Tuesday, May 31, 2005

Boffo- yes, he gets a theme song.

"I think we can all agree that something has to be done; my roommate used to be a perfectly ordinary soccer hooligan with an extensive knowledge of Humphrey Bogart movies and a taste for fine wine. Now he can't go outside without putting on SPF three hundred and has a taste for type O negative." Dei snagged the sugar bowl out of Tyler's hands before his brother could ruin his tea any further.


"It's not like Toby doesn't get a kick out of being a vampire- give that back, I wasn't done with it." Tyler reached across the table for the sugar.


Opal kicked him in the shins and glared at both of them over her own cup of tea. She looked like she wished she were drinking something a little stronger than tea. "Tyler, behave. Deo, nobody's arguing that we have to do something- it's just that the Nine don't want to get involved in human politics. The moratorium on reality shifting may be gone, but we're still an embarrassment to them, and they're trying to pretend Catenus' bid for power didn't happen."


Dei chewed absently on his thumbnail and tried to ignore the fuzzy feeling that settled in the pit of his stomach whenever Opal used that particular pet name. "The Nine might not want to get involved, but there are plenty of bored angels and demons who wouldn't mind helping us keep an eye on things. We could set up some kind of customs agency for inter-reality travel."


"A secret organization for controlling who comes in and who goes out? Like the Men in Black, only most of 'em won't be men, and they won't wear black?" Tyler lunged for the sugar bowl again, and missed.


"I can pretend he didn't just make that analogy, right?" Opal asked.


Dei shrugged. "I know I am."


"You both suck. But seriously, it's not a bad idea. We ask the Nine to put out a notice that the doors are open, but visitors have to go through customs, first, and follow our rules. The Fae have to keep the eco-terrorism to a minimum, dragons have to adhere to maximum size requirements, angels and demons don't get to interfere with major religions, etcetera, etcetera. We hire a couple of people to enforce the laws, we keep an eye on things-"


"In our copious free time, between expanding our monopoly on the music industry and upholding liberty, freedom, and the American way," Opal interrupted, mouth quirking. "It's a nice idea, but we can only do so much."


"He's got free time." Tyler jerked his thumb at Dei. "Hell, he's on the payroll anyway, he may as well do some work for a change. And the Nine love him, he can be the posterboy for the whole thing."


He set the sugar bowl on the floor at his feet and glared at his brother. "The Nine love me because I can take them apart with my eyes closed. Do you know how much ass kissing goes on in one of their council sessions? It's obscene."


"But you'll do it, right?"


"Of course. But I get to come up with a name. No stupid acronyms."


"Can I write you a theme song?" Tyler was inching his chair closer to Dei's, and the sugar bowl.


Dei snatched it off the floor. "No lyrics."


Tyler looked torn, but he relented. "Fine, no lyrics." Dei handed him the sugar bowl, and he proceeded to fill his teacup.


Opal put her head down on the table and covered her eyes, muttering. "Should I laugh? Should I cry?"


Tyler added a few spoonfuls of sugar to her cup. "Drink your tea, babe. You can help me with Dei's theme song."


---
No, they can't have a scene without tea. It just can't be done.


Little plot-y things: After peace between Heaven and Hell is established, they reinstate the Council of Nine to keep everything balanced and peaceful. It's made up of four angels, four demons, and one other, non-Celestial. Dei sat at the head of it for a few months, but he got fed up really quickly; they expected him to be sober, and this was reasonably soon after the end of the original story. He was having none of that "sober" thing. Feh.


And Toby is just a random guy who ends up living with Dei for reasons that are entirely Jubal and Len's fault. Everything is fine and dandy until he gets attacked by a vampire. Oops. (He's a good kid, though (not really a kid, but whatever), and once he gets over the trauma of being undead, he has way too much fun as a vampire.)


Tyler is such a spaz sometimes. He only ever acts like that around his brother; it's adorable.

ded

OH GOD WHY DOES "SPECTACULAR" RHYME WITH "TENTACULAR". And why am I writing limericks. Oh, god.

This is what following CFUD does to me- it forces me to talk in WAY TOO MANY RANDOM CAPS. ALL OVER THE PLACE.

And then I start thinking in caps and in strikethrough and it's just hilarious sad. Shit. I hate being a sponge.

What was that, Mr Shakespeare? I couldn't hear you, you were SPINNING TOO FAST. And I have limerick chains stuck in my head. Bad limerick chains. I'm going to need to apply, and they're going to need to reject me like whoa, so I can get over this urge to write excessive amounts of bad verse. But on the upside it would keep me in practice in terms of poetry-

So done. Why am I awake this early? *cries*

Monday, May 30, 2005

Aughsomeonestabmenow

Augh, why am I doing this, dear god, why?

