Uh...in case you couldn't figure it out, the mashed potato comment was Kev's fault. He was drinking the glaze for the ham. *shudder* It's never a good idea to talk to your brothers when they're trying to cook dinner and trying to lecture you about metalurgy, the physics of. *pats Kev on the head* I'm sure he'll figure out what year he's in eventually. (It's a very large power of four!)

"Expand what you learn, start with what you see."

And he claims he's going to burn that notebook. Damn philosophical-confused-mind-reading-irritating-pretty-eyed boys. Oh, wait, I gave him the link to this thing...*waves* You see? Babble is good for posterity. When it's legible babble, it's even better.

"On the plus side, my microphone is mashed potato flavored."

"You don't have enough of a will to demand your own point of view. I impose my point of view on you."
"Hey! I object!"
"To what?"

"If I wanted a good story, I'd pick up a book."

I don't much like physics. I'm not going to become a mechanical engineer. I don't particularly care about the cross-sectional tensile elasticity of an irregularly shaped plate with a hole in it.

Possibly this is why I'm being lectured on it. Long distance, no less.

Multiple choice like rabbits.

Mechanical engineering in a nutshell: Basically it's just a big headache. "...as long as your elements are polyhedrals and not triangles- square or better- you'll get an answer. Otherwise it'll give you a false answer." *_*

"We do all these things to get it more and more exact, and then what do we do? We add a really, really big fudge factor at the end."

"So you sit there and calculate things as precise and accurate and nitpicky as possible- and then you just say 'screw that, make it twice as safe just in case'. Gad, what's the point then?"

"The point is, is that is works. The things that engineers design work, yes? The things that engineers don't design end up breaking, or warping, or blowing up, or get sued because they didn't work."

(The point is, he lost me when he started talking about elasticity. Now he's talking about ultimate strengths and fatigue strengths and rotating beams. *head h u r t s*)

"So that's what I'm doing in my fourth year of engineering."

"Your ...fifth year, you mean."

"Shh! It's an extremely large value value of 4. That's engineering for you."

A quick translation of my speech:

carp: depending on the context, it can mean "shit" or "crap" with the letters rearranged; when used in "I am the Keeper of the Sacred/Holy Carp!" it can be translated as "I am your Lady and Goddess, now worship me, bitch!"

*kicks something* : An expression of annoyance, usually directed at whatever the kick is being directed at. In the case of *kicks something* the annoyance is generalized and undirected; not to be confused with *kicks the world* in which case the subject really is annoyed with everything in particular, and not just everything in general.

Fork : as with carp, it is a modified version of "fuck", most often used to get away with profanity in school around the teachers that actually give a fork about things like that. Notable uses: in Latin, as "I hate this forking language" written on homework assignments.

spiffy/nifty: equally emphatic expressions of interest/happiness- on about the same level as "oh, that's cool", only not used as often.

Snifty: a combination of sweet/spiffy and nifty; generally more emphatic than spiffy or nifty alone.

Spiff: not to be confused with spiffy, this is the superlative form of the word.

I WEEP: an exclamation of anxiety or just plain angst, accompanied by dramatic swooning and pouting. Usually a response to constant poking or losing something.

You live in a box!: Can be translated as "You are so completely and totally out of it, like dude!" or "You are isolated from the world; even I know what they're talking about, and we all know how clueless I am." Generally a derrogatory statement. The aforementioned box is not a Klein bottle, despite the insistence of certain delusional characters. It is, in some cases, shiny and brown, and frequently only has one air hole, which must be sat upon. There may or may not be a twig.

I want to put that in a box!: NOT to be confused with "You live in a box!" the box in question here is a box of spiff and awww-inspiring things. This is a complement- if one is told by the subject that she wishes to place you in a box or something of yours in a a box, it is an indication that there is something about you the subject admires. Typically things that go into this box are "cute".

woo: A more ironic sounding version of "yay". It is the shortened form of "woo-hoo", which may also be heard; generally an exclamation of happiness.

Gad, I have too much free time. So, there it is, just in case some of you were wondering.

Boffo Babble part (i could never count very well to begin with...)

So, why Boffo? Well, the actual title of Birds of a Feather came to me after Jubal started molting all over the main characters. *cough* I mean, "blessing" them...originally, as with just about all of my stories, it didn't have a title; I was just writing it. (This is a huge problem that I have, because I don't use an outline or a story board or any sort of vague organizational tactic; I just sit down and write and I have no fucking clue what it is that I'm going to write until I've written it. Well, for the most part. Generally once the story has gotten going, it'll have told me what it's doing but in the beginning...woo...) The first working title I had was "Only Human" but that was the working title for about five other stories I was tinkering with at the time as well. (Okay, more like two, but still- I like the way it sounds way too much.) But then the whole thing with the angels and demons and Jubal was revealed to me in a flash of semi-divine inspiration (or semi-bovine, but that's another story altogether...*cough*) and Birds of a Feather just seemed to fit, given the way each of the characters interrelate. It'll all be made a little bit clearer soon...and once the whole thing is done, I'm tearing it all down and rewriting it so that it makes sense. And I'll put in a prologue and chapter interludes and things, just to amuse me and to make it all make sense. Since it really doesn't right now. (Part ten, by the way, is fermenting. Right now it's apple juice, but I don't want to post it until it's at the very least cheap cider; apple brandy would be great, but my writing generally doesn't reach the brandy stage- it just goes right on in to vinegar. *sigh*)

As for the nickname, "Boffo"- that has less to do with the fact that it made more sense than calling the story "Feathers" than with the fact that it's a very obscure reference to something that amused me a great deal a great many years ago. I mean, I could have just referred to the thing by its initials: Boaf. But that looks and sounds awkward. "Boffo" works, and I like the way it sounds. But I also first heard the word in a (I think) made for TV movie quite a while ago...I can't even remember what it was called, but it basically parodied all those sci-fi epics like Star Wars and similar things- it was really something of a parody within a parody, and I was probably about ten or eleven when I saw it, but I remember the weirdest things...It was about this sci-fi actor in the forties (I think) who got zapped to the world that the sci-fi drama he acted in took place in. You know, your typical "hero from the other world" type of thing. The guy was clueless- he was an actor, after all, and a bad one, at that. And on his TV show, which was really just a glorified way of pushing this breakfast cereal that sponsored it, had a catch phrase: "Chocco Socco! It's Boffo!" Chocco Socco being the source of the TV persona's power, of course. And for some reason, the memory of this movie and that catch phrase just stuck with me, and now it serves as the shorthand for my story, which doesn't involve aliens or sexy prophetesses (it was a hilarious movie, it really was), or guys with goatees (I may be getting my made for TV movies mixed up now, but who's counting?), but it does involve quite a few clinically insane people who wouldn't have been all that out of place on a forties black and white TV sci fi drama.

At any rate, I find it funny, because whenever I write "Boffo", I think of that movie (I'll figure out what it was called eventually) and I share a discreet chuckle with myself. Basically it's just me being silly and rather unoriginal. *shrug* That's what I'm good at, y'know?

"I'm a little out of the loop right now."
"Loop? You're out of the 5-dimensional hyper-Möbius-loop."
"Gee, thanks."

Right, so my hair now parts to the center, and I'm not quite sure how I feel about that, but the weather is now cold and miserable and therefore delightful, and today is Saturday and things are looking moderately better overall. So, woo.

i'm elena x reeve!

i'm goofy and het, but i don't care, because damn if i'm not having more fun than anybody else. and on top of that, my boyfriend can make custom sex toys.

what could be better?

take the which bishink pairing are you? test,

by tenshi and llamajoy.

*cackle*

*kicks the world* I don't wanna do anything remotely social today! Waaaahhh! ;_; *sniff* Aw, bugger. I'm going to get my hair cut now- I'll come back and whine about ballets and similar things later. *kicks the world again*

Oh, yes, just thought I'd mention (since I know B reads this- I haven't figured out why, though) that the picture that's been giving me trouble (mostly because I'm horribly lazy...) is a picture of Ilyan. (I finally did get the pose right, but now his face is bothering me. I can't win.) I'm drawing Ilyan because every time I try to draw Cleran or Dysis, my mind comes up blank. It's really, really annoying; even when I'm reading the story, the only mental picture I get of either of them is a vaguely masculine figure with a blurry question mark topped by something vaguely hair-ish that is a sort-of-reddish color where their faces ought to be. It's horrribly frustrating, because I would draw pictures of them, only I can't figure out for the life of me what they look like! I sit and stare at the descriptions in the character bios and in the story and I come up blank.

