Always out of reach they seem,
I reached and reached again.
Insubstantial, and naught but dreams,
they wax and then they wain.
Soul, free to fly,
at last I understand.
And then I found
I held stars within my hand.
(I know it is short, but again, writers block is vexing me.)
Saturday, January 3, 2009
Wild Hunt
The time was now. Bryn lifted the horn to his lips and sounded its call across the glen. The mist was thick, but he could hear the sounds of battle begin to rise as his brothers armed up and climbed astride their mounts.
This was the chance they’d all been waiting for, and the mortals wouldn’t know what was coming for them. The Veil had been rent one last time, and finally the barrier was broken. Bryn tossed his head, antlers gleaming in the early morning sun. When the light struck his skin, green glimmered beneath the nut-brown of his tan. All who saw him would know that he was no human.
The time for the wild hunt had come.
King Cerne was majestic astride his stag, spear in hand. The other hunters - Cernunnos, Orion, Weiryn, Pan, Pashupati, the Green Man - drew their steeds up alongside him and waited for the second clarion call, the signal that the Rainbow Bridge had reached the other side.
Bryn leapt astride his steed and pulled up beside the others. The stag stamped, jittery with the excitement of war in the air. Bryn took the chance to string his bow, spell his arrows to come back to him after kills, and then a ripple of whispers broke through the mist.
There, atop a nightmare black steed, was the Red Queen, painted with woad, armed with sword and shield.
Cerne bowed his head to his Queen, and Morrigan smiled at him. Her lips were already stained with blood.
(254 words)
This was the chance they’d all been waiting for, and the mortals wouldn’t know what was coming for them. The Veil had been rent one last time, and finally the barrier was broken. Bryn tossed his head, antlers gleaming in the early morning sun. When the light struck his skin, green glimmered beneath the nut-brown of his tan. All who saw him would know that he was no human.
The time for the wild hunt had come.
King Cerne was majestic astride his stag, spear in hand. The other hunters - Cernunnos, Orion, Weiryn, Pan, Pashupati, the Green Man - drew their steeds up alongside him and waited for the second clarion call, the signal that the Rainbow Bridge had reached the other side.
Bryn leapt astride his steed and pulled up beside the others. The stag stamped, jittery with the excitement of war in the air. Bryn took the chance to string his bow, spell his arrows to come back to him after kills, and then a ripple of whispers broke through the mist.
There, atop a nightmare black steed, was the Red Queen, painted with woad, armed with sword and shield.
Cerne bowed his head to his Queen, and Morrigan smiled at him. Her lips were already stained with blood.
(254 words)
Friday, January 2, 2009
Sailing away
"Hoist all sails!" The bosun called as the ship crept out of the safety of the harbor. The men on board were quick to obey the orders. They chanted in unison as they worked the sails, the call and the rhythm setting the pace. There was a chant for leaving the harbor and for coming in. There were many for short hauls, for halyarding , and for the capstan.
Men scuttled up the netting and out onto the yardarms, loosing the sails that would catch the wind. The men below hauled on the lines to put them in place.
The breeze was freshening and the day promising. The perfect day to be off on the sea; to wherever the wind and currents took them. The old men and the young men alike raised their voices in the chant to raise the sails. The broad squares of white cloth boomed as the wind caught them, filling and rapidly baring the ship away into the horizon.
Ryan pulled with the others, raising his clear tenor voice with the others. They were leaving and their song echoed over the sea.
In the Black Ball line I served my time
To me way-aye-aye, hurray-ah
And that's the line where you can shine
Hurrah for the Black Ball Line
Men scuttled up the netting and out onto the yardarms, loosing the sails that would catch the wind. The men below hauled on the lines to put them in place.
The breeze was freshening and the day promising. The perfect day to be off on the sea; to wherever the wind and currents took them. The old men and the young men alike raised their voices in the chant to raise the sails. The broad squares of white cloth boomed as the wind caught them, filling and rapidly baring the ship away into the horizon.
Ryan pulled with the others, raising his clear tenor voice with the others. They were leaving and their song echoed over the sea.
In the Black Ball line I served my time
To me way-aye-aye, hurray-ah
And that's the line where you can shine
Hurrah for the Black Ball Line
White City
“It’s a lovely city,” Jennifer said.