Notes for Ophelia app. to Camp Fuck You Die:
(Because yes, every entry will be in some form of poetry. *slays self*)

Sonnet end rhymes:
Bleh. It shouldn't be so difficult to write a bad Shakespearean sonnet. If only my head weren't solely occupied by limericks...

And now I know this is no nunnery;
For surely god would take away our pain,
perhaps provide a submachine gun, or He
could remove those that have gone insane.


Rosemary, that's for thoughts when lying a-bed;
And pansies, I've found, are best for fleeing undead.

...fnk, why isn't there anything that rhymes with zombie? And yes, I avoided the obvious pain/brain rhyme; there are already a number of zombie characters, and I don't want to get rejected on the grounds that they've already accepted Hokuto. Also, Hamlet isn't dead (he's just playing). *slays self three times over until dead from it*

Sunday, May 29, 2005

Useless babble

It feels like I do more whining about not being able to write than actually writing, sometimes; perhaps not recently, with the sudden rash of obscure character inspiration I've been having, but overall...

Meh. Blindsided proceeds slowly; Sasuke insists on making an appearance in chapter 3, so I'm indulging him. It's the beginning of a very long, extended angst-fest for him, and apparently it starts with him bleeding to death. *snork* Sometimes I wonder why I even bother writing at all.

The fight scene with Naruto also goes slowly, because Kabuto wanted to claim it, but I'm not sure I want to do that, and now he's, having second thoughts. Naruto needs to fight someone, damnit.

The headspace has mostly been occupied with working out the details of the jinchuriki and Sand politics. With the latest chapter out, a lot of my old assumptions need to change; it's annoying, but most of the new info is useful. (I'm growing more and more fond of Shukaku, but he seriously pisses Gaara off sometimes. ...and by sometimes, I mean all the time. The kyuubi just sleeps all day- he could give Shikamaru a run for his money in terms of laziness.)

Also in regards to 261- if Gaara dies, I will be upset beyond words. That is all.

Thursday, May 26, 2005

Stella Matin- Brenon Zonila

Stella Matin, Book One, Character Spotlight

Name: Brenon Zonila
Status: simple crafter
age: 14 at the beginning of book one; 22 at the end.
Magi sphere: Sight and Weaving; his sensitivity to visual patterns in the fabric of the universe is exceptional, given his rather mediocre weaving talent. He works primarily with earth and water, but he's able to weave aether in small amounts, as well. He doesn't get a chance to reclassify as a Magicrafter before he dies, but if he had, he probably would have become a low ranking mediweaver.
Crafting sphere: Weaving/clothmaking; in another world, he would make an excellent tailor or designer (in the headspace, he and Jance occasionally discuss fashion trends). He's very creative, and is constantly coming up with new designs and patterns, both for normal weaving and for magicrafting.
Appearance: Tall for his age as a teenager, he ends up somewhere around 5'11"; people in Radrezhaea don't run exceptionally tall. He has strawberry blond hair, green eyes, and freckles. Lots of freckles. His skin is pale and sunburns easily, and he smiles all the time.
Family: Zonil (mother), Rozhaeonil (father), Mihonil (sister), and Theron (adopted brother)

Bren's parents are something of legends in their town; his mother is the chief healer and a council member, and his father was selected by the Voyance to join the Guild Council in the capital. Bren has never actually met his father, as Rozhaeonil was selected before he was born. Before being chosen, Rozhaeonil became very rich by breeding parkeeti; they're commonly used to carry messages across short distances, and they make cute pets.

His sister is a model child; she follows in their mother's footsteps and is well on her way to becoming a mediweaver of great talent. Bren can't stand being in anyone's shadow, much less his sister's or his father's, so he acts out in any way he can. He's a prankster and a brat, but he's ultimately a good kid- even if all of his teachers have tried to kill him at one point or another. (They've all given up; every time they try to stab him, he just goes out a window- and Bren bounces quite well.)

Theron helps to curb a lot of his bratty tendencies, partly because Theron takes bullshit from no one, and because Theron hates people. This hatred manifests itself in him avoiding them; Bren has no chances to play pranks when he spends most of his time wandering in the forest with Theron, catching butterflies for Whimsy.

Theron is the first close friend he ever has; Bren is friendly, cheerful and well liked by his peers, but he isn't close to anyone outside of his family. Theron is someone new (in a small village on the northern border, new people are rare and often shunned) and someone who desperately needs help- and Bren, for all that he doesn't have the power to back it up, is a healer at heart. (Their relationship is brotherly, to a point- weird, but brotherly. This becomes easier on Bren when Zonil actually adopts Theron after Shanreth leaves. At the time, Theron is too screwed up in the head to appreciate what Bren's family has done for him.)