The SATs should die. Painfully, preferably in some method involving fire and/or red hot pokers to the eyes. *_*

I'm an idiot. Blooooo. But I'm going to the mall now, so I need to put real clothes on. *sigh* Not that I'm the type to run around stark naked, mind you.

Well, not in public, anyway. ;)

I want something else
To get me through this
semi-charmed kind of life
Baby, I want something else
Not listen when you say
Goodbye...

Green bagels. What were they thinking? Ha! Not that it wasn't good, mind you, but that's taking the whole Spirt o' Ireland a wee bit too far...

Look, I'm being good and looking at colleges. Be proud of me, dammit! ...Oh, dear me. They've put heels on sneakers. Madness, I tell you, sheer madness.

I'm a Wind Spiriti


Hah! Take that, you fucking Virgo-earth sign bitchiness within my horoscope! I really am a Libra at heart! BWAR!!

*cough* Sorry. Me 'n my horoscope have a few differences of personality to work out...

I've just realized how truly pathetic I really am; no, really. See, I've always been rather shy- one of those people who just blends into the walls. The thing is, when I'm around people that I trust, I do a complete turnabout and start acting like a rabid chinchilla or an angry gerbil. Seriously. I bounce, I squeak, I scream, I hiss, I make perverted comments in annoying voices, I basically turn into an annoying, happy, morbid bitch. So all of my friends have a really hard time reconciling the me they typically see and the me that the rest of the world gets to view; they all assume that I'm loud and outspoken around everyone. But I'm not.

A really long time ago (relatively, I'm still just a kid and probably will be until I'm 33 1/2 (just seventeen years, one month, thirteen hours, and 36 minutes from now!)) I wanted to be president. I'm not shitting you, I really did. Wait, actually I wanted to save the president (who would be one of my friends from elementary school but would have forgotten me by this point in time) from assassins or something, and I would be publicly awarded or something like that and eventually we would get married. I think I was 11. I had this horrible crush on this guy who probably will become president, if not of this country then of some small island nation from which he will go on to take over the world- but that's not really relevant. The point is that I used to want to do something important or be somebody important. But then it ocurred to me (not that long ago, but a few good years) that I don't want to do that. I like blending in with the woodwork. I don't want to be noticed. I want to live my life peacefully, own a bunch of cats, have a few very close friends, an on-again-off-again boyfriend who won't take me too seriously and who won't take himself too seriously either (who is also emotionally stable enough to take care of himself), a nice computer and a comfortable job with plenty of room for creativity but not too much stress. I don't want to be the president's wife, I don't want to save the world- I just want to, you know, live.

And eat cookies, but that, too, is beside the point.

"Devon, what color would you say my sound was?"

That new Natalie Imbruglia song? I like. 'Specially the first few bars of what sounds like cello or some other low strings...I do really really like her music, you know. Something about Australians, I dun know. (She is Australian, right? *goes blank*) Fork, I don't really care. I think I need more tea. And the Stupid Cat is walking all over the keyboard again- she nearly broke my glass of orange juice already. Stupid Cat.

Why in the name of the All is it so fricken difficult to draw somebody on their knees? *kicks lack of artistic talent and lack of models* I really should be working on that damn picture while I've got the free time before mom comes home...or I should be playing FFX. Because that game has stolen my soul, I swear.

Well, chocolate calcium chews, too, but they go without saying. Mmm, peacy goodness...

Peach yogurt and Lady Grey tea. *SMOOCH*

I really, really wish I didn't have to go to school. School sucks majorly. If I didn't have to go to school, I wouldn't have to get off the computer right now. *pouts* Damn...

*ahem* I just want to state that I'm not half as weird as my blogging makes me out to be.

I'm twice as weird.

See, the reason I wanna be my English teacher when I grow up is because he's just forkin' cool. He had a Jesuit education, and he's utterly insane (kids on Halloween, large sacks, screaming children. It's so much worse than it sounds.) and he's utterly oblivious to everything. (The tomatoes. Oi.) His wife is in Mensa. Okay, so maybe I don't want to actually be Mr Job, since he is a teacher...I wanna be Job's wife, where I can live in a fat ass house, be the global director to some multinational company, be in Mensa, and be tall, blonde, and leggy. Job kicks ass.

No, not really. But still- it'd be pretty cool to be Job's wife for a day- aside from the whole, being married to Job thing. Cuz, y'know, it's bad enough dealing with the man for 45 minutes a day. *pats Job on the head* Not that he isn't coo' and all, but...

Okay, kitty, we do not walk all over the keyboard when Vera wants to blog. Is that understood? *throws cat off desk* Stupid cat. (Her name is really Suzy, but she only answers to Stupid Cat. It ain't my fault, honest!)

Ooh, hey, I've decided that I wanna be either Mr Job or James Joyce when I grow up. I'll have to add that to my goals list, along with soft core porn writer. (Hey, it worked for Anne Rice. Come on, don't tell me you didn't see all the rampant homoeroticism in Interview. The movie was better, in terms of rampant homoeroticism, that is.)

Mmm, I did love that movie so very much. The first time I took the test I got Dracula. Dun know what that says, other than that I'm confused and probably suffering from a mild version of MPD. (Because I don't care if schizophrenic sounds better, it's incorrect.)

You're Brad Pitt. You're not really a vampire, but you play one in a movie.

Find your inner vampire.

Yes, that's some of my really old crap that I promised to scan in. Doesn't it suck horribly? The rabbit picture cracks me up, though- most of those were drawn between three and four years ago...the grim reaper one (probably the picture that subconsciously started it all) I drew three years ago while at the beach (go figure) and then went over with better pencils later on...Still, it's rather nice to look at the stuff that I do now and see how much I've improved. For your viewing pleasure, a bunch of unfinished sketches:

Leaf Call him pineapple head and he'll get mildly pissy.
Cloud Neh. She looks rather laid back, don't she?
Opal I don't draw her often enough...this is not her actual outfit for part ten, mind you- the actual outfit will require at least twice as much cloth. And I tried to draw her holding a cello bow, but I can't draw hands and...well...um, yeah. Can't draw cello bows either, apparently.

really old Or: Before I knew how to draw.

just as old this still makes me giggle, actually...yes, I'm sick.

a few months later I actually love this picture- probably the only thing I've drawn from that point in time that I actually really like.

Tybarra Ooh, this sucks. Not just because it scanned crappily, but because it sucks.

Many are cold but few are frozen. Also known as "Why I do not draw scenery to this day."

BWAR.

...Kenneth Branaugh is going to be in the second Harry Potter movie as Gilderoy Lockheart.
...
I don't know whether to swoon out of joy and happiness, or to fall over laughing. (On the one hand: Hamlet, Road to El Dorado, Midsummer Night's Dream...*drool* On the other hand: Gilderoy Lockheart. *eyes cross* Butbut-nooooo...they can't do that to him! *sniffle*)
Hm. Swoon or laugh, swoon or laugh...A dillema.

Ah, so am I the only one not watching that 9-11 tribute? Other than the rest of my family, that is? It's not that I'm squeamish and don't think I can take the horrifying truth of what happened...it's just that I feel rather...(here goes me being inarticulate again) angry, almost, at the whole thing. It's in the past- you don't harp over it obsessively and expect it to get better. You move on. That's a lesson a lot of people need to learn, I think...

Life isn't fair, you know. If it were, I'd be able to set fire to FF.net. As it is, all I can do is glare and/or pout. *shrugs* Oh, if I were Empress of the World for just one day...

Would you survive a horror movie? Find out @ She's Crafty
Aw, man...can't say I'm surprised, really. (I have far too much fun with these things, you know...)