The young man who stood at her side kept his hands in the pockets of his long green coat and gazed out over the cityscape, which was a calming blend of architecture and flora gone multi-coloured for autumn.
“It looks nice,” the man agreed.
“It isn’t actually nice?” Jennifer cast him a sidelong glance and saw something like cruel amusement twist his mouth into a painful facsimile of a smile.
“It can be nice.” He tugged one hand out of a pocket and pointed across the city to a tall white building. “See that place right there?”
Jennifer followed the line of his arm. “Yes?”
“It’s a school. I spent twelve years of my life there. They found me when I was four, and I graduated when I was sixteen - two years ahead of all the other students in my class,” the man said. He reached up and ran a hand over his short red hair, and something about the longing in that gesture made Jennifer wonder how long his hair had been before.
“So you were a genius?”
“Perhaps prodigy is a better term, although I had a prodigy of my own on my team once I escaped the hallowed walls of the White City,” he said.
“What kind of school was it?”
“One you’ve never heard of, but one that runs the world,” he said.
“Oh? What did they teach you there?”
“Everything - music, art, dancing, poetry, history, geography.” His expression turned distant again. “Firearms and bladed weapons, hand-to-hand combat, computer hacking, basic confidence scams and advanced disguises and sleight-of-hand. Everything a school could want for its agents.”
“Agents? Not students?”
“Not at Rosenkreuz. But if you have the money, and the will, you can hire yourself a team from the White City, and they will lay the world at your feet.”
“At what price?”
“More than anyone ever really wants to pay.”
(326 words)
The young man who stood at her side kept his hands in the pockets of his long green coat and gazed out over the cityscape, which was a calming blend of architecture and flora gone multi-coloured for autumn.
“It looks nice,” the man agreed.
“It isn’t actually nice?” Jennifer cast him a sidelong glance and saw something like cruel amusement twist his mouth into a painful facsimile of a smile.
“It can be nice.” He tugged one hand out of a pocket and pointed across the city to a tall white building. “See that place right there?”
Jennifer followed the line of his arm. “Yes?”
“It’s a school. I spent twelve years of my life there. They found me when I was four, and I graduated when I was sixteen - two years ahead of all the other students in my class,” the man said. He reached up and ran a hand over his short red hair, and something about the longing in that gesture made Jennifer wonder how long his hair had been before.
“So you were a genius?”
“Perhaps prodigy is a better term, although I had a prodigy of my own on my team once I escaped the hallowed walls of the White City,” he said.
“What kind of school was it?”
“One you’ve never heard of, but one that runs the world,” he said.
“Oh? What did they teach you there?”
“Everything - music, art, dancing, poetry, history, geography.” His expression turned distant again. “Firearms and bladed weapons, hand-to-hand combat, computer hacking, basic confidence scams and advanced disguises and sleight-of-hand. Everything a school could want for its agents.”
“Agents? Not students?”
“Not at Rosenkreuz. But if you have the money, and the will, you can hire yourself a team from the White City, and they will lay the world at your feet.”
“At what price?”
“More than anyone ever really wants to pay.”
(326 words)
Overview #9 Multi-Fandom No Dialogue
Wow, this week was tough. Even though sometimes I can write just fine without dialogue, I found myself really wanting to use it. I found that without dialogue I loose a certain depth of the characters. And maybe that is a stylistic problem or a lack of skill still. I think I am still having a bit of a problem with telling rather than showing, but I am trying to be aware of it. Choosing fandoms was at time hard. Even though I like a lot of things, and I can usually come up with interesting side stories for whatever I am fanning over, when put on the spot, I found it hard to think of ideas. Not to mention that writers block has hit me hard. No matter what I write, to me it sounds rather lame of late. *Shrug*
Thursday, January 1, 2009
Beautiful Soul
He had a beautiful soul. She could tell that by his eyes. A gentle youth.
She had watched him for a while, the way he interacted with others. His consideration for others, his intelligence and the small acts of kindness.
And the way that he ran, just for the pleasure of the physical exertion; she could watch him for hours.
He was young, but she was patient.
(I know most of these are short, but I'm not at the top of the game at the moment... major writers block....)
She had watched him for a while, the way he interacted with others. His consideration for others, his intelligence and the small acts of kindness.
