You tried to strip me of any shred that's left of me

Once again, the need to write has produced something with far too many awkward gaps. It could use more polishing, but whatever. It's retcon with kittens, it doesn't need anything more than that.

This negates the bit I wrote for December, because I'm incapable of killing Silverlock unless it's metaphorically. And it introduces something vaguely like a plot for the aftermath of Stella Matin; up until now, it's all just been so much soap opera. There will probably be follow-up bits to this because, obviously, Theron doesn't get offed in a public execution, even though he totally deserves it.

Takes place a month or so after Theron and Co arrive in Shaivhen.
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There were times when Theron felt incredibly fond of his companions; he might almost go so far as to say that he cared about their well-being. Sometimes, he even thought he would be upset if anything untoward were to happen to them.

"BOSS! WE HAVE A SITUATION DOWN HERE!"

"Get it away get it away brain stalker wall walker unforgiveable monstrous, monstrous things..."

"Stella, come on, calm down, don't- shit, Stella!"

"It's evil kill it kill it kill it rip its head off devour the soul the heart the liver the brain sliced lengthwise unforgiven no matter what-"

"BOSS, SERIOUSLY."

This was not one of those times. Theron stared at the closed door of his office and pressed his thumbs against the headache pounding in his temples. "Shut up, all of you. For five minutes. That's all I want. That's all I've ever wanted, just five fucking minutes of peace," he muttered. They couldn't hear him, of course, and if they could, it was unlikely they'd listen.

Stella's shrieks rose in volume and pitch until she went right through screaming into hissing- which Theron could still hear through the door. And Solneki- Solneki, the only halfway sane and reasonably quiet one of the lot- was still shouting for him.

He punched the button on the intercom. "Shut up, Sol. And tell Mordant to stop doing whatever he's doing. I'll be down in a minute."

Solneki's voice was crackly and apologetic through the speaker. "Yes, sir. Sorry, sir."

He opened the door to his office, half expecting to see Stella beset by demons, or zombies, or possibly rats and locusts- and instead found her cowering at the end of the hallway, staring in sightless, abject terror, at a tiny gray and white kitten sitting at the top of the stairs.

The kitten's fur was standing on end, and it was hissing like a tea kettle. Brenon was wrapped around Stella, trying to calm her.

"What the hell is that, and how did it get here?"

"I have no idea. It just showed up on the stairs and Stella started screaming." Bren had wrestled Stella's cane away, and was stroking her hair with one hand. He held her wrists with the other; there were shadows on his face that would have been bruises, on anyone else. "Go see what Sol's bitching about, would you? He's only making things worse."

Theron rested his head against the door. "Aren't you supposed to be good at dealing with crazy women and small animals?"

Bren gave him one of Walker's glares- a look of pure venom with just the hint of promised violence. Being on the receiving end of those glares was a new thing- neither Bren nor Walker would have ever dared before. He couldn't decide if this was good or bad, but the look made his chest clench in ways that should have hurt, but didn't.

"Fuck off, Theron."

"Get her to shut up, first. Gag her if you have to." The kitten stopped hissing when he approached the stairs and began calmly washing its ears. Cats. Go figure. "Stop terrorizing the crazy woman," he said to it. "You're making my headache worse."

The kitten looked up at him with bright yellow eyes, and then latched itself to his pantleg, purring loudly. It ignored him when he tried to shake it off.

Theron stomped down the stairs, and failed to dislodge the kitten. He could vaguely remember a time when he was respected, feared and obeyed- but only vaguely.

Downstairs, Solneki had his gun out and a man in a cloak had Mordant up against the wall with a hand around his throat. Theron sighed. The kitten purred. "Sol, stand down. Mordant, what do I pay you for?"

"Nothing, boss. We haven't gotten paid in months."

"Details. I hired you to look threatening, Mordant. To engage in acts of general thuggery. To protect my person and my interests. But I'm seeing a picture in front of me, Mordant. And there's something wrong with it." Theron crossed his arms to keep his hands from twitching towards the threads of magic in the air.

"Fuck, really? Thuggery? I thought that was Walker's job. Figured I was here for comic relief." Mordant grinned, but his voice was strained.

"Put my body guard down, sir. I apologize for whatever he said or did to offend you. He can't help being an idiot." The kitten climbed Theron's pants and ended up in his pocket. Theron thought of cat hair and black clothes, and grimaced.