Due to certain traumatic events in his early childhood involving a locked cupboard and a brick, he's very claustrophobic and hates silence. He talks all the time to keep himself from going insane- much like Stella does, two hundred years later. (They're distant cousins, actually- the clairvoyance comes from Bren's father, who has other kids in the capital after he leaves the town that still has no name. Huzzah, zombie incest!)

The summer before Theron leaves for the next country over, Bren locks himself in the cellar with a bunch of tapestry looms, and screams his throat bloody while weaving most of his clairvoyant ability into a tapestry for Theron. When he finally emerges from the basement, his vocal cords are permanently damaged. He sounds like he has a permanent case of laryngitis; it doesn't affect him much in the long run (he couldn't sing to begin with, so there's no loss there) but it does make Walker that much more frightening later on, and it leads Mih to make a lot of tasteless jokes when she finds out about it.

If you stripped Bren of everything that made him who he is, and gave him a slightly sick sense of humor, you'd have Walker. (Take away the freckles, too- Walker's body degrades much faster than a normal Corpse's, so he looks vaguely like a very well preserved bog mummy by the beginning of Book Two.) Walker is cruel; he does whatever the Voyance tells him to do, but he puts his own spin on things. When he's told to ensure Mordant's cooperation with the Voyance's goals, he wired a bomb to the man's spinal column. Nobody actually knows what he's got on Solneki, but some people have speculated that it has something to do with a small room in a very dark basement, a lot of rats, and Solneki's family. (This is utterly untrue; most of the rumors about Walker are just that- rumors. But he does nothing to discourage them, and there's a grain of truth to all of them.)

The idea of upsetting the status quo doesn't even occur to him; he simply does what he's told and keeps himself somewhat entertained. Sometimes this involves illegal drugs; sometimes this involves killing a lot of people for no reason whatsoever. (I think, early on, this is incredibly traumatic to Theron. If Walker hadn't been quite as sadistic and willing to kill as he was, the whole empire would have collapsed much sooner.)

The only real similarity Walker and Bren share is their loyalty to Theron, but for Walker, it's less loyalty and more force of habit than anything else. Being the Voyance's hitman is all he's ever known, until he meets Stella. She helps him regain something of his humanity before he starts remembering things, which makes the transition from Walker to Bren slightly less destructive to their personalities.

At the end, when everything is recovered, (it's a weak ending, really, but I can't give them anything else) Walker regains Bren's body and memories and most of his personality. Unfortunately, even if he was never supposed to exist, Walker has been around for nearly ten times as long as Bren- and it's kind of difficult to just erase two hundred years of your (un)life with a wave of the hand.

Bren would rather be himself than Walker, but he has all of Walker's memories and mannerisms to deal with- given how utterly different they are, it's a struggle for him to remain anything even remotely resembling sane. He comes very close to breaking in the first few days after coming back to himself; in the end, he bends a little, and compartmentalizes his consciousness and gives himself a case of MPD. (No, I really can't write a story that doesn't involve voices in someone's head.) Walker, thankfully, doesn't mind being relegated to the background most of the time; he prefers being Bren, too. They don't actually interact very often, since they're both aware that they are the same person, but Bren occasionally talks about Walker as though he were someone else. It makes Mordant an Solneki very uncomfortable- and Bren isn't cruel, he's just easily amused and still something of a brat. Eventually, Bren and Walker will integrate themselves into a new, cohesive whole; for now, they're taking it slow. (Theron doesn't have this problem, because he just doesn't give a shit about anything but Bren the things he did while he was Voyance. Mihonil's problems are completely different and have more to do with the fact that she's carrying around the memories of several thousand dead people than any personality conflicts she might be having.)

It should be noted, though, that Walker and Stella have a functioning romantic relationship while Bren and Stella do not. They're working on it, but they haven't gotten that far yet. They're like awkward teenagers, actually; it's excessively cute and kind of painful to watch. They have issues, though- Stella doesn't really approve of Bren's continued attachment to Theron, but Bren wouldn't know what to do with himself without some form of abuse in his life. And, of course, being quasi-alive does nothing for Stella's mental state; it strengthens her powers of foresight, which totally screws with her timesense and perception of reality, making her more inclined to skip in circles than form coherent sentences.

Post-apocalyptic Bren is a little more jaded than Original-Flavor Bren, and he has a ruthless streak that wasn't there before. He's quieter, too; he and Stella fill each other's silences, and he's already been through hell, so his old fears don't mean much anymore. He's still completely loyal to the people he loves, but he's less wiling to put up with Theron's bullshit. Eventually, he'll probably break away from the others and do his own thing with Stella, but until then, he'll be sticking around with Theron and the rest of the remnants of the Radrezhaean Empire.
---
*whew* There you go, Bren in a nutshell. Sort of. Whenever I profile a character, everything that isn't actually written is just speculation, so it's difficult to be sure than anything I've got here is at all accurate. I do like the contrast between Bren and Walker, though. Bren still talks to himself, even after he comes back from the dead- it's just that now, he does it less often, and he ends up arguing more.