And the way that he ran, just for the pleasure of the physical exertion; she could watch him for hours.
He was young, but she was patient.
(I know most of these are short, but I'm not at the top of the game at the moment... major writers block....)
She would Remember
Shane ducked behind the black curtains on the stage. His heart pounding. She had been sitting closer to the stage tonight. He did not know if she had seen him; he was hoping to spark her memories before he revealed himself. The best way he could think of was to sing. His green eyes reflected what little light was backstage. Gathering his things he walked out the back stage door.
Yes, Alastrina would remember. He would make sure of that. He had seen her perk up when she heard him sing. She would remember in time. And they would be happy again as they once were.
Yes, Alastrina would remember. He would make sure of that. He had seen her perk up when she heard him sing. She would remember in time. And they would be happy again as they once were.
Sketching
Kim studied the contours before her. She had never tried her hand at sketching, but David was a willing model. His bare back was towards her, his muscled rippling down the length of his body. He stood in a doorway, his arms raised and resting against the frame. His hair was tousled and his jeans hung just perfectly on his slender hips.
"Are you finished?" David was not impatient, but he wanted to see how it had turned out. His skin itched just slightly as she could feel her eyes on his bare back.
"Nope."
Kim was in fact finished, but she was not quite ready for him to put his shirt back on yet.
"Are you finished?" David was not impatient, but he wanted to see how it had turned out. His skin itched just slightly as she could feel her eyes on his bare back.
"Nope."
Kim was in fact finished, but she was not quite ready for him to put his shirt back on yet.
Old Man
"Go to the Old Man. Find him and you will find me." These words were whispered hurriedly, and urgently into her ear before he ran.
"Wait!" She called after him. "What old man? Who? How do I find him?"
"Find him!" The words were faint, and the figure was rapidly disappearing.
'How am I to find him when I don't know which old man to look for. There are millions of old men in the world.'
*****
Anna had been lithe and beautiful when her search had started. At times she had wanted to give up. She had looked up every old man that she could think that Thomas knew. She had not found him. Now she was pale, a shadow of her former self. Still she continued to search.
****
Anna was old, it was hard for her to continue; she hardly remembered now why she should, why it mattered. The only thing that kept her going was the fact that she had not found the old man. She didn't think the old man existed anymore, but her love's command that she find the old man still rang in her mind.
Anna lowered her aching body beside a great tree, leaning against the rough bark. It was harsh against her paper thin skin.
"Anna, you made it." The voice seemed to come from the tree itself, ancient and woody.
"Thomas." Anna sighed, closing here eyes for the last time.
Thomas stepped from within the confines of the tree, and looked at his love, Tenderly he reached out and grasped her cooling hand. Pulling gently he drew her young soul towards him.
Leaving her body behind he bore her towards a new life; with him at her side. Forever.
"Wait!" She called after him. "What old man? Who? How do I find him?"
"Find him!" The words were faint, and the figure was rapidly disappearing.
'How am I to find him when I don't know which old man to look for. There are millions of old men in the world.'
*****
Anna had been lithe and beautiful when her search had started. At times she had wanted to give up. She had looked up every old man that she could think that Thomas knew. She had not found him. Now she was pale, a shadow of her former self. Still she continued to search.
****
Anna was old, it was hard for her to continue; she hardly remembered now why she should, why it mattered. The only thing that kept her going was the fact that she had not found the old man. She didn't think the old man existed anymore, but her love's command that she find the old man still rang in her mind.
Anna lowered her aching body beside a great tree, leaning against the rough bark. It was harsh against her paper thin skin.
"Anna, you made it." The voice seemed to come from the tree itself, ancient and woody.
"Thomas." Anna sighed, closing here eyes for the last time.
Thomas stepped from within the confines of the tree, and looked at his love, Tenderly he reached out and grasped her cooling hand. Pulling gently he drew her young soul towards him.
Leaving her body behind he bore her towards a new life; with him at her side. Forever.
Glimpse of a Life
Jared gently picked up the black rose that had been left on his table, each petal absolutely perfect. He drew his finger along the silky soft contours of the flower, remembering. There was no note, none was needed. The rose said it all. She would not be coming back. He had lost her forever.
