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chaseee
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kiss me hard before you go

NaNoWriMo Excerpts Nov 1, 2011 17:29:37 GMT -5

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Post by chaseee on Nov 1, 2011 17:29:37 GMT -5

[/b] Apparently, in this world, the mayors have to change their names to their state? I guess that explains why they call him Wisconsin? xD

Gruff, tough and lean, Wisconsin's mayor intimidated the majority of the others, standing like a sore thumb among the calm, go-with-the-flow type the others had proved to be. The discoloration in his face only went to show that the sudden proposal angered him, also evident in the way he slammed his meaty fists into the trembling coffee table, how he'd stand every five minutes or so to voice his opinion. He noticed how the officers tensed each time he'd start to argue, and he was using their uneasiness to his advantage. He wouldn't stand for it, he wouldn't.

"Council, what you're suggesting is ridiculous! It's morbid, inhumane! We can't get rid of our Justice System just like that! A raising of hands and years of advancement out the window? Some of these people are awaiting trial! We can't send them to their deaths without a fair ruling!" His mustache twitched as he finished, chest rising and falling in a fast rhythm, eyes all but bulging from his head, his words trailing into silence. Their reaction, however, was unsatisfactory. For only a moment, their gray heads bobbed, crouching enough so their whispers would not be picked up by the microphones mounted to the desktop. And, just like that, there was a pounding of a gravel, and their voices raised unanimously, clear, thoughtful, and precise. "We've come to a decision. The Colosseum Project will continue, hearings will be held in the time remaining, and when the franchise opens its doors, the prisoners will be escorted to the nearest location. Are there any further objections?" Their thin necks swiveled, cool eyes daring anyone to speak again, slowly coming to Wisconsin. "Great. Meeting adjourned."

---

Their ash cloaks billowed ominously around their thin ankles as they walked, giving them the look of ancient vampires, aging assassins, a cult of supernatural beings. Confidence wavering, Wisconsin approached with a certain dignity, which the Council found astounding, given how the man could react when failing in something he believed in. "Sirs," he addressed politely, giving a slight nod of his head. The eldest stepped forward, bowing his head likewise. "So nice of you to join us for a walk, Wisconsin. I assume you've had time to clear your head?" By this, of course, they meant he'd had time to cool off, release hold on his pent up anger toward the group of men. He gave a curt nod, resisting the urge to glare, knowing this would only lower the Council's view of him. "Good. Shall we?" The Eldest's arm swung before him, a grin plastered on his withering face.

"Council, with all due respect, I think you're doing the wrong thing here." Wisconsin gave a nervous peek at the slow moving men, wondering if he'd crossed the line by judging their motives. Relief swept through him when instead, they began to chuckle, a few even shaking their heads as if they shamefully agreed with the mayor. Laughing a little himself, he wondered if he'd somehow redeemed himself. Maybe they'd give him another chance to elaborate on some of his own ideas if they were on closer terms. "You see, I have this idea. Maybe instead of bringing back th-"

Stepping to turn the corner into the meeting hall's luxurious garden area, Wisconsin found himself unable to breathe. Clawing at his neck, trying his hardest to clear his throat, still no oxygen made its way to his now-aching brain. Pounding on his chest, he realized he didn't feel anything lodged in his throat, and you just didn't stop breathing all of a sudden did you? Sure, maybe when you got to that ripened age, but no sudden suffocation had ever been discovered among the middle aged. Eyes swiveling fretfully about, his gaze once again fell upon the eldest. Arm outstretched, hand curled into a fist, the old man wore a mask of malice, eyes gleaming in what Wisconsin could only describe as evil. He gave a choked cry of disbelief. How was he doing it? The idea of magic had been thrown aside ages ago. Hardly anyone believed in those ancient tales anymore. Yet, here was living proof. Was this some sort of trick? An invisible string wrapped around his neck in a way that would press on his windpipe, causing strangulation?

"Now, my dear Wisconsin. You need to learn when the right time is for questioning others and when the right is for shutting your god damned mouth." He cocked his head, glancing at the other four, who all nodded in agreement. "This is what we went, so this is what we're going to get, understand? We will not let another spoiled mayor stand in the way of progress. The plans have been laid out, the prisoners have been selected, and there's not a thing you can do now." He relaxed his fingers, rubbing at his palm. Gasping, Wisconsin bent, hands grasping his knees for support, struggling to fill his lungs once again. A ripened hand appeared at his shirt front, pulling him off of his feet, coming face to face with his tormentor. "You've been stripped of your authority, and if a peep of this little confrontation gets out, you will find yourself ripped of life itself. Are we clear?" Still choking, Wisconsin couldn't bear to speak around what felt like daggers lodged in his throat. "I said, are we clear?"

"Yes. Sir." He managed a glare before he was released, falling face first into a pile of fresh-dug soil. Whimpering, the mayor rolled himself over, massaging his thudding temples.