Song of Shadows snippet

From the top of the highrise, looking down, the city was bright and noisy even now, halfway to dawn. They were good noises, though, healthy, living sounds. Here and there the jangle and dischord of a pack of supplicants disturbed the harmonics of the city, but they were far off and quiet. Nothing she need concern herself with tonight. Nocturne settled more comfortably into a half-state, keeping control but allowing Cata the use of her eyes and skin. Cata could feel the darkness wrapping around her, seeping into her skin. Nocturne's presence was always strangely warm; the shadow was the embodiment of cold, dead things, but to Cata she was like midday in summer.

The wind pulled at Nocturne's hair, playfully, bringing the scent of tears. A moment later, it was followed by the faintest whiff of sulphur; the circle filled itself in as the others arrived.

Von's bitterness was palpable beneath Umbra's cool disdain; Ari'i and Imbrium were humming with mischief.

"How fares the night, my Lady?" Moero crackled with contained energy, all the unpredictable power of his element brought to bear on their circle.

"The night is good." It always startled her to hear Nocturne's voice, like heavy velvet.

Moero leaned over to touch her hair, sparks flying from his fingertips. Nocturne leaned into the touch as she stretched into the sky and earth with limbs that were sometimes arms and legs and sometimes branches. Her shadows had come to her, surrounding her, and her city was alive and dancing below her.

"And now the night is even better." Cata lost track of where she began and ended, bleeding into the Shadow; the four quarters of her circle were complete, and the city was moving and singing, bringing with it that strange euphoria that came with the promise of blood and life and eternity.

Yes, the night was good.

Monday, May 23, 2005

Post-Boffo

It's a girl.

She names her Isis, because she still has dreams of wading through blood with the moon balanced between her arms; she wants her daughter to be everything she could not be.

The baby, like all babies, is perfect (perfection is a relative thing through a mother's eyes) in every way, from the articulation of her fingers to the shock of red hair on her head. Isis. Ishtar. Inana.

Warrior. Mother. Queen. Her eyes will be full of fire when they finally open. But to her mother, she is only a child now, her child, and she is perfect without the weight of her name, so small and warm and full of possibilities.

Carly wakes up with tears on her face, breathing hard. Her bed is as empty now as it has been for the last year, her room as dark.

In the hollow quiet of early morning, she lies awake and wishes she still dreamed of wading through blood.

Sunday, May 22, 2005

Sorrows and Rejoicings

Oh, sweet Chrisy I want to murder ff.net. Nothing new this time, just the same old shit. Grr, arr, blah, blah, blah.

In other news, Sorrows and Rejoicings is done and posted, both at ff.net and at Ficwad.com. Halleluia.

Everything that isn't Blindsided will now be posted in both places, I think; Blindsided will continue to be published at ff.net and at aff.net, but the aff.net version will be the better one because Fanfiction.net's formatting is impossibly stupid. Ficwad, on the other hand, is quite friendly- as long as I'm not trying to upload a file. >_< Can't win. *sigh* I'm debating posting S&A on naruto_gen, but I'm not yet sure I have the courage to do so. Like I've said in the past, I fail at being a whore.

Y'know what's amazingly weird? One of the comments I got on Choice, that stupid, strange fluff-with-weird Setzer/Shadow fic I posted about a year and a half ago, was from one of my current favorite Naruto authors. Bizarre. 'Tis a tiny world. (She said me she thought Shadow was out of character; funny, I kind of agree. *hates that story*)