Hey, I also did some more work on part 10 of Boffo (go me, I bothered to link). I forgot to mention this before, and I feel like mentioning it because it amuses me: The reason the plot has turned out the way it has, with the angels and everything, is entirely and solely because of Dogma. Yes, the movie with Matt Damon and Ben Afleck and Alan Rickman (ssseksseee- all of 'em). Now, I loved the movie, don't get me wrong, not only because whatsername-Bethany insinuated that Loki and Bartelby were gay (oh, did I ever crack up at that point), nor because of all the delightful mockery of Christianity in general and Catholicism in particular, or because of the presence of Jay and Silent Bob; I loved it mostly because of Buddy Christ and the fact that Bethany put out the Metatron with a fire extinguisher.

So, what does all this have to do with Boffo? Well, a lot of the details in the movie were correct (Alanis Morriset as god, for instance)- *stops, looks at previous comment, and falls over* 'Kay, no idea where that came from, I'm sorry. I would delete it, but it amuses me. Right. Back to the details. Calling one of the Angels of Death Loki did bother me a little, but I do know that a lot of supposedly correct names of angels are pretty random- Rain, for instance. Guess what he's the angel of? Or Lucifer- that's one that will bother me forever. (More on that later, I suppose, as that's a rant for a whole 'nother time.) (Nnn, I realize I'm not making much sense, but bear with me.) So, while I know it is impossible for the makers of the movie to get all the details right because they conflict so much, there were one or two things that seriously got to me.

And the biggest thing that bothers me, and the reason for Boffo's plot's sudden sprouting of wings and haloes is this: In Dogma, the Metatron pulls down his pants to reveal quite definitively that he is genderless. (At an earlier point in the movie, Bartelby (I think) says, "If I had a dick, I'd get laid", which illustrates the same point, I suppose.) I first saw the movie after one of my Bible kicks, Genesis, to be specific. (Some of my previous Bible kicks: Revelations, Leviticus, Tobit, and Acts I and II.) To be even more specific, the part very near after the Fall of Humans where it talks about Nephilim. I can't remember chapter and verse, and quite frankly I'm too lazy to dig out my Bible and find it, but the gist of it was that the angels of heaven found the daughters of man pleasing to look upon and went down to the Earth and knew them...or something to that effect. And the results of their concourse were known as Nephilim.

According to the footnotes in my Bible, this was probably put in to explain the presence of giants like Goliath later on. Seemed rather blasphemous to me at the time; insinuating that morons like Goliath were the result of angelic interference. Anyway, I do know perfectly well that there are a lot of conflicting opinions on the matter, and I mean no offense to anyone, this is just my particular take on things...so, with the obvious conflict between Dogma and my Bible on my mind, I got to thinking, what if the daughters of heaven found the sons of man pleasing to look upon? I mean, hey, it's an equal opportunity world we live in here. And thus, Radueriel, Jubal, and Opal all suddenly had pasts and histories and a few more motivations than they did before.

Ta-daa! Now you know, and you probably didn't even want to, and chances are I've either offended or confused you at some point over the past few paragraphs. A thousand apologies, really.

Since Scribble is being one of those aforementioned bitches, I'm going to rant about my day here, since it's gotten to the point where if I don't, I'll snap and break something. Not to mention the fact that I am frustrated. So.

Yesterday I went to Sugarloaf and got Kris her Yule/Ostara present (just a little bit late or a little bit early, depending on how you look at it). There were a lot of photographers there, and a lot of foodmongers, and a lot less nifty crafty things. I mean, there was the usual pottery and clothing and such, but the only seriously noteworthy crafty things were the clay tiles and the clay flowers; the flowers were so well made they looked real; each petal was translucent, for all that they were made of clay. Regardless, it was fun, and I'll look forward to the next Sugarloaf, which either won't be till summer or won't be till autumn. I cannae remember right now.

Then the computer decided to be a bitch, and the internet now hates me; I do not want to have to wait fifteen fucking minutes for a 404 error or a 'sorry, you screwed up even though it's really our fault, and you can't view the page you want to' message from MSN. *kicks internet, computer, and various and sundry other things* So, rather than netsurfing, I played FFX last night, which was perfectly acceptable.

Then, today, I played FFX some more. And I spent the better part of the fucking day trying to kill Seymour Flux and failing miserably. Eight tries, eight attempts, eight times having to go through that stupid fucking FMV sequence, and I got annhillated every time. Even after an hour and a half of levelling up, he still killed me. Once, he had all of five hundred life left, and then he killed me and laughed. *kicks Final Fantasy X, Playstation 2, and various and sundry other things* I still haven't beaten him. I'm going to walk off Mt. Gagazet with all of my characters fucking sphere grids filled, because I'll just spend the next week levelling up until I can kill the fucker and laugh at his bleeding body and supremely evil hair. (Never mind that he'll probably come back, the rat bastard. This is the third time I've had to kill him in the game, anyway.)

And of course, when I finally decide, after attempting to kill him eight times, that it might be a good idea to take a break and check my e-mail, I've got to spend an hour going through idiotic messages from the idiotic mailing list that my dearest and most wonderful friend convinced me to sign up for. It used to be "wow, two new messages. Popular today, aren't we!". Now it's "Aw, damn. 63 new messages in the inbox. This is gonna waste a lot of time, for fuck's sake." *kicks mailing list, Hotmail, and various and sundry other things*

I also went driving today; it was a beatiful day, I mean utterly glamspanking-fabulous. So dad decided that I probably wouldn't want to drive in circles in the parking lot, and I got to cruise around all the back roads off Elizabeth Avenue. It rocked. I think I might like driving- who knows, I may actually decide to get a permit before I'm seventeen at this rate. Of course, it's really only fun when you're the only car on the road and you only have to slow down to avoid hitting injured geese and wild turkeys. Wild turkeys are beatiful, beautiful birds. Injured, bleeding geese are not- it was just sitting right dead smack in the middle of the lane, and I had to get within two feet of it beeping my horn before it finally managed to rouse itself and drag it's bleeding body to the side of the road. It was sad. *kicks reckless drivers who injure geese, other cars and traffic in general, and various and sundry other things*

*shakes head* So, you see, I've been very frustrated; the driving was calming, but then FFX kicked my ass five more times and the internet decided to be a bitch, but not my bitch, and it was all just very annoying. And I have school tomorrow and I promised Kurt that I'd lend him my Dido CD and give him back Good Omens, but I haven't finished rereading it and I don't know where any of my CDs are. And I'm supposed to be off the computer now, which means that my mom is "chirping" at me. My mom is not supposed to "chirp". It sounds frightening, and vaguely annoying. *kicks-* No, wait, I won't do it, I won't- *parents, time limits, and various and sundry other things*

I am weak. *falls over laughing*

D'you have any idea how frustrated I am right now? No? Well, good. You wouldn't want to. The internet, my computer, and various and sundry other things are all bitches. But they're not my bitches, and they ought to be. Stupid bitches.

*screams long and loud* Well, it could be worse, I suppose. I could have three extra heads and a nagging itch in those hard to reach places...

*points downward* *puts on eyepatch, funky blue clothing, silver wig, and grabs overly large chakram off shelf* DRIVEL

Take a deep breath; steady yourself. There's nothing to be afraid of. You don't need to feel any fear, any terror, any abject horror at what you are about to do. You don't need to worry about the consequences, or the future. All that exists is here and now, and there is no fear. Breath in, and out, and be calm. Deep breaths; steady yourself. You will need to be steady.

Be steady and calm, and perfectly balanced with yourself and the ground and the sky and the air. Feel the breeze; it is growing stronger now, cool and steady. You can feel it slide and whisper across your skin like raw silk or a lover's caress. Let the wind be your lover, now. Breath it in, take it in, feel it all around you. Now breathe out, and be calm and strong like the earth beneath your bare feet.

The ground is strong, as are you. You can feel each individual blade of grass, cushioning the crumbling black earth with its greenness. Be steady and calm like the ground, because you will need the steadfastness of the earth; you are about to leave it.

Open your eyes and look out at the sky, at the clouds that hang in the air like fruit waiting to be plucked and eaten. They are swollen, heavy and pregnant with rain, but they do not concern you yet. All there is is here and now; do not fear and do not think of the consequences. Lift your head and do not look down; the breeze is a breeze no longer. It is a gale.

Step forward. You can feel the edge of the cliff beneath your feet, and the grass curls and crinkles between your toes. The ground is a very long way down. Take one last deep breath and feel the gale pushing you towards the edge. Feel the earth beneath you giving up and stopping. See the clouds, waiting for you.