"That's good, Wisconsin, very good. Now, you have a nice evening, you hear?" Guffawing, the Council twirled on their heels and strolled back up the path, and into the emptying parking lot, leaving the grown man to his own wailing.[/justify][/size][/blockquote][/ul]

Last Edit: Nov 1, 2011 17:38:56 GMT -5 by chaseee

Rosetta: Why do you think you have so many friends?
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NaNoWriMo Excerpts Nov 1, 2011 17:42:42 GMT -5

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Post by sadniss everdeen on Nov 1, 2011 17:42:42 GMT -5

My breath frosts upon the harsh wind as I burrow my brow deeper into my hat, bracing my hands in my pockets as my eyes narrow against the sting. The streets are silent at this hour, slick ice my only companion that touches my feet whenever I step down, coaxing me to lay down my worries and simply sleep in their frozen touch. I pass by an icicle hanging precariously from the rooftop and linger for but a moment, watching my warped reflection in the gleaming surface.

The years pass by as days. Sometimes I return home and expect you to be waiting up for me on the couch with a blanket draped carelessly over your thin shoulders and the lights of the television screen glimmering across your face; dancing patterns that I would attempt to catch as they touched your eyes before shifting to another picture. They would always vanish before my wishes would come to fruition but I wouldn't mind, simply pleased in those small moments where it was like we were almost normal. Do you remember what normal felt like? I suppose to you nothing had changed until That Day, but for me it began to spin out of control long before.

Now there is nothing but an empty apartment and a cold pillow where your body should rest. I find myself sometimes simply holding things that remind me of you in my hands as if breathing in the remnants of your scent would be enough to summon you back to me. It is unhealthy, I know, but you were always mine in a way that you were never his. That simple fact fills me with a smug sense of something I care not to decipher; he might of been everything you ever wanted but I was one of the things you would ever need. After all that he has done to us, I am allowed my petty victories. I have always been a cheerleader at heart.

A whistling moan passes through my ears and returns me to the present, reddening my nose and reminding me of my task. Even as the months (years) roll by absent of you it is impossible for me to forget, as forgetting is akin to forgiving. I am many things and have done even more, but one thing I will never do is allow all these transgressions – hurt and fragile things that I carry with me always – to fade away into the background. We must never forget even if you view them differently, as things to cherish and hold close to your heart lest you forget the warmth of his hand or the scent of his shampoo on your pillow. They say that time heals all wounds but the world has lied about many things, I find, and it seems this is one of them. You try to assure me that you are fine but I can see past that fragile mirage and into the person underneath that the countless interviews and articles have not been able to glimpse. We are of blood and sometimes that is all it takes to reach inside and take your heart between my hands.

It is winter in Chicago. Can you see the seasons change from where you are, locked high like the princesses you used to adore when you were young? You used to love the snow and beg me to come play, creating snow angels in our yard until everywhere we stepped broke one of your creations. Do they let you out now? You are a being of the light and I used to think you would die without sunlight on your face and wind touching your skin, braiding together your hair until it was a tangled mess that would take us hours to sort through. My foot crunches through a frozen puddle and the spiderweb impressions left on the ice reminds me of how everything came undone; a fractured window and concerned eyes and your voice rising above the sirens, screaming to give you back, let you go, where are you taking him? Sometimes when I dream of things passed they are so vivid in my mind that it is almost as if time has reversed and I'm standing back on our driveway with the rugged asphalt he always said that he'd fix.

They say that trauma lingers forever in your mind and can never fade, but I find it unfair that I can only remember those fateful weeks and not the good times we had when it was easier to forget.

I turn onto a narrow street, feet sliding precariously under me as I bury myself in my scarf and slit my eyes until the deep brown of the sky blurs beneath my frozen lashes. My fingers have long lost circulation but I dare not stop now, desolate streets beckoning me akin to a siren's song; dangerous and alluring with something I want more than warmth and stability. I want you. That is everything I could ever ask for. The weight of the message I bring hangs heavy on my heart, tying my tongue into knots and making me shiver but not from the cold.

Your house (not a home, never a home) looms dauntingly on the horizon, pale walls and iced windowpanes giving me nary a glimpse into the life you now lead. I was your warrior once, how have we grown so apart? I suppose it was him that began the rift we have yet to mend and his influence touches us still, growing stronger the closer I walk to the building.

It was snowing the day he died. Not like I noticed the cold; I had other things on my mind, like you. It was snowing the day you died, too.

skylarversion2

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NaNoWriMo Excerpts Nov 1, 2011 17:44:00 GMT -5

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Post by skylarversion2 on Nov 1, 2011 17:44:00 GMT -5

Excuse any sudden changes in tense.