Thursday, May 19, 2005

Free Thought

second verse, same as the first
a little bit louder and
a little
bit
worse.
sine sine cosine sine three point one four one five nine; these are the numbers that make the world round and round and round again; it's cubed and diced and julienned
perhaps I am a horrible person but here i am in the zone the one the pwned the zone
every convert means I am a winner a winnar in fucking illinois though I hear illinois isn't that big on the fucking these days;
I give up.
I do.
I'm done I give up I am tired of this shit I will have it no longer no more no more there's a world out there (that is cubed, not square) and I will not deal with it any longer
the dream thief's daughter was singing softly to her father (her husband) who split the earth in two with a black, black sword; this story is not mine. none of these stories are; they are the tales of sunny hills and rainy days; the cafe isn't even mine it's just a sign, not a truth at all but a sign
I don't know whose story this is anymore; they are taken from pieces and pieces (and kisses, and kisses- I wear your trenchcoat) bastardized and romanized (maybe its the same thing in the end) and maybe I just need to move, to dance, to groove to keep my fingers placing themselves in danger danger will robinson the words cannot stop for if they stop they die and who wants a bunch of corpses lying around
(theron, don't answer that)
the strange truth about my characters, these quiet, soft, little voices in my head; they are lonely and they are lost and they do not know how to be angry; I do not know how to be angry, and I do not know how to be anyone but myself
I apologize for being myself; I cannot apologize for anything else
save that if I stop I may die; sometimes I feel like I shall never stop (I'll walk the tightrope)
and they all had it better; was I the curse that doomed small endeavors to nothingness? nichevoi nyet I cannot place these words, these characters these lines on the page
I am no hypothesis no hypothetical angel theoretical demon devil woman speak of me and then lose whatever thoughts you had; my brain must stay a few steps ahead of my fingers to keep one word from losing sight of the ones before it; it follows; all I do is make clear the path and everything follows
somewhere far in the future, the pathmaker forerunner waysaver naysayer wavemaker the one who went first, somewhere, that one has stopped; and in stopping, died, for to stop is to die and so moving is life so is this a little death when I come to the end of a sentence? full stop I do not know I do know what I do not know parets the letters do not follow please do not interrupt;
the nonsense happens when my fingers feel for muscle memory
I was talking about my characters at one point; it loops it circles, it does not stop; it cannot stop nothing can stop oh, nothing can stop
they are me and I am them but mostly they are me because my own ego is too strong to give this up; the only thing about me that is strong
I cannot blame this on my sad and sorry state; this is who I am- I am not worth your time or your letters or you full fledged full born blessed words- not to mention your sentences and paragraphs; you would kill me with a wealth of gifts and blessings. these are not things that i deserve; perhaps all that is my due is a simple punctuation mark, all the ink that can be spared to make a footnote that leads nowhere
I do not know; I cannot know; I fear the knowing and I fear the not-knowing
it repeats and it loops- once I said I wanted to learn everything there was to learn (but I lied, I always lie) and I said I wished to know enough to blend in, chameleon-like with every surrounding
I wish to know everything, so that, in knowing them, all places will be the same. I wish to walk freely without fear of being alone; I wish to go everywhere and find nowhere to be unfamiliar, nowhere to be strange;
I wish to be everything and everywhere so that I will never know fear again.
these are my motivations, but they are not strong
it is not often that I find the words making so much sense; poor rasputin has lost the will to toggle, and I have little enough energy to spare to toggle my own thoughts past the marker; do not pass go do not collect your thoughts this train has been derailed detrailed demarcated embarked upon but it's already gone
we were too late;
we've missed our ride.
third verse, same as the first.
a little bit louder
and a little
bit
worse.

I am nothing, if not honest.
(but I could be lying)

Tuesday, May 17, 2005

Writing babble

Augh. *gnaws on S&A* This bloody thing started out as a drabble. A drabble, damnit. It was Day 6 of December, and it was going to end after a few paragraphs. Then it wanted a few pages, and I said sure, why not- I can spare a couple thousand words. Now it wants chapters and rationalizations, and research.

I hate it when stories expand. This one in particular, since it's just a metric fuckton of angst, irritates me. I love it; I think it's probably better written and more smoothly executed than To Carthage, Burning, but it refuses to finish itself. But I don't have the endurance to deal with the angst, and I want it to be something neat and self contained. I don't want to care about why Temari is Kazekage instead of Gaara (because I know why- it just isn't pertinent to the story), or how Sakura really reacted when she found out Naruto was sick.

I'm not writing the expanded version; I'm going to finish the one shot, and have done with it.

Feh. It will be done by tomorrow night come hell or high wind, and Blindsided 3 will be done by the end of the week, Gourd willing.

Friday, May 13, 2005

Stella Maeroris (Matin, whatever)

So, because certain people have been making comments that have been making Theron weep bitter tears of humiliation, I've been reading over the beginning bits of Stella Maeroris (I should just give up and call it Stella Matin; it rolls off the tongue better). And, ahahaha, it sucks. But it sucks in a sort of endearing way, and it reminded me of how much I loved pre-dead Shanonil, and all her moodswinging, conflicted, emotionally abusive ways.

So I've decided to post the whole thing, piece by piece, in it's entire, unedited, unbeta-ed, nonsensical glory. So far only Part One is posted (Shanonil's story, and an interlude), but I'll work on separating Bren's story into chapters as well.

Part one, chapter one. (This bit sucks, mind you. It's one of my least favorite sections, in that I can see exactly how it plays out in my head, but translating it to words just sort of fails. Miserably. There are parts that I like, I just don't think this one works very well.) (Also? Not edited. Not revised. Not checked for anything but spelling, which is why there are ferrets. I wrote most of the story on too little sleep and too much batshit crazy, and occasionally the narrative reflects this.)

Whee!

Tuesday, May 10, 2005

Everyone's doing it; why not me?