Now you take one last step, and you are falling, down, down, down...Do not be afraid. The clouds are waiting, and you are cool and steady like the wind, strong and calm like the earth. And there is no need to be afraid, even as you fall.

The air rushes through your ears, screaming in a dischordant key while the cliff blurs past you, melting into the green of the ground that will greet you in a moment, if you give it half a chance. Your head is still up, though the force of your falling threatens whiplash on your neck. But you are not afraid.

Because just as it seems that you are going to meet the strong and very hard ground, you remember how to fly. Up, up, and up you soar, towards the clouds that were waiting for you.

I know I said this was going to be a writing blog, and all I've done is make stupid comments for the most part...and for that I am sorry. However, I doubt that will change. Even if I knew for a fact that no one read this, ever, I would still do it. I would still do everything, the blog, the journal, the webpage; it doesn't really matter to me who reads it or who doesn't. It doesn't matter to me who cares about what I do; the simple fact that I have done something is enough. All I need to know is that I am the one who has done this, and it makes me happy; therefore I will continue to do it, no matter what sort of response, if any, I receive for my troubles.

I am downloading Jimi Hendrix. Karan would be proud of me. (And it was all because of the piercing harmonicas.) Oh, fork. Stupid WinMX just disconnected me. *weep* That sucks. *sings* "There must be some way outta here/ said the joker to the thief..."

Okay, so maybe Bob Dillon really is a great singer/songwriter. That doesn't mean I want to hear the strident, ear piercing wailing of the harmonica in the existential cowboy songs at seven fricken fifteen in the morning on my way to school. I'm sorry, but it's almost as bad as Dolly Parton and her songs about dead babies. Appalachia- it's weeeerd. *wriggles finger in ear* My eardrums are irreparably harmed, I swear.

I hate the word epitome. Not because it's a bad word, mind you. I hate it because it inspires others to laugh at me. *weeps* It looks like it ought to be pronounced eh-pih-TOME. Not eh-PI-toe-me. Come on, you know it does, now stop laughing at me. At least I know what vicissitudes means. And I know how to spell it. Nyah.

The layout for this thing is already starting to annoy me, and I've only had it for two weeks. The only problem is, I suck at HTML and can't come up with anything original or attractive. At least this thing has happy colors; happy colors on a blog are good, they keep you from getting FUCKING DEPRESSED IN THE HEAD.

'Hem. 'Scuse me, I seem to have something caught in my throat. *coughcough*

Hm. I'm feeling tempted to scan in some of my really really old crap from three or four years ago, just so I can laugh at myself. Beware: I may start putting sketches and things here, and then it'll really be random and pointless.
I am, however, fairly serious about digging out the old shit to laugh at. It's funny; people actually think my art is pretty good, now. It used to be that all I could draw were stylized birds. Peanut-birds, I used to call 'em. I don't think I have any of my peanut-bird pictures anymore, though. So I'll just dig around under my bed for the old stuff for Blaze Wing and The Really Stupid Elf Story With Too Many Characters. It will amuse me.

You know how sometimes you feel the need to say something personal- something that's so completely and utterly no one's business but your own- out loud, just for the sake of saying it and knowing that it's true so you can't ignore it anymore? Well, that's kinda how I feel right now. Don't expect to see anything of the sort, though. I've done enough of that already, I'm sure.

Very small white text on a dark background should not be allowed. *squints* I think my 20/20 vision just gave up on me...

*eyes cross* 'kay, I feel like an alien is trying to claw its way out of my abdominal cavity...and it hurts to breath. This can't be a good sign...

Mmm...random blogs...they're so addictive...(bwa, I feel like a stalker. Nice not to be on the victim's end, I suppose. *chuckle*)

It has occured to me that I only do this because I enjoy the feeling of screaming in the dark. Only I hate to scream when I'm alone, especially if I know people are listening. Hm. A dillema, I suppose. Not that I much care, mind you, but still...

Moocow. I think I'm going to like James Joyce- even if he does think like a crack bunny. (So do I, so I can't really complain, can I?)

Really Quick Random Character Spotlight
story: The Hunter's Sea
name: n/a
alias: Silverlock D' Alestri
So he's this half-elven ex-slave with no family outside of the Guild except for the Clan that he belongs to- technically the Miryen Mountains are his home, but the last time he went home was thirty years ago or so, after that messy incident with the mystic and her brother...

Silver is a blood mage, so he gets his kicks out of causing pain- he's what they would call an 'empath' in Mercedes Lackey speak, but in the story I believe I will refer to them as 'emos' because it amuses me...possibly 'emopath', since it doesn't double as a normal thing and it sounds more like an actual power/ability...Right. Back to Silver. He's a sick and twisted little fuck, to be quite blunt and honest- all of his sado/masochistic tendencies plus his bard-like charisma that makes it impossible for people to say no to him just make him rather...frightening. Not to say that he isn't a likeable person, mind you. You can't help but like him- it's the manipulation and charisma thing again, but you would have to work very hard at not liking Silverlock if he didn't want you to.

I could say that his manipulative and twisted streak is the result of serious complexes and issues dealing with his childhood as a slave and the abuse and lack of love he suffered early in his life- but I would be lying. There are no hidden issues or doubts or anything like that; Silverlock is just as much of a smug SOB as he seems to be. He's not violent (in public, anyway), and his manners are impeccable. Fortunately, he is very loyal to his friends, and he'll only hurt them if they ask him to; he is also completely loyal to the Guild, which means that in some sort of disconnected way they are all his friends. Nice to know if you're an assassin, sucks to be you if you're not. He really is a nice guy, though, just a little...um...I suppose 'odd' doesn't quite cover it, but it's the best adjective I can come up with on short notice.

Blaine is the first person who can actually resist his charm, and there's nothing Silver likes better than a challenge...their relationship is decidedly un-fluffy in the begining, due to the fact that they are complete and utter opposites. For a while simply being in the other's presence would send them into spasms because they just clashed so very much. I mean, healer and sadist- it just doesn't work. (It does in the end, of course, but it does take quite a while- again with the lots of sex, shouting, crying, and throwing things- a few explosions, too, come to think of it...)

------Eh, for a short spotlight, that was fairly long. And I don't think I explained him very well. He's rather hard to explain, though- in a word, he's twisted. In a few words, he's mildly psychotic, twisted, and obsessively loyal. And powerful, of course...neh. I'm giving up. I'll figure it out later.

What is it about girls in wedding dresses and lots of black eyeliner that's so interesting? It's like watching a snake- you want to pull your eyes away, but you're fascinated anyway. Y'know that Volvo (I think) commercial with the guy in the car driving and the wedding and the very very green scenery and the sheep- he bursts into the chapel looking breathless, the bride and groom just look at him, and that transcendental high octave music plays in the background- you know the commercial I'm talking about. I love that commercial. It tells you only part of the story, only the immediate now and gives you none of the details...and that's what's brilliant about it. You get a thirty second window, a minute picture frame of the story and that's it. You can't help but wonder what went on- or shake your head knowingly and say to yourself "God, it must suck to be him." Wedding dresses, I tell ya...

Well, according to this I'm moderately schizoid, very schizotypal, very avoidant, highly dependant...hmph. I scored a low for 'antisocial'. Dunno how that happened. *snort*

I think I might like to take up photography. The only problem is that a lot of people object to this random little person snapping pictures of them, especially when she doesn't ask and gives no warning. Because that's what I'd do, you know. You can't capture the essence of people if you give them any warning. I just think it would be cool to take pictures and have people look at them and go...'like, whoa. nifty'. Of course, I feel the same way about the writing, and the art...but a photograph is a little bit more distanced from me while at the same time being a bit closer to the subject material. It's still mine but it belongs to the subject as well. With writing and art, it's all me- and that's sometimes a little uncomfortable to deal with. Plus photographs are just plain coo'.

*shiver* It's amazing how some people can pull off such a ...balanced (if you could call it that) mixture of bigotry and insight...Scary, really. If you always take everything you are told as gosphel truth, what will you do when you find yourself lying? Simply delude yourself into believing that it is truth, or do you find your own fortifications of belief shaking with every untruth? And then...on the outside you seem so calm, serene, and strong; on the inside are you crumbling slowly? It frightens me...