Four Seasons
He sat beneath the tree, guitar clumsily across his knees. He’d started learning to play only a few months ago, and he was proud that the first song he’d learned was one of her favorites. Even if he couldn’t play very well yet, he could still sing. It was his voice that had drawn her to him.
“Winter, spring, summer or fall
All you have to do is call
And I’ll be there...”
She’d promised that to him, and now he kept the same promise in return. If the people in town didn’t understand why he stopped to play a song under the tree every day, no matter the weather, then they didn’t understand how much he’d loved her. They didn’t understand how much he’d cared for her, how much he’d done for her - and didn’t know that’s where he’d buried her.
(142 words)
“Winter, spring, summer or fall
All you have to do is call
And I’ll be there...”
She’d promised that to him, and now he kept the same promise in return. If the people in town didn’t understand why he stopped to play a song under the tree every day, no matter the weather, then they didn’t understand how much he’d loved her. They didn’t understand how much he’d cared for her, how much he’d done for her - and didn’t know that’s where he’d buried her.
(142 words)
Last of Asgaroth
The battle raged around them, and the sound of steel on steel was a cacophony of beautiful destruction. Dragons swarmed the air overhead; Cordelia shuddered whenever she heard one scream and plummet out of the sky. General Unnenweldt had worked his engineers overtime to plan new siege engines, and the dragonslaying crossbows were his genius at its cruelest yet.
“What now?” She turned to Damien, who stood beside her on the precipice, spear in hand.
He must not have heard her, for his eyes were distant as he gazed down on the battlefield. Cordelia felt a swell of longing rise in her chest; they’d fought so long and so hard to survive this far, and now she and Damien were the only commanders of the Asgaroth left.
Cordelia reached out to him. “Damien, what choice have you made?”
He turned to her, then, lifted a hand to her face.
“I love you, Cordelia,” he said.
She smiled.
He said, “I’m sorry,” and drove his spear through her.
(167 words)
“What now?” She turned to Damien, who stood beside her on the precipice, spear in hand.
He must not have heard her, for his eyes were distant as he gazed down on the battlefield. Cordelia felt a swell of longing rise in her chest; they’d fought so long and so hard to survive this far, and now she and Damien were the only commanders of the Asgaroth left.
Cordelia reached out to him. “Damien, what choice have you made?”
He turned to her, then, lifted a hand to her face.
“I love you, Cordelia,” he said.
She smiled.
He said, “I’m sorry,” and drove his spear through her.
(167 words)
Told You So
He sat in one corner of the bar, on the floor, watching a group of girls who sat at a table drinking tea and playing mahjongg. The girls were pretty, wearing traditional kimonos, hair tied up like geisha.
Craig said, “Dude, that guy looks like a chick. I mean - he’s got a girly face.”
“He doesn’t have a girly face to Japanese women,” Thaddeus said primly and sipped his tea. While he was distracted with his map of Kyoto, Craig dumped some more sugar into his tea cup. He really had to stop trusting Thaddeus about decent places to get a drink or pick up chicks - a ‘traditional’ bar was hardly hopping.
“He looks like a chick. Seriously. And he’s wearing a skirt,” Craig said.
“Not a skirt - a hakama. Like pants.” Thaddeus held out the map. “Here, do you want to see the temple where the Shinsengumi were stationed after Ikedaya?”
Craig shook his head. “No - I want to go ask that dude if he’s really a dude - or see if he’s actually a chick.”
“I wouldn’t,” Thaddeus said, and picked up his guide book.
“Why not?”
“Do you recognize the uniform he’s wearing?”
“No.” Craig resisted the urge to roll his eyes; he’d come along for the hot Asian chicks, not to indulge his brother’s history obsession.
Thaddeus cast the man a glance. “Well, he isn’t wearing his haori, but those colors are quite obvious. He’s one of the roshigumi, also later known as the shinsengumi.” Thaddeus looked some more, sipped his tea. “If the insignias on his kimono are any indication, he’s from the Tenninrishinryu school, and if you’re right about the ‘girly’ face, then he’s probably from the Okita line.”
“That doesn’t mean anything to me.”
“That means that the sword he’s got there with him? He can kill three people in three seconds with it.”
Craig blinked and his brother’s bland, calm description of swift murder. “Really?”
“Really.”
