*g'aaaahh*

This was randomly brought to you by Farfarello, Cagnazzo, Barbariccia (though I like Valvalis so much better...damn Engrish...), Rubicante, and the Calcobrina, and every other random reference from each of the nine circles of hell that I haven't caught yet.
...Oddly enough, I think the Fourth of July is my favorite holiday.

*blinkblink* Of course, that's only because ridiculously wonderful things have happened on that particular day for two years running...but hells, the fireworks are pretty damn nifty, too.

This was randomly brought to you by the first verse of "The Remedy", because I would love to have this song playing on a loop inside my skull, and because I desperately, desperately want "Waiting for my Rocket to Come". And then I want to fly to San Diego and listen to Jason Mraz do a live show.
I am fascinated by the concept of Farfarello...no, not the one from The Inferno, the one from Weiss Kreuz. Yes, the anime about four assassins whose cover operation is a flower shop called The Happy Kitten or something to that effect.

Cold blooded killers by night...florists by day. *d'oi*

On the Weiss side, you've got Yohji the manslut, armed with a garrote; Aya the emotionless killer who thinks he's his sister, walks softly and carries a big sword; Ken the soccerjock who actually doesn't look like a girl and uses a set of bagnak (tiger claws) to slice things up; and Omi, the pedophile's wet dream, who uses a big ass bow since that's such a common assassin's weapon. *d'oi* Then you have their counterparts, Schwarz. We have Crawford, the emotionless American precognitive killer with a penchant for white suits; Schuldich the German manslut telepath with very silly hair; Nagi the pedophile's telekinetic wet dream from Japan (like a schoolgirl, only more feminine and probably with a more annoying voice actor), and Farfarello. The one-eyed albino schizoid psychotic self-mutilating Irishman with a knife fetish who, above all else, wants to make God suffer. No psychic power that I'm aware of, just prone to insane, psychotic rages, and tends to be unable to feel pain.

I should probably watch the damned series before I start getting ideas about the characters, but still. There's far more floating around about the Weiss boys than about the Schwarz ones, even though Schwarz seems far more interesting to me...but then, I've always had a thing for villains. And Aya irritates me, as does Omi, and Ken, though Ken irritates me in a far more abstract way because I've decided that he's the best looking of the Weiss crew. Yohji's just distracting, and of little consequence either way.

Of course, people have even less to say about Schreint, which isn't particularly surprising since Schreint is really only a rather bare attempt at garnering a male fanbase for Weiss, if you ask me. Personally, I feel that since three of the four main characters already look more feminine than most female characters ever could, throwing in an assassin team of deadly chickas was completely unnecessary.

But then, I really should watch the series before I go making assumptions. (The dub is called "Knight Hunters" or some such silliness- if they were going to translate it, why not do it properly and call 'em "White Cross"? Too religious? *snort* "Knight Hunters", indeed.)

Still. Farfarello intrigues me, and his character design begs to be drawn, or at the very least casually doodled in the margins of a notebook to give disturbing one-eyed glares to people who attempt to deceipher my notes. I dunno, the scars, eyepatch, white skin and hair, and deranged glare in combination are just utterly spiff, what can I say...:)

Wednesday, March 12, 2003

It should be dark, but there is a bright, pale light illuminating everything despite the blackness of the sky. Beyond the crumbling columns, the sky and horizon melt into a flat sheet of darkness. Here, in the center, though, there is light like starlight on snow, glowing softly from the depths of the very stones beneath your feet. It is the winter light, and even now engorged snowflakes are escaping from the flat black sky to dance at your fingertips.

It is not cold, though it is not warm, either. The snow does not melt when it reaches the ground, but is instead absorbed into the stones; as the snow falls, the light grows brighter, deeper, cooler. The light is everywhere, in everything; the snow clings to your face and hands, and is absorbed until you, too, are glowing like the stones. The winter light fills all things here, confusing the shadows of the snowflakes and creating doppelgangers of your own shadow to dance and flicker on the stones.

The cobbles are worn and cracked in places, though the mortar is intact and no weeds sprout up between them. They are even, though the area they encompass curves gently in a smooth dome. The columns are fluted and wide; your arms would not stretch around them, though two people would find their hands touching easily. They are tall, supported on square bases nearly as tall a you, and they stretch towards the empty sky at least three times as high. The columns, like the cobbles, are old but well kept. Once, they might have supported banners and streamers for a Beltane or Ostara celebration. Now, they support only their own grave weight, and the winter light.

As the snow falls, you can make out new shapes beneath the columns, twisted, shining, beautiful shapes. The snow clings to them, and is not absorbed. They do not glow with the winter light, and their shadows are steady in the glow from the stones. They are cold, unlike the snow that seeps beneath your skin. They are ice sculptures, shining blue and green in the pale gray light, and they stare at you with eyes gone dark long ago. As you stare back, you finally begin to feel the wind that has crept up on you unawares; it is cold and unforgiving, like the eyes of the statues.

When dawn comes, years later, the snow and the winter light are gone. Beneath the tall stone columns, a new statue stands. It will be years before night falls in this place again, before winter comes. Perhaps a passing traveller will admire the sculptures, and the simple grace of the stones. And perhaps that traveller will look into your flat, dead eyes, and wonder who could have placed such a lifelike statue in such an isolated place. And then the traveller will move on, and leave you with the stones to wait once more for the winter light

-------------
Why I should not listen to "Kinda Sorta Fairy Tale" on repeat play. I mean, of the Tori Amos songs on my harddrive, you'd think "Winter" would make me write something like this, but nooooo..."Winter" doesn't make me think of snow at all. "Fairy Tale" does. Strangeness.