"See, you don't need a conductor for this song- it just plays itself. All the conductor needs to do is stand up here and..." *a great deal of highly amusing movement* "You know..."
"Wiggle?"

Gad, I do love Mr. Brown. He's so much more fun than Mr. O. And he's just so delightfully flaming- he really was wiggling up there, I swear...hilarious.

I have...(pause for drama) Sippy cups!

*falls over laughing* No, seriously, mom brought me some from Miami- two of them. Now I won't spill chocolate milk all over me in the morning when my dad is driving. Woo!

I am surprisingly uninspired. But today is Tuesday, and Tuesdays are usually good days...and that's funny, because I've always hated Tuesday on principle, but now I like it. I've got orchestra and tv and occasionally Doom or Latin, so it's usually busy...

Oh, yes, mumsy is back. Just thought I'd mention it, since she'll probably be demanding the computer so she can play free cell. (My mother, diagnosed free cell junkie.) doop.

"What do you mean if we resist? We can't just let him have his way!" Harry leapt up and slammed his hands down on the table, not caring that he was in a library and anyone could hear him. The beautiful girl's words had made him angry, and he couldn't quite figure out why. "This isn't some silly joke, people are going to die! People have died."

If anything, Cho only grew colder. "I know, Harry Potter, believe me, I know."

Harry sat back into his chair suddenly, feeling like an ass. Of course she knew. She'd been friends with Cedric, hadn't she? She went to the Yule Ball with him last year, after all...Cho neatly stacked her books and stood.

"I'm sorry, Harry, I really am. But you can't look at the world in black and white anymore. You and your friends- and I daresay Dumbledore and most of the teachers- you aren't fighting the war of good against evil. You can't just proclaim that you are right and everyone else is wrong."

"But- but Voldemort has killed, he killed my parents, he killed Cedric, he-"

Her smile extended only as far as her lips. "If it's vengeance that you want, Harry Potter, far be it from me to discourage you. But few people will agree that vengeance is a fine and noble purpose." He barely caught her last words as she walked away. "There are no noble purposes in this world..."

----------HP fic, yes, I know, I'm crazy, but I really really just want to write about Cho...and the fact that there had to be Dark Wizards from houses other than Slytherin. (Sadly, I can't write fanfiction to save my soul, but I'm going to give it a try anyway.)

Okay, I'd just like everyone to know that I'm grinning madly like a doped up lemur (though I really don't know what a doped up lemur looks like, nor would I want to know, nor would I really want to look like one; I just imagine that they must look rather silly when doped up, and since I look rather silly at the best of times it seemed appropriate. Only it didn't, I'm just really tired and babbling, and this parenthetical has gone on far too long.) and am feeling quite loved in the non-adoration sort of way, which I can actually handle without going into spazms (read: I've got issues. Big, nasty, snarling issues of DOOM.), and that usually tends to make me grin madly. Nothing out of the ordinary with that. (Aside from my unhealthy addiction to parenthesis, that is...)

I would also like everyone to know that if I weren't so bloody exhausted, I'd be drawing reams of fanart. Instead, I'm going to go to bed, and bring lots of paper and some good pencils to the HSPA tomorrow. And a nice eraser. And maybe cranberry juice, because, you know, water does get a little boring after a while. But I never said that; it would be out of character. (Then again, my life is out of character so hey, it can't get too much worse, can it?)

Right. Bed. I'm going, honest. *falls over, asleep already*

Sometimes I do wonder if I should just give up, you know. It would certainly be a hell of a lot easier.
...
It would also be a hell of a lot less fun.

If you can ever truthfully say that you have done one thing, just one, and put your entire heart, mind, body, soul, spirit, and self into it, then feel satisfied and content that you have done something worth doing. Know that whatever you have done, it will be beautiful forever, even after you and what you have done have passed out of memory...just know that it was worth it.

For lack of anything better to do, I went over some of my old scribble entries...*cackle* I just found the one where I said I'd try to have Boffo finished by mid- February. Oh, that's a good one. I crack myself up sometimes. *snort*

"See, I've built up an immunity to soft jazz over the years; I've learned to tune it out- and anyway, all the songs sound exactly the same."
"Yeah, I get what you're saying. It's just that you worry when you can tell them apart."

"I'm gonna have to kick some ass!"
"Just tell me where and when so I can laugh at you."
"No, really! I'm gonna gouge out his eyes with a fork."
"A rusty one, I hope?"
"Don't have one. I'll spit on it, though."

One thing I've noticed is that a lot of people try to operate under the assumption that life is fair. Silly people.

Take the Affliction Test Today!

Fuck, that's depressing. I didn't wanna be syphilis. I'm not sexually transmitted, honest! It's still safe to sleep with me, really!

...
Um. This is why I don't bother to touch alcohol. I'm fucking crazy enough as it is. I seriously am going to sleep this time, I promise.

I liiiiiiiike suuuushiiiiiii
I like sushi
it's so pretty
so happy and pretty and gay!
It's a lovely bit of fish
and you eat it in a dish
and...and...oh fork.
I'm going to bed now, I really am.

It is late, and I am tired, and I think I will go to school, if only for the amusement factor. Not that school is all that much phun, mind you...but I'm tired enouph to spell things with random phs, so i really ought to go to bed. I gots to get mark out of bed too, and i needs to makes a lunchies.

Blar. Tuna good. Lunchies bad.

giggle

The pregnant silence just gave birth to twins. I think she's going to name them Shut-the-fuck-up and Be-QUIET. But then again, it might just be me.

Having just realized that I insinuated that my brother was pot, I burst out laughing hysterically and fell on the floor.

The End.

Select filler to place here, la dee da.

Monday's Wash. Dude. I've got it.

Okay, so I don't normally think of Boffo in terms of an anime, although I suppose that's what it's supposed to be. It isn't really, though. I actually have a very hard time picturing my own characters- I'm not much of a visual person, I guess- I go more for listening, really. But sometimes I can picture scenes and places and background music- battle scenes most often, things that I don't have the words to describe properly, sometimes something as mundane and out of this world as a simple sunset- I get flashes of visual inspiration.

One of the problems with Boffo's ending is that it takes too much to wrap up all the loose ends and do what I want to it. I would need three separate epilogues to do what I really want to do. But, if Boffo were some sort of film, I know exactly what the very final scene would be: Dei, in a coffee bar, playing Monday's Wash on the piano while the credits rolled. It's just so perfectly inconcruous that it works. *cackles to self*

No, now that I think of it, a better ending scene would just be a single black feather, drifting on the wind, with Opal's theme playing in the background. (It's either 'A Day Without Rain' by Enya or the last track on 'Surfacing' from Sarah Maclachlan- I think. Not sure, it might change.) But I like the Dei and Monday's Wash thing. See, my endings are always too busy. I can't be fricken profound when I've got too much to say, you know? Hm.

I need to work on this. At least I've started part ten- Cowboy Bebop is a wonderful, wonderful thing. 'In The Rain', in addition to being an excellent song to commit suicide to (admittedly it would have to be done with a gun, and I despise guns, but other than that it's perfect- you pull the trigger on the final chord, and the camera cuts to the wall so that all the viewer can see is the splatter of blood and the silhouette of the body on the wall- in a church or similarly old building, of course), it's also Tyler's theme in the latter part of the story. The only problem is that I'm running out of sayings that have the word 'fall' in them; I'm going to have to resort to Latin from now on. *sigh* And that stupid house- *kicks house* It's going to drive me crazy, I swear. I wish I could draw scenery, just to get some sort of idea, but I can't, and it's frustrating. The closest I can come to is something like a cross between Oheka and the White House, and that's not right at all. *double sigh* It's late and I might have school tomorrow. I still haven't decided.

Regardless, I ought to get off the computer.

dot...dot...dot.
I, am?
Maybe...not.
dot...dot...dot.
You, see...or not.
We, could...be.
But, we, are...not.
dot...dot...
blip.