Dear Naruto Fandom,
I have three things to say to you. They are as follows:

1 (one): Naruto is not emo. He is not suicidal, nor is he prone to cutting, self mutilation, or eating disorders. He is also not prone to referring to Sasuke as anything other than "Bastard." Please note that "Sasu-chan" is about as close to the opposite of "Bastard" as one can get.

2 (two): Iruka is not a hysterical woman. Nor is he a twelve year old girl, a "mere chuunin," or any sort of weeping uke. The man's a fucking ninja, people. No, he's not a genius, but that doesn't automatically make him completely helpless.

3 (three): Itachi is not a sex fiend. His diabolical plans do not revolve around his not-so-secret desires for any of the following: Sasuke, Naruto, Sakura, or Hinata. He is also incapable of warm and squishy feelings, unless you count the sensation that comes with removing a person's internal organs with one's fist.

Thank you, and goodnight.

Monday, May 09, 2005

Okay, so I'm a little slow on the uptake sometimes; I just got around to downloading the intro to Alter Code F- the Wild Arms remake that was supposed to hit the states a year ago, but never did.

The intro to the original Wild Arms game was- and still is- an example of absolute top-notch animation, combined with one of the most awesome theme songs ever. The music, the character and scenery designs, the storyboarding- everything about that intro pretty much pwns on any other intro out there. Yes, I am biased, shut up. I love that game. (And yes, I did just watch the Three Libras video six times in a row. Again, shut up.)

The intro for Alter Code F? No. Just- no. Why is Hanpan the size of a racoon? Why is Jack's face lopsided? Why did you show Cecilia throwing her hair off a cliff? Wtf? And the red balloon? Cute, but no. So much no. No everywhere, like drooling zombie babies. Giving Cecelia curly hair? No. Turning the eighth Golem into a giant mecha a la Gundam Wing? No. Giving Bartholomew any screen time at all? No. You get points for Emma, but Jane with the giant chest of treasure? No.

I could forgive the character designs and the poor directing if the animation weren't so awful- faces all out of proportion, bodies made of rubber, and other, stupid things that are just the result of carelessness. The original intro was just fucking beautiful, and the setting, with the moons overhead and the cliffs at sunrise, was perfect for the intro theme. None of this sunlight crap- it's all about the darkness. For such a lighthearted game, there is a surprising amount of darkness to it, and that's what makes it so wonderful.

Feh. I really miss that game, now. Endless repetitions of Vagrant Story isn't going to cut it; I need to either find my copy, or buy a new one. *goes poking at ebay*

Thursday, May 05, 2005

Blindsided Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Aaaauuuugh. Hate hate hate. Only not really, but still. The first chapter was so well paced, whereas this one is so not. *frustrated*

Oh well. It's mostly just filler and exposition; thankfully, I get to introduce Kabuto (and possibly Sasuke) in the next chapter- which will probably be out sometime in, oh, I don't know, August.

Chrisy, I need sleep.

Wednesday, May 04, 2005

Conspiracy of Cartographers?

Written for the Moneta prompt; a cartography, of sorts.

Where do things begin and where do they end?

broken
shattered cracked crazed crushed crunched blasted
demolished destroyed demoralized dehumanized decomposed imploded exploded torn twisted stressed smashed-

When something falls, glass especially, there is always that moment
when you wonder- is it going to hit the ground?
You hope, for a moment- just a moment- that it won't, that this time, this time it will just stop - there, six inches above the ground, hovering smug.
Or you watch it tilt, tip, turn, and feel that cold clench at the base of your ribcage, like a fist, like death- knowing you can't move quickly enough, knowing your reflexes are never fast enough. It moves through the air and you watch it fall- not in slow motion, just normal, every day acceleration due to gravity, nine point eight straight down with allowances for air resistance and distance from the center of the earth. It falls and you watch and you watch and it falls and you can't really think of anything beyond a half-hearted, resigned-
oh, no.
And then there's the noise, the crash, the sound of molecules disengaging, bonds breaking, energy being released in vibrations through the air, disturbing the membranes of your ear. Your heart races in the aftershock, with ice flowing through your veins.
You pick up the pieces in a dustpan, throw them away (more noise, but muted, sliding, the sound of teeth along a fork, or fingernails along your nerves). Wipe up the dust, the grit.
Your heartbeat slows, steadies, and life goes on. Maybe, later when you take out the trash, you'll hear the pieces of it rattling at the bottom of the bag; maybe you'll find a bit of dust, sharp and bright, between your toes the next time you walk barefoot across the kitchen; you'll stop and thing again, soft and resigned-
oh, no
and then life resumes; situation normal.

Tuesday, May 03, 2005

Come on boys and girls come a little closer
I'm the reanimator.