But I've been wanting to write about the winter light for a while...I just didn't know it would turn out to be so...sinister. It's not supposed to be evil; it's supposed to be beautiful. *sigh* Guess I'm just in that kind of a mood...

(Still avoiding the Shakespeare paper. *d'oi*)
Started reading Gunslinger this morning; I've avoided Steven King before this on general principle, and because I'm not much of a fan of horror. Gunslinger is...um...wow. Not like anything I've ever read before, that's for certes. Post-apocalysm meets the Old West meets Salvador Dali meets JRR Tolkien.

Only, not. At all. In any way. I know the main character's name is Roland, but only because I've read about the series. Roland is a Gunslinger. He shoots stuff, and speaks the High Tongue. Beyond that, I don't know what a Gunslinger is. He's chasing the man in black. The man in black is a sorcerer. He's also apparently very, very evil, or at the very least, quite deranged. The book is split up into several short stories; the first one is about the Gunslinger and how he killed everyone in the town of Tull because the man in black put devils in all of them.

The writing is so very...bare. Every word carries the weight of a hundred; the prose is just like the world it describes, bare and dry and forlorn. Not dead, though, or lifeless- but you can almost taste the dust and cheap whisky when you read it. This only serves to creep me out further when reading, of course, since the story is so very disturbing...but it is addictive, if unbearable in large quantities. It'll take me a while to get through the book, despite its large print...

Well, this is what I get when I borrow books from the brother: mind-fucked temporal doom, with bullets. 0_0

Tuesday, March 11, 2003

Oh yeah, guess who has a copy of the Newsies soundtrack?

I'm thinkin' it'll have a similar effect to that of Hampsterdance. Say it with me now, boys and girls: We love Zaira.
Vagrant Story? Oooh, that's one sexy, sexy battle system you've got there. Mmm, yes, I likes it good. Never mind that it requires some skill with timing and button pushing- I still like it, for some strange and unfathomable reason.

It reminds me a great deal of Tactics, and I think the relationship between the two games was intentional on Square's part; the music is similar, the character art is similar (they actually have noses, though), and the quote near to the beginning was by one "A.J. Durai", who made an appearance in Tactics. It pleases me greatly.

I figure that Ashley is the result of Seymour's illicit love affair with with a WEAPON- it explains the inhuman strength and the hair. I can't come up with any explanation for his pants, I'm afraid, or any of his clothing, really- not a valid explanation, at any rate. Unless you consider "screaming fangirl fanservice" a valid explanation. *shrug* Good enough for me, I guess...But Sydney? *blinkblink* Uh, Sydney? If Ashley is "screaming fangirl fanservice", then Sydney is...fanservice to the nth degree! *blinkblink* Yeah...there is no explanation, reason, or excuse for Sydney's pants. None at all. At least Ashley makes an attempt at being decent, sort of.

Funny how all the other characters are fully clothed...Although Hardin's pants also seem to have issues. Everyone else wears a skirt (yes, Guildenstern, that's a skirt, you're evil and in denial), or a kilt, or something of the sort, and apparently it's just the pants that have issues in this game. I want Callo's hair, because it's nifty and braided. She's plot device material, but at least they don't try to disguise her as anything else, so I don't mind her much...yet. (I'm only about two/three hours into the game because I keep getting killed by random things, you see. Save spaces need to be more prolific...)

So...it's a pretty, pretty thing for an older game, with pretty, pretty people (and pretty fanservice), and I do very much so like Ashley (why does he look so young?), while Sydney creeps me out ever so slightly (...the levels of wrong that are his arms, pants, and waistline, my god! ...he looks like an anorexic Swedish extra from the set of Frankenstein 2525...), and Hardin- oh, Hardin. Poor, poor Hardin. He's a lackey, he is, and like all good lackeys he grovels and complains and gives his master good advice that gets ignored, and he's so. very. doomed. *pats Hardin on the head* Callo's cool, because Ashley promised her all the wine in the wine cellars of Lea Monde, which would very easily make her quite rich and powerful and it would mean that she'd be able to buy enough cloth for a longer skirt. Like Guildenstern's skirt. *snicker* I'm sorry, but I just can't respect him as a villain when he has both a goatee and a skirt in denial. I imagine that he'd have a nasal voice, too. Possibly a lisp. *snicker*

I suppose the niftiest thing is that Ashley is a veritable walking arsenal; my favorite weapon, naturally, is the spear. Mmm, polearms. Also naturally, I have renamed the weapons to random things; my favorite is the Rusty Nail, which was immediately renamed to the much more dignified and fear-inspiring...Pokey Poke. The Fandango needed no changes, because Fandango is an arse-kicking name for a sword.

Oh, yes, and the way they speak in dialect? *falls over and dies* "Buggered if I know!" *dies again* Yes, this game is a ridiculous amount of fun. The ending is going to make me cry (you do realize that I'm speaking figuratively when I say things like that, don't you? Because I don't cry- ever.) but that's okay. I'll enjoy it muchly up until the end, and then I'll probably enjoy the end anyway, since I'm sure it'll be on large amounts of crack. Then I can read all the fanfic that I've been avoiding for want of not ruining everything completely, and actually understand what's going on.

I just can't wait 'til I get to meet Grissom and Duane and Rosencrantz. *splee*
This makes me want to slam my forehead repeatedly against a wall.

Oi.