He’s a jock. There’s a thick jacket on his body, a letter in blocked-font contoured against the felt of the coat. There’s a constant churn in his stomach, a ladle scooping up his nerves and dropping them back inside his internal pot. He can feel goose bumps sprout on the back of his arms and on the tops of his legs. His hands instinctively find the hairline on the back of his head, in which he tentatively picks at it. He feels that if he picks hard enough, all his nerves will go away.

His teeth chatter as he tries to force his mouth shut, his hands shake inside his jacket pockets, he’s trying to look as cool as possible. That too is an instinct of his. He’s thought long and hard for this moment, with both closed eyes and nausea. There’s no way, no way no way, there’s no way that I am. I’m not one of those type of people, I don’t do stuff like that. That’s… gross. It doesn’t turn me on. He knew deep down that he was lying, that the devil on his shoulder wasn’t as powerful as he thought. He knew deep down that he wasn’t a freak because of it.

His feet seem to be glued to the floor, he won’tcan’tshan’t move. But he is sitting there and looking at him and the jock is silently sure that he looks creepy. The fluorescent lights hanging over head and the constant chatter of everyone around them slurping up their food is a threat. It is a threat in the sense that sitting down with this person would cause all of the chatter to stop. He isn’t confident in his popularity, that everyone would suddenly stone him with words and bury him under dust and forget about him except for the times they’d wish to bring him back up and throw him back down. But what if he were dust? He couldn’t feel anything then, no one would think anything of him.

But he’d entered the room and his eyes had immediately locked on his target, but his target had frozen him in fear with no effort and so all of his friends had scooted him along and he casually laughed it off. He’d had to accrue the bravery to tell them to give him a moment, that he needed to talk to someone. “Yeahyeah! Go get ya’ some!” they’d yelled, obviously they know what power they carry. They’d sipped at their sodas and thrown around gestures as if they were homosexual like they did every day.

He pushes through and sits himself down at that circular table, while the other kid widens his eyes and his friends fall silent. They did not expect him to sit down at their table.

Suddenly, things take a turn for the best. Or so it seems. “Hey, can I just have a sec, you guys?” he asks to the majority or the table. “Well, girls, I mean.” They nod and side-glance at each other and smile and giggle and get up and leave the cafeteria, off to the outside dining tables.

“So, Brig,” the jock slips out. His hands still tremble so he leaves them in his pockets. Brigham is the boy’s name. The jock tries to smile. He can feel his friends looking at him, but this is his moment, not theirs. “Yes, Prin?” Prin is his nickname. Short for Printhyn. His hairline is filled with a constant scattering of tickling and sweat drops. He is already proud of himself, he'd never thought. He hasn't even told anyone, let alone told the person that made him realize it. "I... Well, I don't know if I should I tell you here." He can feel his jaws trembling. His feelings scatter about in his head, words bounce along the walls as if it were a mental trampoline. It's so hard to grab enough of them out of there to form a coherent phrase. But thus far, he is doing fine.

"You want to go outside or something? It's loud anyway." Why does he seem so calm? One of the most popular kids in school is talking to him.

"Uh, sure." He forgets about all the others, he stands up and he's led out by Brig. His feet drag with an anticipation, his stomach still churns. The grey floors they glide upon and the grey walls topped with a white strip does not make the situation any better. His fear is at a peak, but he can feel it beginning to dip down again. He is Printhyn Walston, nothing makes him scared.

The air outside is chilled, it wraps around his body and stabs him through his stomach and lays a seed that will hopefully bloom into something beautiful. He closes his eyes but he still follows Brig. There's been enough thinking and admiration to know how he works.

The grass becomes spongy under his shoe, a sporty shoe with an engraved swoosh symbol. His pants are grey and loose and the elastic waste band clings to his waste. The blue fabric of his jacket pulls the ensemble together incredibly; it's sporty and jocky and perfect.

The air is awkward between the two, or at least it is for Prin. There's a nausea that came with the seed planted by the chilled air, but he's always been able to fight his way out of situations. His mind is clear of all things except for the task at hand. The air is awkward between the two, or at least it is for Prin. There's a nausea that came with the seed planted by the chilled air, but he's always been able to fight his way out of situations. His mind is clear of all things except for the task at hand.

chaseee Career Tribute [M:-2610] 552 POSTS last seen Dec 2, 2013 20:53:00 GMT -5 kiss me hard before you go	NaNoWriMo Excerpts Nov 2, 2011 19:03:16 GMT -5 Quote Select Post Deselect Post Link to Post Member Give Gift Back to Top Post by chaseee on Nov 2, 2011 19:03:16 GMT -5 [/justify][/size][/blockquote][/ul]
	Rosetta: Why do you think you have so many friends? Rosetta: My milkshake brings all the boys to the yard!

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NaNoWriMo Excerpts Nov 3, 2011 17:10:45 GMT -5

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Post by Rosetta on Nov 3, 2011 17:10:45 GMT -5

Loong excerpt. Have fun reading if you care.