Come on, reanimate your feet.
If you're feelin dead I'll be your reanimator;
I've got he way to bring you to life
A superior existence with no one to control you
Where you can always do what you like

Let me give you some green color
And you will ask for more
You will see that you've never felt this way before
Party without limits, have sex and don't be blue
Freedom is eternal for you, you, you!

Move your dead bones bone bones
The secret will keep you alive
Move your dead bones bone bones
You'll dance for the rest of your life
Move your dead bones bone bones
The secret will keep you alive
Move your dead bones bone bones
You'll dance for the rest of your life
Reanimate your feet!

All you people listen to your reanimator
Don't hesitate and give it a try
And you'll be satisfied as long as I can give you
A guarantee that you ll never die

Let me give you some green color
And you will ask for more
You will see that you've never felt this way before
Party without limits, have sex and don't be blue
Freedom is eternal for you, you, you!

Move your dead bones bone bones
The secret will keep you alive
Move your dead bones bone bones
You'll dance for the rest of your life
Move your dead bones bone bones
The secret will keep you alive
Move your dead bones bone bones
You'll dance for the rest of your life
Reanimate your feet!
-Dr. Reanimator, "Move Your Dead Bones"

OMG Theron shut up. That's not funny.

This, however, is, and it's the reason I have this song stuck in my head.

Oh, goodness. Stella Maeroris actually takes place in the 80s equivalent time period of Radrezhaea. *pain*

absence makes the heart grow fungus

Oh, goodness. Rather than sleeping, or doing my last homework assignment of the semester, (w00t, yo) what am I doing?

Well, since no one else has done a remix of Let It Begin, I figured, "Why the hell not?" And here I am, with my freeware midi synth thingy, a pile of game tracks, and some vague notions about minor keys and reverb.

I make myself sad sometimes.

Dum dum dummm dadada daadum...

Monday, May 02, 2005

Spam spam spam spam...

"Begin the End of the Beginning" by Big Giant Circles? ZOMGZ but I love this remix. It's all about FFA, my bitches. Yes indeed, that is what it is all about. (I wish someone would remix "Let It Begin," because I used to hook up my gameboy and listen to that song on repeat for hours.) OCRemix makes me happy in pants, yo. (I want to learn to remix music. I also want to be a physics major and study sound. A shame we can't all get what we want.)

Been tweaking Sorrows and Rejoicings; the ending with Sakura seems too random if I don't build up to it, but fitting a Sakura scene anywhere else is equally random. If I have her talk to Naruto after Orochimaru shows up, the whole scene is just an excuse for angst- and this fucking fic doesn't need any more of that. I really want to have the ending focus on her, and that's just awkward and out of the blue given the current structure of the story. *kicks story*

Grarr. *gnashes teeth* And Blindsided 2 still needs work, of course, but it's nearly done. I just need to finish the last scene, cut down the stupid fight scene, and make the whole thing a little less wanktastic.

I should think in terms of something other than fanfic, but I don't really care to. The original characters aren't being particularly vocal; I haven't written anything for Song of Shadows in nearly a year, I don't think. (Jesus fuck, how has it been a year already?) I keep telling myself I'm going to work on that story, either the Preludes or the Theme and Variation, (Will I ever write something that isn't grounded in music? Probably not.) if not the actually bloody story. (Preludes would be the Academy days; Thema would be the post-story pieces- the ones that mostly just involve Von and Ari'i having lots and lots of angsty sex.)

I want to finish Seventh Hour, even though I have no idea where it's going or how it's going to end. How the hell do you end a story that has spanned the lifetimes of stars? I don't even know half of what's going on between Marcus and Inana, and thusfar the characters have only begun to hint at the relationships between them.

Why, why, why can't I just write a story? Beginning, middle, ending. Plot, rising action, climax, falling action, conclusion. Why is it so difficult? I would have so much less trouble with this if reincarnation didn't play such a big part in so many of my ideas. *facepalm* Man...YuGiOh! with vampires, that's all SoS is- and Seventh Hour isn't much better. It is, in fact, worse. "La dee da, oh, you want to be freed from the endless cycle of slavery and reincarnation do you? Fine then, I'll just curse the both of us to an eternity of hating each other and thwarting each other and this will go on for ever and ever until you find a way for all of humanity to achieve perfect freedom. Good luck!" Yes, Inana. That was smart.

*sigh*

Jason Mraz - On Love, In Sadness lyric

Occasionally I wish I weren't such a typical twit of a teenaged girl, I really, really do. Me, I blame society, for not teaching us to differentiate between lust and love, and for expecting us to look for something as foolish and enslaving as a soulmate.

I disgust myself occasionally, with the stupid cirlces I run myself in. It's idiotic, and I know I'm above it. Fortunately, realizing what I'm doing is the first step towards putting an end to it. I am tired of this.