Sunday, March 09, 2003

FUCK IT ALL.

*glares*

I had a very long and involved post about today in general (play/movie responses and whatnot) all set and ready to be posted, when my fucking computer crashes. Fine. Fine.

I won't say anything at all then. Just fan-fucking-tastic.

Fine.
And, because it has been a day for song calls:

There is freedom within, there is freedom without
Try to catch the deluge in a paper cup
There's a battle ahead, many battles are lost
But you'll never see the end of the road
While you're travelling with me

Hey now, hey now
Don't dream it's over
Hey now, hey now
When the world comes in
They come, they come
To build a wall between us
We know they won't win

Now I'm towing my car, there's a hole in the roof
My possessions are causing me suspicion but there's no proof
In the paper today tales of war and of waste
But you turn right over to the T.V. page

Hey now, hey now
Don't dream it's over
Hey now, hey now
When the world comes in
They come, they come
To build a wall between us
We know they won't win

Now I'm walking again to the beat of a drum
And I'm counting the steps to the door of your heart
Only the shadows ahead barely clearing the roof
Get to know the feeling of liberation and relief

Hey now, hey now
Don't dream it's over
Hey now, hey now
When the world comes in
They come, they come
To build a wall between us
Don't ever let them win
-"Don't Dream It's Over", Crowded House
--------
Y'know, I honestly don't know what the title lyric even means, and I'll be the first to admit that the last line of the last verse is pretty damn stupid, in terms of lyrical quality. It doesn't fit at all. And the song doesn't sound particularly deep or meaningful; it's just pop. But I likes it, I does.

Look, it's almost monday! Time for another session of self-loathing, guilt, and depression!

...oh, look. Dad's home.

........
eee! Becky sent pictures! Eeee!
DemonsmileducttapemardigrasfacepaintprincessleiahairneworleansducktapeBecky!
*cough* It occurrs to me that I know far too many people named Becky. ...Six, I think.

...shite. Haven't practiced my flute in forfuckingever. Gonna get hell from my teacher tomorrow.
*curlsupandhides* I don't wanna go to school tomorrow...
This was the sig of the email from one Mr. Radcliffe Edmonds, head of the classics department at Bryn Mawr:

Do but consider what an excellent thing sleep is: it is so inestimable a jewel that, if a tyrant would give his crown for an hour's slumber, it cannot be bought: of so beautiful a shape is it, that though a man lie with an Empress, his heart cannot beat quiet till he leaves her embracements to be at rest with the other: yea, so greatly indebted are we to this kinsman of death, that we owe the better tributary, half of our life to him: and there is good cause why we should do so: for sleep is that golden chain that ties health and our bodies together. Who complains of want? of wounds? of cares? of great men's oppressions? of captivity? whilst he sleepeth? Beggars in their beds take as much pleasure as kings: can we therefore surfeit on this delicate Ambrosia? Can we drink too much of that whereof to taste too little tumbles us into a churchyard, and to use it but indifferently throws us into Bedlam? No, no, look upon Endymion, the moon's minion, who slept three score and fifteen years, and was not a hair the worse for it. -Thomas Dekker

*coughcough* Tom? Oh yeah. This one's all yours. And mine, too, come to think on't...
She grew up with
The children of the stars
In the hollywood hills and the boulevard
Her parents threw big parties
Everyone was there
They hung out with folks like
Dennis hopper, bob seeger, sonny and cher

Now, she feels safe
In this bar on fairfax
And from the stage I can tell that
She can't let go and she can't relax
And just before
She hangs her head to cry
I sing to her a lullaby, I sing

Everything's gonna be all right
Rockabye, rockabye
Everything's gonna be all right
Rockabye, rockabye
Rockabye

She still lives with her mom
Outside the city
Down that street about a half a mile
And all her friends tell her
She's so pretty
But she'd be a whole lot prettier
If she smiled once in a while
`Cause even her smile
Looks like a frown
She's seen her share of devils
In this angel town

But, everything's gonna be all right
Rockabye, rockabye
Everything's gonna be all right
Rockabye, rockabye
Rockabye

I told her I ain't so sureabout this place
It's hard to play a gig in this town
And keep a straight face
Seems like everyone here's got a plan
It's kind of like nashville with a tan, but,

Everything's gonna be all right
Rockabye, rockabye
Everything's gonna be all right
Rockabye, rockabye

Everything's gonna be all right
Rockabye, rockabye
Everything's gonna be all right
Rockabye, rockabye, rockabye, bye, bye
Bye, bye
-"Lullabye", Shawn Mullins

Right, so, freshman year? This song played on the radio every time something awful happened, or everytime I was worried about something. Well, every time it really was alright in the end...for a few situations, the only song I heard was "Everything You Want" by Vertical Horizon, and that just made me flinch, but for the rest, it was like some sort of freakish psychic anomally. (Like, the second day of school, when I hadn't written my essay for geometry. Heard the song on the ride to school, finished the essay in orchestra, got a hundred. Or when the debacle with Mark happened- heard the song, was blessed with having only one person mention it to me in school, and even that was the day after I found out, and in the end, it was alright- sort of. *sweatdrop*) So, of course once I actually download it, i stop hearing it all the time on the radio, and I guess that means I've broken whatever special thing that was going on with it, but hells, it still makes me feel better. A good song to listen to when you're down, really. And I like Shawn Mullins' voice. It's a good voice. Gravelly. Like a driveway.