"But dad! They're being bitches and acting like stupid Lesbians back there!"
"Lesbians? Sorry kid, only on Wednsdays. Today's Friday, try again next week."
(And I got a rather shocked silence for that one...hey, I thought it was pretty funny. *snort*)

"Yeah, everybody keeps telling me I should get a job, but I don't really want to. But that whole steady cashflow thing is a good thing."
"Yeah, at the very least it's convenient."
"Doesn't go well with the whole 'starving artist' bit, though. And I mean, I wouldn't want to work too much- it might get to be a habit."
"And it's definitely not a habit you want to keep, believe me."

I should probably mention that Matt, one of the managers at SoHo, is Mark's roommate, and Mark used to work at SoHo anyway. So they all knew him. What seriously amused me was the way Matt went around folding people's napkins- and how he offered both of us drinks. Matt's 23, but both me (obviously) and Mark are underage. I should have gone with the rum and Coke- sorry, Pepsi just for the hell of it. I don't know if I'm gonna go to school tomorrow. No parents is such fun! *giggle*

SoHo kicks so much ass. *dies in happy tuna bliss*
So. It's got a wall of windows, but every restaurant has one of those, and there are these funky floor to ceiling doorway thingeedoodads along one side...the bar is in the middle of the front part of the restaurant- it runs perpendicular to the street- the bar, not the restaurant, which really runs sideways. It's got lots of low level lighting, and they play soft atmosphere jazz in the background. As you walk in, the desk is immediately to your right, the wall of windows and the street to your left (you make a 90^ turn in the foyer (where they have many wine bottles)) and there's a set of short stairs leading down to the back half of the restaurant, where you can see the kitchen, which also runs sideways and has a wall of windows. So it looks cool.

But the food- oh, blessed all! Not a single entree under twenty bucks except for the veggie platter, (vegetable sample with porcini risotto) and that was 18. The appetizers were $7-9, and I think the salads were all around $12 or $14 bucks. So. My meal:

We decided to split the spinach salad, which had young and tender spinach with chuncks of crumbled blue chese and curls of what I think was candied lemon rind and dried currants sprinkled about. I'm not sure what the dressig was, but it was tangy and good and tasted of blue cheese. We also split an appetizer; the goat cheese fritter, served on top of a pile of red and green vegetables sliced translucently thin drizzled in a sweet fruit-tasting sauce topped with a pile of greenery that resembled orregano, only not. Mark kept spreading his goat cheese on bread; I scooped it up with the red and green stuff and it was five different kinds of excellent. A little on the sweet side, but you don't expect things like 'goat cheese fritters' to be all that appealing. It was serious good stuff.

Then the entree; now, I will literally eat anything that is not moving, unless it's clams or mussels and in that case they'd better be cut up and hidden in some sauce before you expect me to put them in my mouth. (Truamatic experience with a live clam while in France- I'm serious about the not-moving rule.) I will also eat whatever it is at a record speed- bad habit, but it happens, and while everyone else is half way through their potatoes, I'll be wiping up the last of my gravy with a bit of bread. But this= this was food you couldn't help but eat slowly. I literally could not rush this meal, it was that good. I had decided that I wasn't particularly hungry, and Matt often gushes about it, so I ordered the tuna. Mark had the veal. The dishes come and wow.

Half the fun of eating at these insanely expensive restaurants is in the presentation of the food. The other half is the taste. My tuna came barely cooked around the edges and sushi-raw in the middle, just barely warm enough to keep from clashing with the warmth of the sauce; porcini dusted on the outside and tender enough to eat with a spoon, all lined up in half inch slices on top of a pile of parchment brown mushrooms with a texture like filet mignon and a taste that was out of this world. You know the kind of mushrooms I'm talking about, the kind they don't sell in the grocery store down the street; you've got to go to Wegmann's or some other huge place that sells them for eighty dollars a pound. They taste like clouds and acid trips, only without the mind bending consequences. And then there were the potato gnocci, hidden under the tuna and nestled in with the mushrooms, each no bigger than the last joint of my little finger, tender and seasoned faintly with something like parsely but probably wasn't; not the kind of gnocci that settles in your stomach like a lump of lead, the kind that melt on your tongue and leave the happy memory of a potato that went on to better things in your mouth. And the sauce- perfection. Tangy and sweet but not overly so, a blending of tastes that's impossible to describe with any other word than exquisite.

There was no sauce on the fish, just on the bed of mushrooms, gnocci and (oddly enough) green peas and around the plate. The tuna was sliced into vague rectangle shapes and lined up diagonally with a cap of tomato on one end and a bundle of assorted greenery tied (tied! with a knot and everything!) together by a strand of green onion. Beautiful.

Mark had the veal, which came as two cylinders of perfectly cooked and seasoned meat, one swimming in the blood-orange sauce, the other perched on top of a structure made of asparagus and fried yucca stalks- I had rectangular tuna, he had Lincoln logs. The veal was excellent, but the tuna was beyond good.

Then dessert: we split the apple streudle and the banna bread pudding- again, the presentation was half the fun. The apple streudle looked like an apple egg roll, quite honestly. Two halves of a roll standing on end with the upper half sliced diagonally, a cluster of walnuts and a pool of green apple syrup in one corner flanked by neatly arranged quarter inch cubes of candied apple in red apple syrup, and a tiny scoop of apple icecream on top of an apple slice as thin as a sheet of paper, with another apple slice sticking upwards out of it like a rising sun. (To be honest, I didn't think much of it- the apples weren't tart enough and I thought the pastry to be a little tough- the currants were a nice touch though. And the apple slices were shiny.) The banana bread pudding was Mark's fault. It was banana and poppy seed ice cream with a poppy seed tuille (it's a funky cookie), a line of sliced bananas with caramel, and the pudding, a mass of banana's and cake and eggs and cream and poppy seeds swimming in caramel. And yes, it was incredibly, wonderfully, intensely good. And if Matt hadn't decided that Mark's banana poppy seed cake was good, it probably wouldn't have been on the menu. My brother inspires great things. Coo'.

The final bill came to about $90, I believe. We left thirty bucks on the table, thanked Matt, and left. It pays to have connections in the restaurant biz, it really does. Tomorrow we go to one of the other insanely expensive restaurants in New Brunswick. Only we'll have to pay. *pout* But still- like, whoa. I haven't eaten that well since the Italian restaurant in Copenhagen- best Italian food of my life, and it was in Denmark. Craziness. But this was better, even if it was only three courses and not five.

I've told people that I take nothing seriously; I lied. I take my food very seriously. *sigh* I am happy.

*curls up into a ball* G'ahhhhh...I hate being a girl sometimes. *crawls off to find painkillers*...fucking cramps...

Hmwah, so I'm thinking that, yes, the Saga doesn't really have many viable slash couples- unless you start thinking incest, and I really can't see that happening with Cleran and Dysis. I mean, it takes a lot to squick me, but even I can see that that wouldn't work. It's such a good story, but there's a dissappointing lack of opportunities for cute guys to crawl all over each other. *pouts*

But Dysis x Erolis...that hadn't even occured to me. For some reason I can't quite imagine Dysis sleeping with anyone...and that's just odd, for me anyway, given that he's one of my favorite characters in the story. (I do hope he doesn't die, but I suppose it would serve me right :p) Might have something to do with his whole naive inherent niceness (must restrain urges to pat him on the head and all that)...'M tryin' to remember if he had a relationship with anyone or if it was just Cleran and the bitch who was using him...guess I'd better go read over the story to check. Hm. (Because this is going to bother me for a while if I don't, you see.)
...
I honestly haven't thought very hard about slash pairings in Boffo, simply because there is no room for any in the story, really. (And of course, fanfic would be an impossibility since nobody cares about it that much and if I wrote it, it wouldn't be fanfiction, now would it?) Almost everybody already has a significant other of the opposite (most of the time) gender. I guess Lucifer x Jubal, but Jubal would never allow that; he really is quite good at dealing with angels. There's the obvious incest one, but I don't even like to think about thinking about that, because...well. That should be obvious, right? I guess Dei x Jance is a possibility, but Jance is really one of those "ick you touched me' kinda people- he's a prick, and he's a prude. If he ended up with anybody, it would be Cara, and that doesn't count as incest because they don't have genetics or families- but I still have a hard time seeing even that happen. (For several plot related reasons as well as the personality conflict.) hm. Actually, long before I ever figured out their characters, Dei and Jubal were going to end up together somehow...but then when Jubal actually appeared in my rough draft he was very obviously not interested, so that idea got scrapped.