Chapter One

Finn Athrun knew only three things the day his new life began on a moving bus. One, of which, was his name. Finnian Athrun. Finn. That was easy. The second was that children who misbehaved were sent to the City of Steel. And three…he’d misbehaved.

The bus rumbled and swayed as it moved, occasionally hoping up as rocks moved into its way. Each green, ripped, and graffiti-covered seat was empty…except Finn’s, seat right in the middle on the side opposite the driver. The driver himself was a stooped, barrel-bellied, elderly man, who drove with such carelessness, swerving this way and that, it was a wonder he hadn’t crashed and killed himself and the single passenger on board. However, as Finn’s eyes flew to the dirt-streaked windows, he realized that there was nothing to crash into. They were driving through what seemed to be a desert, complete with some parched foliage which really only consisted of the occasional cactus or fragile looking bush, growing yellow flowers on spindly branches, their only purpose to shield the anxiously skittering creatures fleeing the bus. Every once in a while, a large structure would rise up, its stone red and its back flat. These tall rock formations weren’t pretty from far away, sometimes dropping off steeply or peaking into a sort of natural tower, but they provided scenery from the otherwise flat, barren land.

Painted a light pink, the sky was on the brink of a clear morning. The world was just following its regular routine. The sun rises, meets the day, shines for all to see, then goes down to sleep with night and let the moon reign. Humans for years have been content with this. It created a sense of ease to see for the sun come up for most people, reassuring them that things were okay. The world was still in balance. It was comforting.

Except for Finn. Dread and fear was pitting in his stomach. Nothing except those three things had been playing again and again in his mind ever since he woke up a few moments ago: Finn Athrun. The City of Steel was for bad kids. He was bad. Finn. City of Steel. Bad. He was bad. His mind strained to get past them, but beyond those three things came nothing. It was as if his mind had been wiped clean except for those three things...fear swept over him in a wave of nausea. Finn. City. Bad. That was it.

There was nothing else in his head, except for hot air. No faces, no words, voices. He didn't even know if he had parents. It was that horribly frustrating feeling of having something on the tip on one's tongue, desperately trying to fully taste it, but having it disappear the second it finally came. Heart pounding, Finn twisted his hands in his lap, eyes wide. Finn. City. Bad. The City was bad. He didn't want to go to the City. But, why was it bad? Why was he going?

Amid his ponderings, a sickening thought hit him: He didn't even know what he looked like.

Suddenly paralyzed, Finn could only search through his mind desperately for that one crucial thing, all else falling away. It seemed such a small detail, one's appearance. It was easily overlooked, but once forgotten, it's a horrifying experience. Did he have brown eyes? Blue? Green? What about his hair? With a large hand, Finn reached up and felt his clean, straight hair, sweeping across his forehead, tickling his eyelids. He needed to see himself now!

"Uhm!" was all he could manage as he got to his feet, staring at the bus driver. "You, uhm-" A jolt sent him falling backward onto the seat with a thump and gasp of, "Agh!"

"See, that's what you get," the bus driver cackled, not turning from the dirt road he was driving on. "What did you think you're doing? Standing up like that? Do you want to break your neck?" The bus driver paused and pondered his last words for a moment, before muttering, "I mean, you might want to...wouldn't be the first kid..."

"I, uhm, I just need to see a mirror," Finn babbled out, "now."

"A please wouldn't kill you," the man coughed, his voice thick and hoarse, "but I think I got one." Without taking his eyes off the road, the driver reached down under the seat and began rummaging around, blindly. After a few moments, light began dancing along the ceiling and though Finn couldn't see it, he knew the man had a mirror. "Come here and get it-and be careful!"

Finn stood on long, thin legs and inched up to the driver, clinging tightly to each seat he passed. He snatched the hand mirror from the driver's hand without as much as a, "thank you," and made to go back to his seat.

"Wait," the driver called, "you sit right behind me, I want to keep an eye on you." Ignoring him, Finn took a seat in the way back to examine the mirror. A thick layer of dust had settled across it, making it almost opaque. For some reason, the dirty mirror only managed to irritate Finn further and it was with force that he wiped it against his shirt. This action thrust curious scars on his lanky, pale arm into his vision and he paused, suddenly captivated by them. Each was long and thin, some whiter and some more faded than others. With the hand not rubbing the mirror against his shirt, Finn allowed his fingers run themselves, lightly, over the raised scars. Each held a story that Finn couldn't locate in his mind. Finn. City. Bad.

Scars. Scars. Where do they come from?

Perhaps his face was the same way, scarred, ghostly-pale, just like his arms. Either way, it didn't matter. He'd never know how got the scars. The simple fact made him feel as though someone had shoved a fist into his stomach. It was as if he'd been robbed, robbed of the memories that were right fully his. But, how? How had he been robbed? Every more moment he spent awake, breathing, blinking was simply maddening, locked up on this bus with only three pieces of information. Finn. City. Bad.