*blinkblink* Oh, nevermind. :)

Wednesday, March 05, 2003

It occurrs to me that all I've eaten today are a few grahm crackers and three bites of leftover Chinese food, yet I am neither hungry, nor sick. This does not bode well. *sigh* Will eat strawberries when the desire to stand up comes to me.

But i would like to make it perfectly clear that today was no one's fault- it was a combination of many things, among them being a lack of sleep, too much thinking, and the utterly brilliant idea I had to bring my Natalie Imbruglia Left of the Middle album with me to school today. One should never listen to Left of the Middle when one is feeling unhappy- it only exacerbates the situation. Finding that the Beacon has returned as a ravening zombie, hungry for brains, has not helped either.

But it's no one's fault. I just felt the need to say that, is all...
You know, I really think today was all just a result of imbibing all that fanfic-generated angst last night. If the author does not finish the story in a timely fashion, I will stomp my foot quite petulantly. *sigh*

So regretting the loss of Disc 1 right now...and I was so close to the end of it, too, you know, just had to get past the Ancient Temple and the Bone Town and then that whole mess with the flower girl and whatnot- only another hour or three (probably closer to four, actually- I was this close to getting Aeris' level four limit, this close...and damn me if I didn't actually start to like using her in my party after all that limit breaking shiz...*snort*) and then I'd have been safe on Disc 2 and well on my way towards kicking the game's ass, yet again. *whines* Maaaaaan. I suppose, one of these days, I'll have to get around to beating the game. I've done it once, a very long time ago, but I think it's time to do so again.

FFVII holds a special place in my heart, you know- first playstation game and all that, yadda yadda, first thing I ever read/wrote fanfic for (that I was willing to show other people). 'Twas a Christmas present, you know, and at 2 in the morning, Christmas Day, we'd hooked it up and were giving it a whirl, when the Christmas tree fell over and nearly killed the cat. No joke- this was back when we got big Christmas trees, and the ceiling in the family room is some twelve or fourteen feet high, and I'm fairly sure the tree was something like twelve feet tall, with the angel- and before we'd even gotten around to naming Cloud, it fell over. I'm still not entirely sure it wasn't the game's fault- and then it happened again, so dad eventually had to wire the tree to the upper window. The brother had the game beat before the end of Christmas break, though it took me considerably longer, especially since I broke my thumb on mom's birthday (fun story that, and all because I was being a moron, "Surprise! Happy Birthday! Now take me to the emergency room since my hand's been bleeding for four hours straight!") and didn't have enough sense to walk in a straight line inside or outside the game. (Ah, seventh grade...too bad I can't remember you at all...not without thinking about it too hard, anyway).

Haven't felt any urge to replay VIII, mind you; took me four months to beat it, watched the ending sequence twice (dear gods, why did it have to be so long?) then wrapped it up and put it away, too irritated at it to play it again. Similar thing with IX, though I made a half hearted attempt at replaying that one, twice...until I got distracted by other things, namely Tactics and SO2.

Tactics has such ridiculous replay value that I doubt I'll ever tire of it. What? Ramza's already at level 99? He still hasn't mastered Time Mage! I will persevere! *cacklecackle* ...or something to that effect.

Other games...I'd replay X just to see the way things played through with Luzzu, instead of Gatti. (I actually went back, to a side save spot right before the crusader battle, just to see Luzzu's reaction...why is it that my favorite NPCs always have traumatic things happen to them? ...Luzzu was just so much cooler than Gatti, too, but at that point there was no way in all the nine circles of hell I was going to play the game through from that point, just to see a five second alteration to the ending sequence, not after I'd killed Omega and Ultima and gotten a bunch of the Ultimate Weapons and done that damned catuar thing and bought all those memory spheres- I just wasn't doing it.) I'd also replay X because the ending made me cry, and because damnit, it was pretty. And because Wakka amused me to no end, y'know?

Must beat SO2, so I can do it again with Claude's scenario, with Ernest and Opera and Bowman, instead of Ashton and Precis and Noel. (What, you think I'd keep Noel instead of Chisato? Shyeah, right. Noel's cute, but he doesn't fling razor edged identity badges at monsters. And his voice is annoying- though Chisato's is worse.) I have to get past Vesper and Decus first, of course...bastards.

Will most likely start SaGa Frontier2 before that happens. Looking forward to that, but I refuse to be playing two games at once- or rather, I refuse to start a new game without finishing an old, or at the very least, seeing what happens in the end. S'not enough to read spoilerfic, I have to actually see...so it might take a while. :)

Games that I'd like to play? Hmm...Xenogears, kinda, but only in the same way I'd kinda like to see Evangelion some day. Somewhat nervous and unsure about the whole concept of it, though I'm sure I'd splee over every single badly placed religious reference, after my brain stopped imploding from the incomprehensible plot. Vagrant Story, just to see Ashley's famous Assless Pants (tm) and Sydney's "Goriest death in RPG history". Also, because of a certain alternate reality fic that I read some time ago that caused my brain to break. Lessee, whatelse is there...I gave up on Legend of Dragoon (though I promise I'll find the instruction booklet, probably around the same time I find all those movies that I've been lent, and the last vestiges of my sanity and self esteem...I know I left them somewhere in my room...) so that just leaves the really obscure things, like Threads of Fate or things like that...Legend of Mana. Definitely Legend of Mana, because I've actually had dreams about the Seiken Densetsu series, and I never dream about games, no matter how much I'd like to. (Never is the wrong word, but it happens rarely enough to be a cause of child-like wonder and delight.)