Anyway. I love this song, because it's upbeat and silly and energetic and joyous, and joy has been something rather lacking in my life of late.

Sometimes I am such an idiot.
-----------------------------------

Oh love it’s a brittle madness, I sing about it in all my sadness
It’s not falsified to say that I found God so,
Inevitably well, it still exists so pale and fine I can’t dismiss it-
I won’t resist and if I die well at least I tried

And we just lay awake in lust and rust in the rain
And pour over everything we say we trust
It happened again, I listened in thru hallways and thin doors
Where the rivers unwind, rust and in the rain endure.
The rust and the rain are sins
And I’m in like flynn again

So go on place your order now cause some other time is right around the clock
You can stand in line. It finally begins just around the block
You can have your pick if your stomach is sick whether you eat or not
And there is just one thing that I never forgot:

Oh, see you and me we lay awake in lust and rust in the rain
And pour over everything we say we trust
It happened again, I listened in through hallways and thin doors
Where the rivers unwind, rust and in the rain so easy
These are the comforts that be

You see well I’m feeling lucky oh well, maybe that’s just me
You should be proud of me oh hell if you could only see
That we’re gonna grow on up to be, ah yes
We are thick as thieves

Oh love it’s a brittle madness, I sing about it in all my sadness
It’s not falsified to say that I found god
Inevitably, well it still exists pale and fine I can’t dismiss
And I won’t resist and if I die well at least I tried

And we just lay awake in lust and rust in the rain
And pour over everything we say we trust
It happened again, I listened in through hallways and thin doors
Where the rivers unwind and the rust and the rain endure
(The rust and the rain endure, I’m sure.)

I am in so far to know the measure of love isn’t loss
Love will never ever be in so far to know the measure of love isn’t loss
Love will never ever be lost on me.
Love will never ever be lost on me.
-Jason Mraz, "On Love, In Sadness"

random

I am lazy! So lazy! Also done! Stick a fork in me, I'm done! Also, I suck like a two dollar whore- not well, not with much effort, but oh, so much.

And now, a moment of Blindsided:

There were three of them. Of course there were three of them, they always came in groups of three. He knew that. His thought processes were moving slower than usual; he hadn't slept since they'd left Konoha, and he wasn't planning on resting any time soon. He'd gotten so used to dreamless sleep, he didn't know if he could handle a resurgence of nightmares.

Still. There were three of them, standing next to each other in order of height- the girl flanked by her two brothers. They stared up at him with identical copper colored eyes; if they were afraid, they hid it well.

Gaara looked down at his genin team and felt the familiar coiling of homicidal rage in the pit of his stomach. To do list for today, he thought to Shukaku. Return library books. Pick up new lamp for the kitchen. Strangle sister with her own bleeding entrails. Is that everything?

The sand demon gave the equivalent of a mental shrug. I'm hungry.

Right. Gaara mentally penciled in "eat lunch" after the library. The three genin were still staring at him. On second thought, let's put Temari's demise at the top of the list.

Sunday, May 01, 2005

Brief sandsib excerpt and whinng

Somebody tell my muse to stop telling me to write sandcest. I'll write the stupid grave robbing idea, I swear, I just refuse to write any sandcest beyond Shukaku perving on Temari occasionally.

My inner Gaara (who is currently sleeping in Vlad's bed, much to Farfarello's displeasure) would just break down and cry if I wrote sandcest. Just curl up into a little ball and make with the tears, tears everywhere. And it would be pathetic. And I would feel horrible. So I'm not going to do it. Hence, the muse needs to quit it.

On the plus side, the grave robbing thing pleases me, conceptually, because I adore Kankurou, and he's amazingly morbid when he wants to be. This is not him being morbid; that comes later.

"Wood, Sand, and Bone"

Temari looks like their mother, who was deadlier than any sand viper, but seemed soft, so soft. So Temari ties her hair in knots (their mother's was always perfectly combed and pinned) and only smiles when drawing blood (their mother always smiled so gently, but she was a poisoner at heart). She made herself hard and cold and sharp, but the shape of her face is still delicate and feminine, and unmistakeably that of a woman fifteen years dead.

Gaara looks like their father, which is why he lets his hair grow untamed and why he smears kohl around his eyes to make the green (strange and water colored in a country too accustomed to stone and sand) stand out more. It's why he won't allow mirrors in the hallways, and why there is no longer a row of portraits behind the Kazekage's desk. It would be difficult to mistake him for his predecessor, regardless; one look at the way he cares for his village gives him away.

Kankurou has hidden behind his puppets for too long; he no longer remembers the shape of his own face beneath the paint. It's easier to cover his hair (blond and unruly, like their mother's) and shade his eyes (dark, like their father's) than see himself in his siblings and photographs of the dead.