He didn't know where this City was nor where he, himself, was coming from. He didn't know why the City was for bad kids. He didn't even know what he did. Some many questions filled his head, each declaring its importance, but at that moment, Finn wanted to know one thing: his face. What did it look like?

Trembling slightly, probably because he feared that he'd see even more mysterious marks that he'd never have a story to, Finn raised the mirror up. A pale boy stared back at him with thin, light raised-eyebrows. A button nose sprinkled with faded, almost gray freckles was just below close-set eyes.

His eyes were blue.

He had blonde hair.

No scars.

He twisted his thin lips into a smile-or attempted to at least. Instead, a smirk that felt strangely at home settled onto his face. He tried grinning to see his teeth, but almost immediately closed his mouth. While his teeth were as white as his skin, they were somewhat crooked, as if he'd never had any dental help.

As Finn was studying himself, the bus suddenly lurched over a particularly large bump and the mirror smacked hard into his face. “Ouch!” Rubbing his forehead, Finn growled out at the bus driver, “Watch it! That hurt! Jeez! When do we get there anyway?”

“Calm down there,” the driver replied, sounding perfectly at ease himself. He even chuckled a bit, although it had a sad timbre to it. “Never heard that before, you know…kids asking when we’ll get there…usually they’re crying…or scared…” The driver trailed off, lost in his own memories, which only infuriated Finn further-both his words and his ability to remember these things.

“So, this City’s bad? Real bad?” Finn asked, squinting at him.

“That’s what they say…” His voice sound apologetic and small against the rough, clattering of the bus. “I’ve never actually been there myself.”

Finn fought the urge to throw the mirror at his head. His voice was a gentle lull, much too calm for a kid who was sure this City meant his doom. “What’s your name, anyway?” he spat out, dropping down onto the seat and crossing his arms.

“Me?” the driver coughed. “Call me Hermy.”

“Hermy?” Finn scoffed.

“Now, don’t make fun of people’s names, it’s rude,” Hermy chided. “What’s your name, kid?”

“Finn,” Finn told him with a sort of pride in his voice. It was all he had and he was proud of it. It may be an odd sort of name. That much he could tell. Hermy and Finn. Those were odd names. Not common. Finn wasn’t sure what a common name was, but it certainly wasn’t Finnian. But, that didn’t matter. His name was Finn Athrun. He may have been bad and he may be going to the City of Steel, where all the bad kids (whatever a “bad kid” was, that is) are, but at least he had his name. Finn Athrun. That realization slightly cheered him, knowing he at least had one thing close to him, but then he remembered that he couldn’t actually remember anything else…not even his age. The brief moment of pride evaporated into the air, easily replaced, again, by frustration.

“Well, Finn,” Hermy’s voice broke through his thoughts, “we’ll be there in a few minutes. So, why don’t you get your stuff together-whatever you brought, of course.”

Finn glanced around at his seat, and then strained his head to see the seat he’d woken up in. Both were empty. He knit his eyebrows and glowered at the back of Hermy’s head, sure that the man was messing with him. He didn’t have a thing on him. Not even in his jeans pockets, which he quickly searched. Not even some lint. Hermy caught sight of Finn’s face in the mirror and shook his head. “Oh, right…they said you were a special case.”

Finn’s crossed arms tightened. “Special what?”

Hermy shrugged. “Don’t matter either way. You’re going. Just have to try and make the best of it, I suppose. Just try and make the best of it…” his voice left off there again, as if Hermy was sorting through the various thoughts that had just popped into his head.

Finn settled back into his seat to stare out the window again, eyes passing over barren stretches of the desert. He was supposed to be going to some city, wasn't here? Well, where was the City? All he could see was clear land, only desert, stretching on and on, stopping for rocks to rise up from the ground before continuing on for many more miles. He sighed, but didn't allow himself to think and try and dissect the mind that was blank other than three sentences that had been turned over too many times for him to handle. Finn. City of Steel. Bad. He couldn't even stand them anymore. Instead, he watched a fly land on the window and bounce up and down along the glass, looking for any opening to the outside world. When it couldn't find one, it flew upward, circled for a moment and then settled down on Finn's arm.

"Who said you could land there?" Finn snapped at it and quickly, with reflexes he didn't know he had, he smacked it down hard, embedding the now smashed bug into his pale, scarred arm. For some reason, the act of killing the bug, having power of it, even if he didn’t have power over his own memories, gave him satisfaction and he found himself putting on that smirk at it. The one facial expression that felt like it belonged.

"We're just getting here. Look out the window," Hermy called back to him. You can see it up ahead." With curiosity’s eagerness, although Finn was determined not to show this to Hermy, he leaned towards the window and peered out of it. In front of him, through the dust the bus was picking up, he could see tall, dark, distant structures rising towards the sky. These structures didn't extend very far, but far away, it was hard to tell how big the City really was. He expected Hermy to drive up to it, but instead felt the bus begin to slow down. Finn frowned, turning away from the window and to the bus driver.