"I know it is rather difficult to find good help these days." Mordant dropped like a sack of potatoes, and the stranger pulled back his hood as he turned. "But I expected better of you, my dear. Can't imagine why, but I did."

For a few moments, he could only gape, until a little voice in the back of his head reminded him that showing weakness in front of Mordant and Solneki would undoubtedly end badly. The kitten purred like something three times its size.

"You cut your hair," he blurted at last.

Silverlock laughed and brushed a hand through his chin length hair. "Oh, my dear. One must keep up with the times, after all. It has been too, too long since I last saw you."

"It has." He was surprised to find that he meant it.

"Boss? Who the hell is this decrepit old queen?" Mordant picked himself up off the floor and compulsively fixed his hair.

"Mordant, shut up," Theron snapped reflexively.

"I really prefer the term distinguished. Or demented, I've found that's an acceptable adjective as well." His tone was mocking, but his expression was grave as he took a sealed document out of his cloak. "As far as you are concerned, I am the acting head of the Aetherial Anomaly Investigative Board, here on behalf of Parliament and the Lady DeLavrey. Theron Shanretha, you are accused of five counts of genocide in the first degree and are summoned to stand before the Parliamentary Court and answer to your crimes."

Theron's heart stopped for a short eternity while the room tilted on its axis, until he remembered to maintain the pretense again. He swallowed heavily and took the document, but didn't open it.

Five counts was lowballing it, and he was sure Silverlock knew that.

"You're a government stooge now?" he asked lightly. He kept up the pretense of indifference for appearance's sake, the same reason he manufactured something like a heartbeat.

"Independent contractor, actually. But the money is good."

"Once a whore, always a whore, I suppose."

"My dear, you have no idea." He held out his hand and gestured to the door. "But come. We can insult each other in the car. Parliament will take tardiness as admission of guilt and, more importantly, they'll dock my pay."

Solneki clasped his arms behind his back. "Boss?"

"You and Mordant will stay here. Take care of the others; you take your orders from Walker while I'm gone." Not Bren. Bren was loyal and stupidly noble and would probably try to turn himself in; Walker, on the other hand, had a sense of self-preservation that was second to none. Theron tugged the kitten out of his pocket; it gnawed on the stumps of his missing fingers with tiny, sharp teeth. "And one of you should find a home for this- just keep it away from Stella."

"Bring him with you- if he wants to be there, he will. Cats walk where they will, and that one has already decided to keep you." Silverlock smiled, but failed to look properly amused. "Parliament will take you under custody until the end of the trial. If there's anyone else you'd like to say goodbye to, do it now."

Theron glanced at the stairs. "No. There isn't." He nodded to Mordant and Solneki; they nodded back, cool and professional. "Let's go."

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Mrr. Dunno if I'll actually write the trial, but now there's almost a plot. *sigh* It's still mostly soap opera drama, though. S'all I'm good for, really. :)

I'm going to have to write a proper confrontation between Brenon and Theron, beyond what got written in this bit, because while they could just be avoidant idiots, that wouldn't be any fun. I also need to write more of Stella being sane, because she really is most of the time, when she's not being confronted with extraplanar creatures. And, of course, I need to write the part that immediately follows this piece, where Silverlock gets to interrogate Theron in the car and mock him mercilessly.

Brenon, Stella, and Mihonil are no longer zombies the way they used to be- they have fully functioning nervous systems (though Stella is still physically blind and psychically disjunct) and a full set of working internal organs. They eat and sleep and do all the other things living people do, but the only way to kill them and keep them dead is to remove their heads.

Theron is more alive than he was as Voyance, but Walker did rip out his heart- and he didn't exactly have an extra lying around. So Theron fakes a heartbeat and breathes to keep the air in his lungs from going stale, but he's more like a Ghoul or a Revenant than anything living. (Other things I need to write: Theron tripping on misteltoe.) Theron's mage powers are severely limited, because his soul has been fractured and is no longer completely connected to his body; his magicrafting skills, however, are still intact, as are Brenon's. Magicrafting uses the manipulation of purely physical elements, rather than relying on aether.

Driveby Fic Recs!

FFTAROT

Somebody wrote 79 character-based drabbles, one for each card of the Tarot, around Final Fantasy characters. It spans all of the games, from I to X-2 and Tactics. AND THEY ARE AMAZING AND THIS NEEDS TO BE READ BY EVERYONE EVER. asdfljklsa. The Fool. The Hermit (asdfjlpalette knife). The Star (ajsfalsdsetzer). The Devil. Two of Cups. (The carotid artery.) Eight of Cups what cry ohgod.