I've realized, though, that I'll probably never get a PS2, nor a GameCube or X-Box (though I would refuse one of those on principle, anyway), and that's fine with me. If I can expand my PSX game library enough, I won't mind much, really. Hells, I don't mind much now, really, since games are changing to the point where I'm not certain I care to participate. Though I would like to play Kingdom Hearts, if only to hear the blasphemy that is Lance Bass doing Sephiroth's voice. *shudder* Like looking into hell...*giggle*

I am, in case you hadn't noticed, just rambling. Making noise, to fill the silence. Words to take up space. Anything to get my mind off everything...

(I'm listening to "Rockabye", and I think I might almost believe it, almost.)

If I didn't know I'd be severely chastized for it, I'd go and beat FFVII again right now- but I would be yelled at, and it would bring back all those memories of seventh grade that I'm sure i had a reason to forget, so I'll leave it be for now.

And now, "The Remedy"- so I guess things will be okay. I kinda wish I'd brought Ophelia home, but I think I'll practice the flute. It needs a name, only I can't figure out if it's male or female- the violin was quite very obviously female, most stringed instruments are (and stop looking at me like I'm crazy, I'll just close my eyes and pretend I don't see you). Naming her Ophelia took a while- it wasn't until Erica said something last year, at the Double Tree, and for a little while she was Rosalind since we were in a Shakespearian mood- but then, it being Shakespearian and a violin and my violin, she became Ophelia. And that was that. So now, the flute needs a name, and a personality, since I do believe I've grown attatched to it- part of me wants to think "her", but it really isn't.

Do note, please, that I never felt any urge to name the other damned noisemaker. Stupid clarinet. *grumps* Hnph.

Well...barring any better suggestions, I think I'll just name it Dee, which can be male or female, though since I'd only be naming it Dee because the flute is Dei's instrument of choice, it would follow that it would be male but...I think my flute has gender issues. *d'oi* *snort* Actually, that's probably just me...

Well, whatever. This post wasn't meant to be nearly this long, but hells, if I can't ramble in my own creative/free thought blog, where can I ramble? ...don't answer that. I can think of at least half a dozen places off the top of my head, but that's entirely beside the point.

The point is...hm. The point is, this place is mine, for better or for worse, and in the end that's all that really matters.
"Shine a light on all of your friends/ when it all amounts to nothing, in the end/ But I won't worry my life away..."
-"The Remedy", Jason Mraz

(I do believe I might do a layout change, soon- a real one. But then, I'm lazy, so don't hold your breath.)
Blogging in Job's room, listening to Zaira relate traumatic experiences about The Lone Ranger.

*scandalous!*

Tuesday, March 04, 2003

And just when you think the angst is over, it turns out that it's still all there, just in a different form. (I'm addicted, but I'm feeling this inexplicable urge to shout at my computer "Just kiss him already, you feckin' moron!" Ah, fanfic.)

There is a law of conservation of angst in fanfic; you always have at least as much angst at the end as you did at the beginning, unless you account for the fact that angst always increases. You can exercise therapy upon the angst, but doing so always causes an increase of angst elsewhere in fandom...Angst can spread and diffuse, but in the end there will always be an inevitable increase of angst...

(D'oh. Mr Davis is contagious...that, or I just enjoy the concept of entropy too much.)
Hello? Blogger? I know you're in there. You can't hide from me.

Oh, and by the by- kilt? Sean Biggerstaff? Tom Feltin? Ducks?

*gibbers* Kilt...
Oh, sweet, blessed All, I can not take the angst anymore. If this story does not have a happy ending, I swear I'm going to shoot someone.

A Long Hard Road FFVII fanfic. Angst, yaoi, het, angst, big explosions, political scheming, angst, insane earth spirits, evil aliens, clones, angst, Sephiroth, and a big heaping of angst on the side, just to add flavor. Did I mention the angst? Or that it's 36 chapters of angst, and I don't think any chapter is less than fifteen pages, long, some of them nearly eighty pages? And that it's not finished? And that I'm only halfway through and the angst is so thick I'm feeling depressive and vaguely suicidal, in a very vague sense of the word? Ye Gods! SO. Much. Angst.

And it's well written angst, and it's beautifully written angst, and it's angst with so many issues that it's very nearly physically painful to read, and I Just. Can't. Stop. Reading. Because it's just that damn good, but so full of angst. And at this rate, there are only two ways it can end; either everyone dies and the Planet gets laid to waste, or the good guys triumph and get over their issues and angst and go off to live happy lives with their respective soulmates. And y'know what? Even the former option would be a relief, because I'm sure they'd all be so much happier if they were dead. However, if that happens, I will cry.

*head explodes from angst overload*

Gods, someone just give the man a *hug*! *is not sure whether she is referring to Seph, Cloud, Zack, Hojo, Ro, Cid, Vincent, hells, even Angele- or possibly some combination of the eight*

I...just needed to take a momentary break, you see. Before the angst choked me.

Monday, March 03, 2003

I've figured it out!

I am quite utterly, joyfully, happily, exuberantly, ecstatically-
doomed to obscurity.

*hugs the world and skips off singing "American Pie"*
Perry's familiar? It looks vaguely like a pigeon, except when it turns into a RABID SCREAMING BLOOD EAGLE OF DOOM.

Or rather, when it gets hungry and starts whining, and then it just looks silly.

It's name is Floober.