"What's going on?" he asked Hermy, aggravated. "The City is all the way over there!" The bus lurched to a stop, sending dust flying and Finn had to push his knees out onto the seat in front of him to avoid smashing his face on that very seat. Hermy waited until the bus had stopped completely and was still before turning to face Finn. Finn could see now how he wasn't really as old as he had previously thought. In fact, he didn't even look that he could be a grandfather just yet. Though his face was marked with worry lines and gray stubble, most of the thinning hair on his round head was still a mousy-brown and his teeth looked to be his own. With a stomach that nearly sat on his knees, Hermy, more or less, reminded Finn of a balloon.

"We gotta stop here," Hermy explained, his voice once more taking on that sympathetic edge. "You gotta walk the rest of the way. It looks farther than it really is. And don't try running again. You won't get far in the desert." He swiveled his upper torso around to grip a lever at his feet. As it was pulled, the door on the bus responded by creaking open. Finn stared at it, already catching a preview of the hot, stuffy air outside. His eyes landed hard on Hermy now.

"So, this is it?" he asked, refusing to stand. "You're chucking me out? Here, go out into the desert and walk to this City that's supposedly so bad? Have fun?" Hermy frowned at Finn and didn't speak for a moment. A tense silence filled the bus with Hermy struggling to try and answer and Finn, hands clenched into fists, teeth grit, rooted to the spot.

"I didn't make the decision for you to go," Hermy decided on finally. "You did. Now, you gotta go or I'm authorized to make you go." He sounded sorry to say it, but Finn could tell he meant business. Deliberately slow, Finn stood, keeping his fists in tight. He sighed loudly and hit the seats as he went down the aisle, to the front, which was growing hotter with each step. Hermy stopped him when Finn reached him. The bus driver thrust his large, bear-like hand out. "It says by law that you can come back when you’re eighteen. Until I see you again on your eighteenth birthday, good luck to you."

Finn stared at the callused body part, again, so overcome with an urge to-Finn bat it away, the sharp slap of his action echoing through the air. Hermy’s eyes widened, but no words formed in his throat. Finn didn't say anything either. No "thank you," or even a dismissive, "whatever." Finn Athrun, the misbehaved kid who, for his actions, was being sent to the City of Steel, turned on his heel and stalked off the bus.

Chapter 2

The boy paced the length of the tower, which wasn't very much. The towers weren't tall either, but with the old telescope up there, he could see at least two or three miles of desert. The towers creaked and swayed with the wind, and although the wind itself was a relief, it worried Greg Stykle beyond belief. Anything tall that moved worried him, really. Walking across the dusty wooden floor of his tower again, Greg's brown eyes were drawn to a small figure out in the desert, steadily growing larger as they walked towards the City. Another arrival.

Greg sighed and rolled his eyes. The guard towers set on the outskirts of the City hadn't originally been meant for this purpose. In fact, the City hadn't been meant for this purpose either. The towers must've been built during the world wars, a small way to keep its occupants safe, but an effective way, nevertheless, for if a skilled sniper were up there, they'd be able to take out several people without even blinking an eye. Now, they were used to keep an eye out for new arrivals or, simply, Noobs. Not a very kind name, as every single kid in the City had been a Noob at some point, even Mother herself, but it seemed the kids who knew their way extraordinarily well around the City wanted everyone to know they'd been there first, and so they frequently used the word for new arrivals. Greg wasn't sure what made you pass from the land of a Noob into just another unfortunate in the City. Was it after you'd gotten into some sort of trouble? Fought? Or worse, ran into the Daggers? Taken a job? Or caused mischief yourself? Greg knew the day he climbed up onto the tower and was given the satisfaction of pointing his pudgy finger at an approaching figure and shouting, "NOOB!"

Now, he waited until he could see the white color of the kid's shirt before moving towards his telescope and whistle, one used to announce new arrivals. Greg pulled up his slipping shorts before bending down to peer through the looking glass. He had to blink several times, stomach lurching, to be sure he was seeing right and when he was sure it wasn't his eyes, he made sure to clean the lenses, swiftly, with his shirt. But, again, the result was the same. Heart leaping in his throat, Greg grabbed for the silver whistle, pressed it hard against his lips and blew three times. The girl, a tall, blonde thing, patrolling the tower directly across from his squinted at him before turning towards her telescope. It didn't take her as long to get it, but when she did, Greg glimpsed her straighten up with a jolt. Rather than use her whistle, she went straight for the bell. The warning bell.

Ding! Dong!

Almost immediately, Greg could hear screams erupt from behind him, screams from those close enough to the outskirts of the City to hear. From the direction of the City, two boys were running out, although they seemed to swerve rather than take the boy in front of them directly. The Rags. Greg knew it. No one else would run out in that direction.