It might also be interesting (to whom, I do not know, but hey, I can always delude myself, right?) to note that Dei's first name was originally Democritus, Radueriel was originally Shateiel, Albion was Jeeves, and Dei was (for a very short while) the Boffo equivalent of Satan. Tyler had a different name at first, too, but I refuse to tell anyone what it was. Too disturbing. It's amazing how these things evolve, though, isn't it?

Woo: The Hunter's Sea, an explanation of the races and groups of Rothcar and Akwana
half-elves.
Half-elves are a bastard race that, in general, no one likes. Most of them are slaves, and those that are not probably were slaves at one point. They don't live nearly as long as real elves do, but they live much longer than humans and wear their age better than both races. In appearance they are a blending of elven and human; short to average-tall in height, build ranging from slender to solid but never ethereal or burly. Their hair and eyes are always the same color- always. They don't have random streaks of other colors in their hair, either, unless something traumatic has happened. Dyes and illusions slough off after a short period of time due to their inherent magic; tattoos are an exception to this if they are applied with the proper ink and ritual, as they must be.

Tattoos and multiple piercings figure prominently into their culture. There are some half-elves that don't have an inch of unmarked skin left; all half-elves have at least one tattoo that is used as a clan marking or identification tag. It's taboo to show any non-half-elf the primary ID tattoo; it's typically found around the neck, so all half-elves wear collars to cover it and to remind them of their own origins as slaves. Outsiders are rarely allowed into half-elven conclaves because of this; they do not cover their necks when surrounded by their own kind, but must if a human or elf visits. (They're kinda like wolves with the whole 'baring the throat in submission' bit...) The tattoos also serve as power channels. Their entire bodies, in fact, act as incredibly stable power sinks into the world around them- they're walking spellbooks. Their innate magical powers deal mostly with the physical aspect of magic, rather than the mental or emotional.

the assassin's guild
The assassin's guild in the capital city of Rothcar is one of the most successful ever. The Guildmaster has reigned with a not-so-iron-so-much-as-firmly-gentle-fist for the past thousand years, due to a deal made with the God of Murderers and Mercenaries, Qschxbxqkkl the Unpronounceable. (Not to be confused with the God of Sneakthieves and Cutthroats, Quiskybixil the Unpeeveable, patron of the Thieve's Guild) The gist of the deal was that if the Unpronouncable one gave the Guildmaster eternal life, he'd give the God eternal service, yada yada. So the Unpronouncable One decided that eternal life was too much of a hassle, but he would close the doors of death to the Guildmaster if he sacrificed himself on a burning altar in the name of his god. The Guildmaster (who's name, I believe, was Joe) thought about this for a moment and realized that there was something wrong with this idea. Unfortunately, he'd already agreed to it, and oops! No more Joe. The Unpronouncable kept his promise, though, and Joe had himself a nice new body and a candle that would tell him when it would be a good time to go throwing himself on burning pyres again. And a Shrive Cat, because for some reason they're under Qschxbxqkkl's jurisdiction. So it was Joe and Geranium against the world, and then the assassin's and mystics and blood mages began flocking to him- a few healers as well, because in that trade, who doesn't need some patching up once in a while? And then every few decades, Joe would trick one of his subjects into pushing him into a fire, and *bang!* he'd have a new body. The previous owner of his new body would be rather put out by this, and as a result Joe has gotten to be quite jaded, bitter, and Not All There due to the number of ghosts haunting his head, and the wise and impeccable striped tomcat that sits around his chambers making cryptic comments at him.

He still makes a hell of a good leader for the Guild, though, and everybody is rather respectful and awed with him. The only problem is that his last sacrifice to the God ended rather badly...the assassin he chose to betray (Blaine's mother) had bound her fate, soul, and mind to her husband. So when Joe took her body, he also got stuck with her husband's body, and now they have two Guildmasters, and Joe must put up with his own PMSing once a month. Sometimes they speak in unison, sometimes they don't, and that damn cat sits there and laughs as both/all/one of him the entire time.

The Guild is comprised of nearly a thousand members, including wizards, run of the mill murderers, mystics (who aren't all there, ever), healers, many Shrive cats, and a lot of children. Joe always had a soft spot for children (though he's loathe to admit it now) and so marriages within the guild are encouraged, and children are always given the best opportunities possible for education. It's quite a setup they've got going, inhabiting the catacombs and labyrinths beneath the city. The ones that aren't inhabited by ghouls, theives, gypsies and vampires, that is. They've got a couple of those in the guild anyway, though.

The Thieve's Guild doesn't have quite as interesting a history as the Assassin's; their Guildmaster actually dies every now and then. Currently she's an elf, so 'every now and then' describes it pretty well. The thieves don't require as many diverse jobs within their Guild as the assassins do; they do occasionally work hand in hand with the assassins, though. Member transfers, skill training; if a child raised as a thief is too bloodthirsty, she'll be sent to train as an assassin, or if somebody like Blaine pops up, he'll be sent to the thieves. There's no animosity between the two guilds; the thieves know the assassins could kick their collective asses, and the assassins know the thieves could rob them blind, so they get along pretty well.

The Temple District of Rothcar's capital takes up more space than the residential, business, and palatial sections combined. There are more temples than there are enough worshippers to go around. (I can't remember the name of the city; most people refer to it as the Center of the World for reasons not at all geographical.)

------Woo. That was fun. I wonder why I'm obsessing over this story so much lately...

Contrary to popular belief, I am not a violent psychotic. If I were, I would hit people and not punching bags or annoying teenage males. *thwaps forehead* Dude, I seriously need to work on my pacifist tendencies. Otherwise I'm gonna fuck up my hands as badly as I've fucked up my wrists, and that would be bad. *cradles bleeding knuckles* This is gonna get me a hell of a lot of weird looks in school...and my parents! Oi..."So, what did you do at Kristen's?" "Oh, bashed my knuckles to a bloody pulp because it was better than yelling at her brother. You know, the usual."

*sigh* My head is going to hurt soon.

Some times I wonder if I ever knew what the words "too much information" mean...But then it occurs to me that I don't really need to know, do I? I disturb myself as often as I disturb everyone else, so...

Well, regardless, it's not like I say much of note anyway. You know the drill, don't mind me...

Shwee. Y'know what's seriously messed up about my school system? (Because it is mine; belongs to me, has my name on it, everything-) Not only are the board and all the administrators incompetent, but they do crazy things to the students. I had sex ed when I was in second grade. At the time, the thing I found to be the most disturbing was the alarming number of girls who didn't know what their vagina was called- but they all knew what a penis was. Only one or two guys knew what to call their testicles, and I was the only one who wondered how the hell the baby fit when it was coming out.

Now you all know exactly why I am so messed up. Easily traumatized, especially at an early age. I was seven. *laments the state of the world, then falls over and laughs, because it amuses me, a lot.*

I've figured it out: My Scribble is where I talk about my friends and family, and thus don't want any of them going there, my Blog is where I babble randomly. In essence it's that three mile high billboard with my thoughts blinking across it posted in the middle of a highly populated area that I've always wanted for Christmas but never got. *sigh* Damn that Santa Claus!

A WHITE Dragon Lies Beneath!

I took the Inner Dragon online quiz and found out I am a White Dragon on the inside. If there ever was an apparition of balance, power and reclusive intelligence, my Inner Dragon is it. Whites are a fairly common dragon and are considered one of two harmonious dragons. My anti-thesis is the evil Black Dragon.



My Inner Dragon likes to think things out, plot against enemies, and look down upon the world from the highest mountain peaks. My favorable attributes are the Day, the Sun, truth, a positive attitude, and helpful magic. Humans only need fear me when they stray into my domain without proper tribute. Of course, that tribute would probably be a cake the size of a Volkswagen, but hey, if they wanted to move through my turf they should have brought it, right? If someone ever really wanted a fight I'd be an impressive opponent, considering I pack a breath weapon combination of Fire and Lightning. Even the nicest dragons can do some serious damage.