Aviator familiars work a bit like psychic carrier pigeons, honestly; they transmit orders from HQ or the capital or the Academy or wherever. If a familiar dies, the Aviator will be quite despondent and sick for a while; if the Aviator dies, the familiar dies. There's a two waay life link thing going, but a familiar draws on such a small amount of life force that it isn't fatal to the Aviator. An Aviator can choose to get a new familiar, retire, or to go rogue. If they retire, they hand in their elitas and their uniform, and go home to live out their lives as basketweavers, or fishermen. If they go rogue, they hand in their elitas and...do rogue things. Some of them are pirates. Some of them are freelance messengers/mercenaries, what have you. Some of them are Evil and Enemies of All that is Good. (working on a plot, could you tell?) Rogue Aviators that belong to a group of some sort will make their own elitas to identify themselves...there are a few perfectly respectable mercenary companies that fly under alternate elitas, but there are also a few Rogue armies that are little more than..Evil. (stretching for ideas here, with the whole plot thing...) The most notorious are those with bat winged elitas; most other alternate elitas don't have wings, or have bird wings, but in a different shape.

Anyway. Perry was voted Least Likely to go Rogue in his class at the Academy; the boy's a fanatic. Floober is quite lazy and rather fat; he isn't able to talk, per se, but he can communicate very clearly with Perry. All familiars have a parrot like ability to say their own name and the name of their partner, so Floober's vocabulary is limited to variations on "Floober!" "Perry!" and "Flooberry!" when he's confused. When communicating instructions from the capital, he does some sort of telepathic thing, or he pops into the aethral current for a moment and comes back with an actual, physical message. Useful things, familiars. An Aviator chooses an egg when he receives his Fourth Class elitas (Fifth class elitas are student wings; even humans can wear them) and then takes care of it until it hatches. Bonding with a familiar is supposed to be a very private thing; the first person the familiar sees is its partner, and the first word it hears is its name. Perry, unfortunately, was visiting home when Floober hatched, during a Yule celebration. He was having dinner, in fact, surrounded by his dozen or so little sibblings. One of them happened to yell "Floober!" at someone else at the exact moment the egg hatched and the rest, as they say, is history.

Perry still hasn't forgiven his little sister, though she's very repentant and has promised to let Perry name her familiar when she gets one. Perry thinks that's all well and good, but given his sister's temperament, she'd name her familiar Fluffykins Snooglywoop the Third on her own. And being able to name her familiar I'm With Stupid doens't make up for the fact that he still has to call Floober by name when sending replies back to the Academy.

I've found that the best way to find out how my characters work is to let them talk; I stuck Trent and Perry in the same room and told them to play nice, and I found out all sorts of silly things about Perry. Trent doesn't like to talk about himself, though he does like to look condescendingly down his nose at Perry and call him a silly child.

"So, what's the familiar's name?"
"None of your business."
"Geez, touchy, much? I was just askin'."
"FLOOBER!" *sound of bird launching itself at Trent's head*
"Hello there, Floober. Want a peanut?"
"Flooberfloober!"
"I'll take that as a yes..."
"Damn it, Floob!"
"Don't get mad at your familiar, Perry. He's just bein' friendly, unlike some people I could name..."
"Floo..." *nibblenibbleCHOMP*
"Watchit, you flying rat, that's my finger!"
"Nice work, Floober."
"Rabid little buggers, you lot are..."

Sunday, March 02, 2003

Devart is a pain in the arse. *_* However, here is a quick sketch of Perry, if Devart feels like working.
Yes, I write like a two year old

In case you were wondering, Perry's ass is very clearly marked.
*silly*
Don't Ask

Creepy evil face thing that decided to draw itself. Have decided to swear off introspection for the time being, lest similar things start pouring out of my fingers at a more frequent rate.

Fortunately I can now move on to something else...like Nazca! ...Or the Aviators, of course.
Nazca? Oh. My. GAD.

I'm officially in love with whomever is responsible for the Warrior character designs. Mmm, Incan spandex. With feathers! The normal characters don't thrill me much (aside from Shinri and Tate and, to a certain extent, Dan) but the Warriors- excuse me as I mop up the drool. :)

I'm also in love with whomever is responsible for the complete lack of comprehension within the entire thing. NOTHING MAKES SENSE!!! NOTHING! I love it! Dan and the mop! Dan in general! The skateboarders! Daimon's glasses, and Tate's hair! Kyoji's family- they make no sense! At all! And then they all ran off to Peru, and NOBODY BATTED AN EYE. PERU! From Japan! There is no sense! G'wahahahahahahaHA!

*deep breath* Whew. Sorry. THE INCA RUINS MADE NO SENSE!!! *cough* Now I'm done. No, really.

So, the characters? Not bad, considering that nothing makes sense. Kyoji is clueless and in denial; Tate, Shinri, Daimon, the random girl, even Aquira- they're all so. very. Eeeevil. Especially Shinri. Oh, so evil. Tate comes in at a close second in terms of sheer Evil, but Shinri takes the cake with his purple hair and creepy eyes and demented smile. Oh, the evil. It's worse than FFTactics in terms of "Gee, look at me, I'm all alone against the minions of hell and damn there are a lot of minions in hell". Hell, it's worse than Tactics in terms of the "Wow, my best friend, two brothers, teammate, and sister just stabbed me in the back and betrayed me" factor, and I didn't think that was possible. Poor, poor, Kyoji. He's got no one left but Dan, who flirts with Miyuki, who is Kyoji's sister and all of twelve years old (demented, but cute) and Yuka, who really doesn't seem all that sane, if you ask me. Not after that stunt she pulled at the lake in episode three.