The nearing arrival never knew what hit him. The fist came down on his head, swiftly, and he was down for the count. Greg watched with interest as they carried the lifeless lump back towards the City, a black-haired girl who hadn't assisted in the attack of the boy, leading the pack. It was certainly expected, but mind-boggling, nevertheless. Why would he return this way? Out of the blue? Why hadn't he reacted? He almost seemed confused…

But, if there was one thing for sure, it was that one of the most feared kids in the City of Steel had returned. Finn Athrun was back.

^^Made by the excellent Shrimp!

Tribute!{Meranda<3}Quell Botch
Merchant

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Kwabena Jordan Cane<3

NaNoWriMo Excerpts Nov 3, 2011 17:12:10 GMT -5

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Post by Tribute!{Meranda<3}Quell Botch on Nov 3, 2011 17:12:10 GMT -5

It's definitely not much but hopefully it doesn't blow to badly.

The overall idea is that my main character Mareike wakes up from an experience where she believes she had died. As she awakes things feel almost fake rather than reality. Her suspicions are proved correct when she's placed into strange situations. These are tests. Each one specially designed for her and her partner. If they pass, proving their hearts to be pure there will be the ultimate prize. But whose to say the life she's living in is life at all?

((It really really needs some work but I'm loving my idea. ^^))

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Trees dusted with the fresh white powder finally welcoming winter. My back is turned. The cold stains my skin leaving it a pale milky cold. I don’t mind though. The snow feels nice surrounding me. It numbs all feelings of abandonment as one would feel in this type of situation. Yet I don’t feel the sting of depression as I thought I would. This type of scene is appropriate for my destiny. I reckon someone will soon find my body. Stiff and lifeless they would believe the cold gripped at my neck wringing all life from my fingertips. But I know better than that. These trees speak to me in ways I can’t explain. Their wisdom radiates from their dormant roots rejuvenating my mind, body, and spirit. They tell me that it is unreal. Death. There is not such thing. They tell me that I’m not dead and never will be.

This conclusion clouds my thoughts. Is it quite possible that there is not such thing as death? My entire life, or was it death, told me that there was either a god after death or nothingness. God. What a silly idea my human peers devoted their lives into believing. My full sanity was placed onto the fact that once they would find me I would slip into never ending darkness searching for the day a crack of sunlight would appear. And to my demise it never would appear. I was ready for that kind of disappointment. It was logical and rational. What the roots projected into my mind was false hope and irrational. Once I thought the cold finally crept upon my soul and took it as its prisoner, a light awoke me from my foolishness.

Peter roused me from my snowy bed and dragged me into his arms. His fresh scent of smoked firewood and cinnamon engulfed me fully. These sensations of both touch and smells drug me from the coma like stupor I once sat at. Almond shaped eyes sparkled down at me in worry, which I ingested as if it was a type of heroine. Almost as if I was broken he carried me back into town, giving me small sparks of my body heat back. Warmth was the last thing that came to mind before I drifted into a slumber that lulled me away from my thoughts. The frozen hills didn’t consume my body. Another day I was fit to live. Just another day.

--

I’m not sure what was most pleasing about waking up in a familiar place. It could have been the smoky scent of the meat boiling in a pot far across the room or the scratchy feeling of fleece pulled up to my chin. Either way I wasn’t one to complain. Life. A chilled breath would escape my lips once more followed by a quick intake of oxygen. The sweet scents of my home invaded my comfort. Somehow it was almost too comforting. Nothing within me felt stiff, sore, or out of place. The sensation was great, yet odd. Impossible. These words vibrated in the back of my subconscious, although were muffled by the definite satisfaction I was receiving. My eyes flickered open and closed adjusting to the darkness and the waning crackle of flames in the fire place. Eventually they adapted to the lighting, shifting from object to object in the room. The rest of my body responded to the activity by slowly flinging itself into a sitting position. This position led to standing with my head swiveling from side to side searching for any type of life.

Mother seemed to have exited the kitchen a long time ago leaving a trail of good smells wafting in her wake. Beef stew. The dish was simple; which spoke well enough about my family. We are the average type, consisting of wife, husband, and two daughters. Myself Mareike, being the oldest never really spent my time hanging around the abode. For the most part I would be out and about the cold stricken town. The house was simple. A fireplace and couch were found in the very living room I sat in. Bleak family pictures dotted the walls and the mantel in an unbecoming manor. Nothing popped out in color or exuberance. I examined the white paint sighing slightly at the dingy places where it was fading into brown. Elongating my body into a standing position I tip toed into the kitchen.