Well, I always said I was fickle. I'm tryin' to figure out which one fits best: DON'T MOCK MY SMOCK!! or GIVE ME CAKE!!
Huh. Well, they both seem to fit rather well, don't they? *giggle* Geez, I'm easily amused. I also got yellow a couple of times- the chaotic evil one who spews lightning bolts. *evil grin* Maybe I'll be a technicolor swirl dragon. Sounds fun, ne? "I shall blind you with my clashing scales! BWAH!!"

A GREEN Dragon Lies Beneath!

I took the Inner Dragon online quiz and found out I am a Green Dragon on the inside. My Inner Dragon is the embodiment of Nature and the Earth. Greens spend almost all of their time below the canopy or just above the treetops in tropical rain forests. Not a bad life considering every other creature in the forest looks up to me, figurativly and literally. I speak the language of every animal and plant in my domain and know most of them by first name. If people mess with my forests, I'm more than happy to wail on their puny butts. Because of my protector/caretaker role, I am the Earth Elemental dragon.



Naturally my whole life pretty much revolves around the other couple million species I keep an eye on, but that's not my whole dragon. I also like to like to impose my steadfast will on others, commune with Nature, and lobby governments for alternative fuels and conservation. My favorable attributes are gemstones, mountains, caves, soil, respect, endurance, responsibility, prosperity, and purpose in life. Folks shouldn't get the idea I'm a hippy push-over though, because my breath weapon is a nasty Fire/Acid combination. Maybe I should invest in a hemp shirt reading "Don't knock my smock, or I'll clean your clock." *wink*



Damn, I'm amused. I was hoping for a blue. But still- DON'T MOCK MY SMOCK!!!

"So, like, when it starts to bleed, that's a bad sign, isn't it?"
"Yes, dear. That's a very bad sign."
"Oh. Damn."

Me: "Nope, no problems."
Kris: "No problems? None at all?"
Me: "WITH THE MEAT!! WITH THE MEAT I MEANT! NO PROBLEMS WITH THE MEAT!
Kris: "Oh, alright then. As long as you don't think you don't have any problems. 'Cuz you do."
Me: "Oh, yes. I know. Lots of them. Lots and lots. But none WITH THE MEAT!!!"

Ach, the Impish Childe cometh! I flee! WOOHOO!!!

Ah, do you really want to know why I'm so twisted and rather...messed up in the head? Well, most of it is genetics, I suppose. My obsession with pretty guys gettin' it on probably stems from hormones and a peace-love-happiness hippy outlook on life. (I'm not sure how, but it does.) My inherent violence and desire to be a pacifist probably come from my brothers, and some well hidden well of compassion and empathy within me. The social anxiety? That's my dad's fault. All his fault. Hrm.

Nice is putting on a shirt that just came out of the dryer. Mmm...warm fluffiness. (Even nicer is sticking the top half of your body into the dry looking for said shirt while lacking one of your own. Too much information? Probably. But that's what I do best. *wink*)

Hm. I'm all alone in my house right now; I'm hoping my laundry will come out of the dryer before Kit shows up, but it prolly won't...Hey, let's just hope my parents don't die or anything like that, okay? Because, you know, that would like, really....suck. A lot. I'm not really worried, it's just that I have this nasty tendency to envision worst case scenarios; I'll just be walking down the hall and suddenly I'll see the door in front of me open and slam into my face, breaking my nose or giving me a concussion. It never happens, you know, but still...I keep getting horrible glimpses of planes going down, or Florida being devoured by the Leviathan, or terrorists hijacking things...I'm just hoping that the tendency of these things to not happen when I imagine them will continue to hold true. (I suppose, with luck like that, I'd make a horrible witch. Hum...)

Babble on religion and Boffo. Don't you feel special.

Now, I was raised a good little liberal left wing Catholic girl by my parents, daddy dearest being a long time Irish Catholic and mumsy being a convert from Russian Orthodox. My dad taught Sunday school before he had a heartattack and the workload was just too annoying. Plus, having all those seventh and eighth graders running around the house was really just annoying. Anyway, I sort of took the existence of God for granted and never questioned anything or really thought about anything for the first ten years of my life. Then I read Stranger in a Strange Land in sixth grade, and whoosh! there went all of my confident beliefs in God. The fact that my oldest brother had gone agnostic atheist and refused to go to church anymore might have helped a bit. (Some of you may be wondering why an eleven year old was reading Stranger in a Strange Land; suffice to say that I liked it a hell of a lot better than The Three Musketeers at the same tender age. And, surprisingly, Heinlein was not the cause for my twisted, perverted, and downright strange tendencies; all of those started in second grade, but I'll get to that later.) So, for a while I was completely and utterly against religion. And then...well, now I'm not really sure what I am, since I do still go to church but I have a dissassembled Pagan altar on my computer desk and have lost more books on religion than you can shake a stick at.

What does this have to do with anything? Well, I was agnostic for a while, until I figured that I did believe in something, I just couldn't quite pinpoint what it was. Most of my characters are like that, the exceptions (Boffo-wise, anyway) being Dei, Tyler, and Jubal. And the entire Celestial host, both sides, I suppose. Dei is a devout Christian- biased towards Catholicism, but non-denominational for the most part. He just likes the Catholics for the cathedrals, to be perfectly honest. (He considered being an architect for a while...but since there isn't much of a market for cathedrals, he scrapped that idea.) Of course, the whole mess with the shades and all the horrible things that have happened to him have made him a tad bit jaded (well, wouldn't you be?) but for some reason he still believes in God. (The fact that this isn't evidenced at all in the story is my fault, because I'm stupid.) He wears a black enameled silver cross thingee-doodad either around his neck or wrist; it's rarely in any place where it can be seen, not because he's ashamed or anything, but just because he likes keeping secrets and tends to be fairly quiet about his faith anyway. Needless to say, he's about as completely unlike a screaming fundamentalist as one can get. And he'd sooner shoot himself in the foot than start preaching; not his style, you know.

Tyler is a strict and devout atheist. Always has been, always will be. He doesn't talk about it much, and he isn't obnoxious about people who discuss God-stuff around him; you know the type, the ones who get offended if you say something like "Thou shalt not kill" because it's Biblical and anything Biblical is automatically Bad News. (I can't figure out which annoy me worse, the fundamentalists or the agressive atheists.) His reasons for this are a little hazy...something to do with Lilian, I'm sure, and his own station in life. Jealousy, mostly, probably. Maybe bitterness, or simply a refusal to believe something unless he sees it. Tyler has always been very grounded in this reality- slightly psychotic, yes, but he knows which way is up. A lot of the demons and (unsurprising, really) most of the angels are also strict atheists. Their point of view is that they created the world; they are gods. Only they aren't, but try telling them that. Stubborn, stuck up buggers, they are. The angels tend to feel this way more than the demons, if only because the demons are logical enough to know that nothing ever just happens; someone or something has to start it all. The angels have shorter memories so they assume they are responsible. Silly creatures, really.

And Jubal would technically be Jewish, only not quite and he isn't really a practicing Jew and even if he were his methods and beliefs would be six thousand years out of date, give or take a century. I'truth, though, he isn't really considered to be anything, since all he really worships anymore is Radueriel...God when he gets the chance, or feels the need for a change of pace, but mostly just a fallen angel with a harp. But...I think by the end of the story he'll be a little more concrete about his religion (horribly out of date as it is) or at least his thoughts on God. (Jubal: Hey. Hey! Yeah, you, the All-Father! What the fuck is up with this? I mean, come on, whose idea was it to make this shit-ball in the first place? Come on, own up!) Oi. Yes, that's more or less exactly what Jubal would do. The question is whether or not he'd get an answer...

As for religion in general in the story, well, it's there, sort of. I mean, it's a little hard to avoid what with the angels and the race of Cain thing, but...These are not angels of any sort of god. They only call themselves angels, because they like convenient titles and it sounds impressive. Whether they stole all their ideas off humanity, or the other way around is unknown; a little of both, I think. Time is less of a linear thing and more just 'there', so it's quite possible that the angels (who have been around for longer than the sun) stole all their ideas from human religion and have been using them for the past three billion years. (For the record, in my opinion God does exist, she/he just won't be making an appearance in Birds of a Feather.)

So, there you go. A great deal of babble that didn't say much, aside from the fact that I'm rather sacriligious. But we all knew that already, didn't we?