Shall I start at the beginning? There's Kyoji, high school student and member of the Kendo club. There's Tate, his teacher, and Yuka, Tate's fiance. There's Daimon, Kyoji's best friend; Shinri, Kyoji's worst enemy; the creepy redhead, Shinri's girlfriend; Miyuki and Jiisan, Kyoji's family; and Dan, the random mountaneering guy that Kyoji scammed into joining the Kendo club who can't do much with a sword, but don't let him get his hands on a mop. The story? Tate goes crazy, and suddenly everyone is wearing spandex, and Kyoji falls off a cliff. Repeatedly. In spandex. And they have feathers in their hair. Big feathers. Mmm, spandex.

It doesn't make any sense at all, you know. None. The Inca backstory is all just a thin excuse to put feathers in everyone's hair, and to give them bad excuses to randomly go to Peru. It's great. But there's reincarnation, and I'm a sucker for reincarnation stories. (Even more of a sucker for spandex, but hushup anyway...) And it's pretty, very pretty, though the second episode relied far too heavily on poorly done CG with stupid camera angles and too many lens flares. It was also quite random- "Lets stay put for now, until the fog clears." "Look, the clouds!" *THUNDERCLAP, HEAVENS OPEN, INCAN CITY DESCENDS* "Doot doo doo...lets climb this spontaneously appearing staircase into these very random floating ruins because we both know there's some sort of EVIL WARRIOR OF DOOM chasing us, but of course he wouldn't be lurking in these conveniently placed SPOOKY RUINS, since they're surrounded by so many BLINDING LENS FLARES and SHINY TEXTURES." And then Kyoji fell off a cliff. Repeatedly.

Excuse me as I have far too much fun with capital letters.

And this is one of those rare cases wherein I'm not the only one noticing the slashyness. When Kyoji was blabbing about how much he respected Tate, Yuka was all "It's a really good thing you're not a girl." And Shinri's Tate's bitch, without a doubt. *shudder* Creepy, he is. Daimon, too; he's everyone's bitch, if you ask me. *snort* Nowhere near as bad as Shinri, of course, I don't think that's possible, but there's definitely some subtext between him and Kyoji- or at the very least, between Orehon and Bilka. It's ridiculous, and delightfully silly, and I love it.

I actually don't hate Yuka, even though she is voiced by Megumi Hayashibara, and I don't particularly like Megumi Hayashibara (hides from wrathful otaku) given her performance as Faye on Bebop- she's the reason I can't watch the subtitled version of Bebop, actually. But she doesn't bother me so much as Yuka, which is fortunate. And Yuka redemed herself after jumping into the lake and coming out all Semi-Evil. That, and Aquira's design is damn-nifty, as was the astral traveling thing she pulled off to bitch at Tate.

Ye gods, and the music! The music, the music, the music! When it's not stupid sounding, it's utterly fantabulous, all classical instrumental and beautiful or vaguely South American sounding with mountain flutes. And the opening theme is Fugue in G minor, performed by Eccentric Opera. The opening theme is really what decided me on the whole series, despite the silliness and lack of sense. Any series that uses Fugue in G minor as it's opening theme automatically kicks ass.

Y'know the opening for Malcom in the Middle? Y'know those random anime sequences, the one with the grinning guy in the rain, and the skateboarder? Those are from Nazca. The grinning guy is Shinri, and the skateboarder got his ass kicked quite soundly by Tate when Tate was doing the creepy "I am Warrior, feel my Iryatesse wrath! Bwa ha, $k8R boi!" No, really, that's exactly what he did.

So, yeah. Nazca. Me like. Will perhaps draw fanart of Yawaru, as he is damnsexy with the feathers in his hair, or of Evil!Shinri, as he is creepy no matter what costume he's wearing. Not Kyoji or Bilka, though, because they're just silly. *giggle* Well, really, how could I not like a series that centers around swordfighting and boys in spandex to further its plot? Incan spandex, no less. :D I'm so going to have ridiculous amounts of fun with this series...(But poor, poor Kyoji, getting his arse soundly thrashed in every episode...)

Saturday, March 01, 2003

Thought about Aviators today; would be designing insignia and uniforms and such if I weren't working on the uber disturbing thing that is currently absorbing most of my time; it's a white on black lineart scarey clown thing that freaks me out a bit, despite the fact that I'm the one drawing it. I've discovered that teeth are just as difficult as hands or feet, if not more so, and that fangs are worse than teeth. Also, I must stop being an idiot and draw things large enough the first time, rather than having to resize them after I've sketched them.

Coincidentally enough, when working on it, "Sympathy for the Devil" started playing. I think it's the thing's theme song. Damn grinning minions of Evil...*sigh*

Anyway. Aviators. I've been bouncing names around in my skull lately, since I was flipping through my Latin dictionary the other day...I've decided on Perry, short for Peregrine, as an Aviator name. Perry Fulbright, Post Aviator Second Class- basically, a mailman. :) Also, because I've been reading Sabriel by Garth Nix (if you haven't read it, you must, it's wonderful), I've decided that I must be more creative (this is also because of an article by Mary Gentle on the degradation of sf/fantasy writing) and that in addition to the Aviators, there will be Slingmen, who are a bit like Aviators, only completely different and entirely unrelated.