I am incoherent, and I'm not even halfway through. The cards for the older games make me effusively happy.

The same person is also working on a series Final Fantasy Tactics vignettes. (Oh how I miss that word- fuck you, drabble, ficbit, ficlet, and flash fiction. Fuck you a lot. I believe I shall endeavor to use "vignette" more often, because it's a good word and, more often than not, it's the right word.) They are tasty and beautiful and from Tactics, which just makes them better.

Also, Blogger, stop regurgitating old posts on the feed. That's not cool, yo.

Hey, my counter hit 20,000 last week! And more than half of those hits were just people looking for porn. That's exciting.

I would like to state, for the record, that I hate people and I want them all to die and leave me alone.

That is all.

Artblart

Anastacia Venomtongue

I could have done something productive today- instead, I arted. This is Stacia, in all her tiny, venomous glory, armed with her sunglasses of charisma and her Gucci bag of holding. (I love gaming with Trina so much.) I've gotten to be excessively fond of this character; I take back what I said earlier about her being easy going and good natured- she's really just a stone cold, self-centered bitch, and she is so much fun to play.

I know I'm being used, but that's okay because I like the abuse

Blogger didn't update the feed whenever I edited an entry in the past; I don't know why it's happening now. Strange, strange things.

Some Greymalkin, at any rate (Bet y'all just thought I was going to keep making veiled and cryptic references to him, didn't ya? Well, I am. Because this sucks, and it isn't even finished, but I can't bring myself to write any more of it. Also, Blaine at 18 is like every angsty emo teenager squared):

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The infirmary was a quiet place in the middle of the afternoon; Maddel always left as soon as the sun rose if there wasn't anyone in the process of dying, and Sigliss took off at noon, leaving him alone with the Shrive. And, it being daytime, the cats were more likely to be napping than causing trouble. He could feel three of them in the corner of his mind, lurking somewhere nearby. Blaine knew he ought to sleep as well, but nervous energy kept him awake. He busied himself with restocking and cataloguing medicines.

He still hadn't quite readjusted to keeping Guild hours- that was why he couldn't sleep, of course. Not because Nagendra had ripped out half of his soul less than a month ago, leaving him a spiritual cripple.

I've got a soul to match my face, he thought humorlessly, as he ground a pile of roots into dust with a well-stained mortar and pestle. At least I'm symmetrical now. The sound of a door opening and the feeling of a stranger on the edge of his consciousness distracted him from what could have been yet another spectacular bout of self pity.

"Excuse me, Healer? I'm supposed to- Tyrin? 'Tasha's tits, is that you?"

The pestle hit the worktable with a hollow sound and rolled in a slow circle; Blaine stared at the man in the doorway. "Grey? What- you-" He tugged frantically at his veil. He'd pulled it down to work, but he couldn't let anyone actually see-

An elegantly manicured hand pulled the veil out of the way. Greymalkin grinned at him. "No shame, Tyr. I've got some of my own." He tapped the jagged that line cut down across his forehead, missed his right eye by the barest margin, and skittered away towards his jawline. "Those are impressive, though."

Blaine grimaced and looked away uncomfortably. "You should've seen the other guy."

"Oh?"

"It was a window. Didn't stand a chance."

Greymalkin leaned against Blaine's work table and laughed. "I'll bet. Holy fuck, Tyrin, it's good to see you- it's been, what, eight years? I almost didn't recognize you, you've changed so much. You're a healer now! I guess that suits, but it's too bad you left the undercity- we used to hear about you from the other Guild all the time." His grin turned sly. "Heard your luck went bad and you got killed on a job, actually."

"I did."

Greymalkin's smile faltered. "You don't smell like a ghost."

"It's...complicated. Tyrin is dead. Somebody sold out his team and they all got caught and killed by their mark. And I'm Blaine Torkehaav, the eighty sixth Apostle of Varun, recently excommunicated."

He whistled through his teeth. "Guess that makes you almost important, doesn't it?"

Blaine forced a laugh. "Almost. Now I'm really just one of Maddel's lackeys. But look at you- you finally earned your tags. I remember when you got your ass kicked as much as I did in hand-to-hand."

"Guess you're not the only one who's changed, Ty- Blaine." He pushed himself away from the work table. "I don't have a whole lot of free time right now, but we really should catch up at some point."