“Oh.” Craig looked over and saw the man looking at him. He lifted a hand in greeting and smiled weakly. Then he went back to his over-sugared tea.
From across the bar, someone called out, “Okita Kensuke! Ohayo!”
The man lifted a hand - off the hilt of his sword - and waved.
Thaddeus said, “Told you so.”
(380 words)
Craig said, “Dude, that guy looks like a chick. I mean - he’s got a girly face.”
“He doesn’t have a girly face to Japanese women,” Thaddeus said primly and sipped his tea. While he was distracted with his map of Kyoto, Craig dumped some more sugar into his tea cup. He really had to stop trusting Thaddeus about decent places to get a drink or pick up chicks - a ‘traditional’ bar was hardly hopping.
“He looks like a chick. Seriously. And he’s wearing a skirt,” Craig said.
“Not a skirt - a hakama. Like pants.” Thaddeus held out the map. “Here, do you want to see the temple where the Shinsengumi were stationed after Ikedaya?”
Craig shook his head. “No - I want to go ask that dude if he’s really a dude - or see if he’s actually a chick.”
“I wouldn’t,” Thaddeus said, and picked up his guide book.
“Why not?”
“Do you recognize the uniform he’s wearing?”
“No.” Craig resisted the urge to roll his eyes; he’d come along for the hot Asian chicks, not to indulge his brother’s history obsession.
Thaddeus cast the man a glance. “Well, he isn’t wearing his haori, but those colors are quite obvious. He’s one of the roshigumi, also later known as the shinsengumi.” Thaddeus looked some more, sipped his tea. “If the insignias on his kimono are any indication, he’s from the Tenninrishinryu school, and if you’re right about the ‘girly’ face, then he’s probably from the Okita line.”
“That doesn’t mean anything to me.”
“That means that the sword he’s got there with him? He can kill three people in three seconds with it.”
Craig blinked and his brother’s bland, calm description of swift murder. “Really?”
“Really.”
“Oh.” Craig looked over and saw the man looking at him. He lifted a hand in greeting and smiled weakly. Then he went back to his over-sugared tea.
From across the bar, someone called out, “Okita Kensuke! Ohayo!”
The man lifted a hand - off the hilt of his sword - and waved.
Thaddeus said, “Told you so.”
(380 words)
Iori
He stood with his back to the camera, his posture deliberately insouciant, as if he knew exactly where the camera was. He had his hands in his pockets and was looking at something off to the side that only he could see.
Agent Lowenstein hissed in a long, deep breath. “Unsub’s pretty arrogant, isn’t he?”
“That’s not the worst of it, sir,” the little techie - Novak? - said.
“I know what happens - the entire place goes up in flames, and he did it.” Lowenstein pointed to the screen. “That crescent moon on his back is distinctive. He’s taunting us, but it’ll cost him.”
“Maybe not, sir,” Novak said. “Just watch.”
Lowenstein wished that security feed didn’t always have the background-buzzing quality of a low-budget film. If these multinational corporations could afford lear jets for their executives, surely they could afford better cameras for security. Fat cats liked to cut corners in all the wrong places.
The unsub straightened up, hands at his sides, and curled his fingers into fists slowly. The motion was filled with leased tension and anger, and Lowenstein frowned. The conflagration had been massive, and the fire crews insisted that some sort of accelerant had been used, though their lab hadn’t been able to identify it yet. A glance at the clock running in the corner of the screen said that the fire started in thirty seconds, and Lowenstein saw no accelerant at hand for the unsub, and the unsub was making no moves to escape the building.
“Here it comes,” Novak murmured.
Lowenstein could only stared as black flames ignited in the palms of the the unsub’s hands. His mouth fell open as the flames dripped from the man’s hands and spread across the floor of the warehouse in lovely geometric patterns, zig-zagging and zooming across the floor.
The unsub turned.
Lowenstein leaned in closer, desperate to see the man’s face, and abruptly the entire warehouse burst into flames, black flames that became yellow as they fanned outwards.
“What the hell? Is the unsub dead?”
Novak said, “It gets better.”
A shape lunged out of the black flames, and Lowenstein recoiled. A man’s face, dark with the shadows flung by the black flames, filled the screen. He mouthed something, a word or maybe two, and then his lips curved into a wicked, amused smile. And then he turned, slid his hands back into his pockets, and walked away.