*blinkblink* They work with rocks, small, oval-shaped rocks, the kind one would typically see used as a sling bullet. The bullets are etched with runes and made of a rare sort of mineral that can hold magic, of sorts; it takes quite a bit of training and study to learn the runes and markings, though just about anyone can, with enough practice. However, once you've got a slingstone, you can't do jack shite with it unless you've got a sling- the mineral that the bullets are made of must reach a certain velocity before the runes can activate, so you've got to swing it around quite a bit. Depending on the runes, and the shape of the stone, this can require just a simple overhead whirl, or something a bit more complex that resembles the nunchaku maneuvers of various extras in certain Bruce Lee movies. Mages in the Aviator world are quite physically fit, though their slinging arm tends to be a bit more developed than their off arm...it's common practice for them to be ambidextrous, though, as sprained wrists and broken fingers are commonplace for slingmen, as are concussions. :)

(*whirwhirwhir* "Hey Perry, watch this!" "Damn it, Trent, watch where you're swinging that thing!" "No, just watch, it's really cool-" *crack* *thud* *thunk* ... "Trent? Hello? Can you hear me? How many fingers am I holding up?" "Twelve?" "...Close enough...")

The Aviators are people who have graduated from one of the six Academies of Aviation- they're similar to the slingmen in that they use magic, but that's about it. They fly, either in the air or through the aethral currents. Aviators of higher classes can survive in the currents for longer periods of time, or something to that effect...There are two primary types of Aviators, those with bird elitas, and those with bat elitas. I'll sketch these eventually, but the elitas are their badges, usually worn as cloak pins. A typical elitas badge is a pair of spread wings with a circle inbetween them. The insignia on the circle tells what branch of Aviation the bearer is part of; the metal tells the class. Fifth class, brass (student wings, basically); fourth class, pure copper; third class, steel; second class, pure silver; first class, gold. The class above first, Elite, has elitas made of runestone, the stuff slingmen make their bullets from. The Elite are all members of Her Majesty's Special Forces, unless they're headmasters at the academies.

Most Aviators are third or second class; first class Aviators typically get jobs as advisors or generals and such, while the Elite are another matter entirely...I haven't yet worked out how the Aviators do what they do- I think it may be an inborn talent, but I doubt it. They probably aren't human; in fact, they almost definitely aren't. (brainstorming, working out ideas...) They don't exactly have pointed ears or webbed toes, but the Aviators all tend to be small, compact people with very sharp features. They have beaky noses and uniformly black eyes, and a liking for earrings and shiny metal jewelry. The only thing that really distinguishes them from humans are their fingernails, which are black and somewhat talon-like.

They live among humans in the cities and towns, though there are purely Aviator colonies in remote areas along the coast. Not all Aviators actually become Aviators...must come up with a name for the species...*_* Those that don't attend an Academy live out their lives as normal people, doing normal things, exactly like humans. Intermarriage with humans is tolerated and in some places celebrated (while in others, considered taboo...) though children tend to be uncommon in such cases. There are halfbreeds, though, and while they can attend an Academy, they usually don't rise above third class.

Humans also attend the Academies, because they're excellent schools in terms of academics, in addition to the Aviation skills that are taught. Of course, since Aviators tend to be solitary, quiet people, there's a fair amount of resentment among the students...the humans resent the Aviators' ability to fly, and the Aviators resent the humans' noisy invasion of their space.

About the world; since I'm reading Sabriel, and because Mary Gentle wrote Rats and Gargoyles and the White Crow books, and since I'm in the mood for something a little different (even if this will require research, should I ever discover a plot), the world this takes place in is somewhere in the middle of the industrial revolution. There are trains, and cars, and factories, and guns; smog clouds the skies and most of the fish swim backstroke near the cities. Haven't worked out geography yet; will have to do that eventually. Think late nineteenth century London, for the most part. (must do research...*sigh*) So Perry is armed with a pistol and a saber ("Second Class Post-Aviator Perry Fulbright, in service to the royal family and Her Majesty, the Queen, reporting for duty, sah!" *nearly cuts off his head saluting with saber*) while Trent Rhoswen has his sling and three or four one-shot derringer-type things on his person at all times.

Perry is sent to pick up a delivery by his commanding officer; the delivery turns out to be Trent, who is a slingman, and I'm sure there's a reason for him to be in the capital, but I haven't gotten that far in terms of plot. Perry is rather young, but nearly fanatical about his job. He hasn't had much exposure to the world outside the Academny, though, so he has all sorts of prejudices and misconceptions to deal with. Trent is somewhat older, and rather mysterious, as I've not thought about his character at all. I think he's grizzled, but that's about it. There might be a girl named Miranda wandering around who's important in some way or another, but then, there might not.

I really like the concept, but I haven't got a clue as to what I'm going to do with it...Perry reminds me a little of Templar, only Templar was a complete and utter bastard who wasn't kind to anyone but his horse and occasionally Paige, so there really isn't any similarity at all. The setting reminds me a bit of the world Phillip Pullman's The Golden Compass took place in, but since I only read that once, several years ago, I can't recall exactly why. I do remember that I was deeply disturbed by it, though, and that I felt no desire to read the other books in the series.

Expect, at the very least, some sketches pertaining to this...don't know if I'll have the time or the inclination to do anything else.

"Oh, them. They're currently sitting in the back of my mind with martinis, waiting for me to get around to writing them. If figured if I gave them something to drink, they'd shut up."
"Oh. ...Are they legal?"
"Well, they are in their world."
"I see. And there are martinis in their world?"
"There are now."
http://www.austin360.com/statesman/editions/friday/life_entertainment_1.html

Mostly I am excited about the thought of "The Elric Saga" as a movie...but also because, hey, it's about Michael Moorcock, and that's just cool.