"That would be nice." Blaine added a few leaves to the mortar and began grinding them into dust. "What did you need from the infirmary?"

"Another emergency kit- second room on the left, third shelf, right?"

"Yeah."

And then the infirmary was quiet again, and he was alone, save for the pairs of slit-pupiled eyes keeping watch from between the walls.

-------

Blech. Awwwwwkward. I don't even know where this is going- I know where the whole thing with Greymalkin needs to end up (*sings* Aaaarsenic will do the triiiiick, good thing they're all immune to poison!), but this is just kind of awkward and sad. That does describe Blaine rather well at this point in his life, but Grey, at the very least, needs to be less sad-and-awkward and more devious-and-sleazy.

I am full of meh. I have so many scenes in my head- mostly Blaine/Silverlock things, because I am full of romantic shmoop (Festival of Joshel, meeting Stacia, the first time they fuck, Blaine fighting, Silverlock helping out in the infirmary, on religion, the rest of the Greymalkin stuff, domestic things), but also a few Foxbird-y and Lady Delavrey-y things, all sorts of things about Silverlock's childhood, and some Theron bits (delicous and fat free!). But I have no desire to write, and when I try to force myself, I end up losing interest halfway through, as with this bit.

I've been working on a soundtrack for Blaine and Silverlock in my head because, once again, the sap, it overflows. Most of the titles for all the fragments I've written recently are lyrics from songs that will be included, once I finish the thing- but I don't think either of them will ever forgive me for including both The Offspring and October Project. Hell, I might not even forgive myself.

I need to make another summer mix CD, I think- one with lots of a cappella, live music, Morcheeba, and Moby. Something light on the ears.

On cosplay

I wish I had enough of a positive body image to cosplay Nami, because holy shit, she just got really frickin' awesome. (I love One Piece. I love it so much.) Her Enies Lobby outfit is kind of lacking in fabric, though- not that she hasn't always dressed a little on the sluttish side, (Happiness Punch!) but still. Tiny jacket, tiny skirt- not on, really. On the other hand, the suped up Clima Tact would be an awesome weapon to make.

Sogeking would be another awesome cosplay- complicated mask, giant weapon, swishy cloak.

Been looking around for cosplay advice in various places; if I'm actually going to do Tonberry (and my parents give me a horrified look every time I bring this up), I'm going to need to make the head out of something that won't kill me. This will probably involve digging one of my old softball helmets out of the garage and sticking lots and lots of foam on top of it. I'll just be a Tonberry with a giant, giant head. :) Alternately, I might just obtain lots and lots of green face paint and a pair of yellow-lensed reflective goggles or glasses, and then just go all out on the cloak and bling it 'til it can't be blinged no more. ("Bling it!" "Oh, my dear- it has been blung.") The FFIX Tonberry has embroidery or some sort of texturing or pattern around the collar and cuffs of the cloak; the FFX one has stitching on the front. I may combine the two, throw on some beads, and go for an Amano-esque style Tonberry.

Many, many years ago, my online handle was Tonberry Queen- so I'm rather excessively excited to be doing this cosplay. I'll need to make a crown- craft foam will be used, and abused.

And, of course, I still really, really wish I were tall, thin, and male. Because then there would be nothing stopping me from cosplaying Setzer (aside from massive amounts of time and money). I'd even settle for just being tall- as things are, I'd need ten inch platforms to be properly accurate. I'd trip and snap my neck if I wore them, but I'd do it. I'd so do it. And then I'd kidnap someone and make them cosplay Daryl (purple and red, blonde hair, throw in some feathers, bam, you're done), and do a walk-on for a masquerade to "Luck Be a Lady."

For finishing up the Fuu costume, I need to fix the flowers- using felt, probably, or maybe just applying some interfacing to the fabric I've got. And I'll sew the bows, so they aren't just held together with safety pins and a prayer. And I ought to find proper zori. Then I need to get either a sunflower or a pinwheel, and I'll need to make that knife she's got. More pink. Feh. Mugen needs a sword, Jin needs a hat and swords that won't fall apart, and all three of us need to come up with dynamic poses.

Pimp-Urahara, like Setzer, will remain a dream costume for the time being. But next year...oh, yes. There will be a pimptastic hat. And rhinestone studded geta, and a sealed Benihime with glitter and feathers.

I want to go to a hardware store and start buying pieces of wood and copper tubing, just because I can. Hardware stores are so much fun. And, ohman, cosplay is so exciting. (I need a paycheck so badly.)