(404 words)
Agent Lowenstein hissed in a long, deep breath. “Unsub’s pretty arrogant, isn’t he?”
“That’s not the worst of it, sir,” the little techie - Novak? - said.
“I know what happens - the entire place goes up in flames, and he did it.” Lowenstein pointed to the screen. “That crescent moon on his back is distinctive. He’s taunting us, but it’ll cost him.”
“Maybe not, sir,” Novak said. “Just watch.”
Lowenstein wished that security feed didn’t always have the background-buzzing quality of a low-budget film. If these multinational corporations could afford lear jets for their executives, surely they could afford better cameras for security. Fat cats liked to cut corners in all the wrong places.
The unsub straightened up, hands at his sides, and curled his fingers into fists slowly. The motion was filled with leased tension and anger, and Lowenstein frowned. The conflagration had been massive, and the fire crews insisted that some sort of accelerant had been used, though their lab hadn’t been able to identify it yet. A glance at the clock running in the corner of the screen said that the fire started in thirty seconds, and Lowenstein saw no accelerant at hand for the unsub, and the unsub was making no moves to escape the building.
“Here it comes,” Novak murmured.
Lowenstein could only stared as black flames ignited in the palms of the the unsub’s hands. His mouth fell open as the flames dripped from the man’s hands and spread across the floor of the warehouse in lovely geometric patterns, zig-zagging and zooming across the floor.
The unsub turned.
Lowenstein leaned in closer, desperate to see the man’s face, and abruptly the entire warehouse burst into flames, black flames that became yellow as they fanned outwards.
“What the hell? Is the unsub dead?”
Novak said, “It gets better.”
A shape lunged out of the black flames, and Lowenstein recoiled. A man’s face, dark with the shadows flung by the black flames, filled the screen. He mouthed something, a word or maybe two, and then his lips curved into a wicked, amused smile. And then he turned, slid his hands back into his pockets, and walked away.
(404 words)
Good Kid Too
Detective Polarmin stood in the doorway and stared at the crime scene. Whoever had torn this place apart had been in a hurry - and angry. He’d seen professional tosses of a room, and there all the damage was functional, no matter how messy it was. But here the damage was personal. Fragments of trinkets and statuettes scattered across the carpet, pages torn out of a diary - they all bespoke a certain deliberate fury.
“What are Mr. and Mrs. Donovan saying?”
“Apparently this was their foster-daughter’s room. Veronica, her name was,” Detective Smithers said.
“Veronica Donovan - didn’t she die in that hit-and-run with the Warren kid last week?” Polarmin asked.
Smithers nodded. “Yeah - Warren was driving drunk, ran her over while she was coming home from the library. Pretty tragic.”
“And so the person who did this is...?” Polarmin eyed his junior partner expectantly.
Smithers scooped up a photograph. “Veronica’s boyfriend. Warren’s friends swear up and down that this kid is responsible for Warren’s death.”
“The ME said it was an animal attack.”
“Those boys swear he had something to do with it.”
“So we’re assuming this boyfriend of hers skipped town, and on the way out he decided to, what, wreck her room?”
“Take something with him.” Smithers pointed to an empty corner of the room. “According to Mrs. Donovan, Veronica bought a violin for her boyfriend to play. He left it here, on account of his drunk uncle probably destroying it. Kid must have wanted to take the thing with him. Mrs. Donovan suspects the instrument was worth a lot of money.”
Polarmin was sure Mrs. Donovan was willing to suspect a lot of things if it would fatten her paycheck from the government for watching a troubled kid. By all reports, of course, Veronica had been a good girl. Polarmin studied the boy’s face in the photograph, his open expression and bright smile, and hoped that he hadn’t done what the Warren boy’s family claimed he’d done, that he was a good kid too.
(339 words)
“What are Mr. and Mrs. Donovan saying?”
“Apparently this was their foster-daughter’s room. Veronica, her name was,” Detective Smithers said.
“Veronica Donovan - didn’t she die in that hit-and-run with the Warren kid last week?” Polarmin asked.
Smithers nodded. “Yeah - Warren was driving drunk, ran her over while she was coming home from the library. Pretty tragic.”
“And so the person who did this is...?” Polarmin eyed his junior partner expectantly.
Smithers scooped up a photograph. “Veronica’s boyfriend. Warren’s friends swear up and down that this kid is responsible for Warren’s death.”
“The ME said it was an animal attack.”
“Those boys swear he had something to do with it.”
“So we’re assuming this boyfriend of hers skipped town, and on the way out he decided to, what, wreck her room?”
“Take something with him.” Smithers pointed to an empty corner of the room. “According to Mrs. Donovan, Veronica bought a violin for her boyfriend to play. He left it here, on account of his drunk uncle probably destroying it. Kid must have wanted to take the thing with him. Mrs. Donovan suspects the instrument was worth a lot of money.”
Polarmin was sure Mrs. Donovan was willing to suspect a lot of things if it would fatten her paycheck from the government for watching a troubled kid. By all reports, of course, Veronica had been a good girl. Polarmin studied the boy’s face in the photograph, his open expression and bright smile, and hoped that he hadn’t done what the Warren boy’s family claimed he’d done, that he was a good kid too.
(339 words)
Wednesday, December 31, 2008
Overview #9 - Multifandom No Dialogue
This was both fun and hard! It was fun trying out some fandoms I'm admittedly not that good at, as well as exploring others I know and love. However, writing without dialogue was bloody difficult. It can make for shorter writing and some more pithy humor, but dialogue seems to be my forte and a couple of times I sat down to write and then realized I'd included dialogue. I find that what characters say is often one of the best ways to develop a character, and so having to write without it, even for some of the more quiet characters like Squall, Farfarello, and Nagi, was harder than I'd initially thought. Still, it was a good challenge, even though the holidays ended up making me a little backlogged. Good times to be had all around! I do think fandom challenges are pretty simple when we know we might be busy.
Tuesday, December 30, 2008
Porject Assignment # 10 Picture
Oops oops and oops... This weeks challenge is a picture.
Chose a picture and write a short story about it. It can be just a character description or a scene, dialogue between two people.
If you can, include a picture that you have written from. It is not required though. Lets set the limit at 500 words.
Chose a picture and write a short story about it. It can be just a character description or a scene, dialogue between two people.
If you can, include a picture that you have written from. It is not required though. Lets set the limit at 500 words.
Monday, December 29, 2008
Gravel
The gravel crunched quietly under his feet, this would make for an interesting time of it. After all, stealth was to be desired when you were an assassin. He shifted his weight and the pebbles ground under his foot. He was pretty sure that he had not been heard; but it was imperative to be sure.
Sunday, December 28, 2008
Wishes in the Night
Percy looked with longing on the woman that he loved, the woman that he adored, the woman that he would die for. She sat beside him on the long drives that he liked to take at night, the darkness enfolding them. He wanted to reach out and hold her, to caress her and to whisper in her ear how much he loved her. He knew that he should not, that she could still be a traitor. After all, she had sent the Marquise family to the guillotine.
He allowed himself the slightest pleasure as he tucked a lock of hair behind her ear that had escaped from her perfectly coiffed hair. He could live a while on that one touch alone.
(Based on the book The Scarlet Pimpernel.)
He allowed himself the slightest pleasure as he tucked a lock of hair behind her ear that had escaped from her perfectly coiffed hair. He could live a while on that one touch alone.
(Based on the book The Scarlet Pimpernel.)
Death of a Foe
Edmond would not let Fernande get away from him this time. Last time he had not the skill to stop his enemy, but now he was powerful, he could not be stopped this time. He would not let him get away. Suicide would be to quick and to easy. He had expertly orchestrated his opponents downfall, it could not be stopped, not for Heaven or for Hell. And either way, Edmond would have his revenge.
****
Fernande looked up at the man standing in the doorway, heard how he had cause all his current misery, and felt it, sharply, as the bullet found his breast. Dimming eyes showed him his old rival, the one that Mercedes had chosen over him, he who had ended his life. And he could not fault him for it.
(This is based on the book The Count of Monte Cristo)
****
Fernande looked up at the man standing in the doorway, heard how he had cause all his current misery, and felt it, sharply, as the bullet found his breast. Dimming eyes showed him his old rival, the one that Mercedes had chosen over him, he who had ended his life. And he could not fault him for it.
(This is based on the book The Count of Monte Cristo)
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