My body felt too comfortable. Everything around me gently folded itself around the edges of my reality as if it was morphing to my presence, bonding itself with my being. The kitchen seemed the same with the cobwebs forming in distance corners, dark green cabinets sealed tightly in order to keep food fresh. Rumbling came from the refrigerator giving the room a type hum to it. This buzzed in my ear agitating my mind in small sharp pains. Soon enough they disappeared, seemingly to the same place the rest of her family went. I began to struggle with the impulse to call out to them. My world felt unreal. A fabricated sense of what reality was supposed to resemble. I didn’t want to buy it, but there was no other logical reasoning. Yet, I didn’t utter a word.

Peter. The remembrance of the tall boy had my heart beating like a kick drum. There wasn’t one girl out there whose heart didn’t reply in the same fashion. I was no different. He was tall, strong, and almost burly in stock. His eyes were melted pools of chocolate, dancing upon a complexion of an angel. No girl would pass up the chance to run their hands through his blonde locks of hair that seemingly sprouted up from the middle of no where. Peter was a blonde in a hodpodge of brunettes and reds. My town and the surrounding towns were desolate in existence. Technology such as cell phones and televisions were for those of rich and those of the cities. Although a city was just as foreign as the telephone was. Energy was used in the form of gas and wood. Conviently most of the men worked at the lumber mill placed smack in the middle of town. Most of the women would see to it their men would reach work safely until they would return before dusk fell.

It dawned on me that this might just be the reason for the absence of her mother and father. Granted where her little sister’s body ran off to I would probably never know. That sister of mine is a menace. She comes and goes as she pleases only to speak to our family in curt comments of how dull we all are and how the food should be less bland. What she dared not to mention was the fact that everyone in the village practically had the same meals. Beef stew. Rabbit stew. Fresh vegetable stew if the harvest was well in the spring. But the cold months were freezing over all activity and thus dwindling the menu of foods to beef stew.

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Last Edit: Nov 3, 2011 17:27:14 GMT -5 by Tribute!{Meranda<3}Quell Botch

My babies above need activity<3

To Do List:
Christoph Thread- Juno&July
D13 Bio
Kwabena Reply
Wyatt Thread
Kim Hyun Ae Threadage<3
Lee Seung Ki- FC&&Bio D7
Bios<3! And more Threads! :]

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NaNoWriMo Excerpts Nov 5, 2011 15:30:33 GMT -5

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Post by Lulu on Nov 5, 2011 15:30:33 GMT -5

Figured I'd post an excerpt - well, two, really, because I switch between two POVs so I basically have two protagonists, so I figured I'd do an excerpt from each. This first one is my main protagonist. Since it could be a little confusing, I'll give you the background - he just walked through a door in his library that somehow led to a cliff on a mountain, and the door vanished, so he climbed up and eventually discovered a very medieval-looking city.

----------

It looked as if I'd arrived right in the busiest time of the day, because there were crowds of oddly-dressed people all around. The women were wearing richly-colored dresses, a lot of them with aprons, while the guys were all wearing tunics with pants that were way too tight. What were even weirder than the outfits, though, were the shops and buildings that lined the streets. They all had thatched roofs and were made of either stone or wood. Some shops displayed pottery, others advertised blacksmithing – I'd never seen a blacksmith shop back home a day in my life – while still others had strips of salted meat hanging in the windows. People were talking and mingling around just like normal people would; except, however, they spoke with abnormal accents that were actually pretty annoying.

When I passed by, a lot of them stared, gaping at me as if I were an alien or something. Clearly the concept of jeans and a sweatshirt had never been introduced to them, because a lot of them looked me up and down, examining my clothes. Inwardly I rolled my eyes; if they wanted to see eccentric attire, they should probably have invested in mirrors.

Determined to figure out what was going on here and how I could get home, I walked up to the first store I saw, a questionable looking one with a sign above it that said 'Apothecary' in faded letters with a bunch of what looked like wilted leaves hanging in the window. A old woman was standing outside of it, waving around bottles of something and trying to get people to buy. She looked at me quizzically, probably wondering like everyone else who I was, and then proceeded to try and sell me a bottle of distilled rum. “Great fer colds an' other maladies, child, bring 'er home to mummy and see if she'll -”

“Um, no thanks,” I said quickly. “But, er, could you maybe help me? I'm kind of lost, you see, I came in through a door in the mountain and climbed up some stairs and -”

“Door in th' mountain, heh? Yer bonkers, laddie!” The woman waved her hands in the air as if in exasperation. “Ain't no door in th' mountain!” She turned to look at me harder, raising her eyebrow. Suddenly she jabbed a crooked finger in my direction in a rather accusatory fashion. “Yeh must be from a Corner, ain't yeh! Yer from a Corner, tha's it!” Apparently this Corner business excited her, because she started jumping up and down and flung her bottle of rum upward. I jumped aside as it shattered on the ground, spilling the liquid everywhere. She didn't seem to notice, though, or if she did, she didn't care. “Bless me soul! Ain't no folks from Corners comin' to Myths hardly ever! Not yer type, at least!” She grabbed onto the collar of my sweatshirt and pulled me closer to the street, pointing to me excitedly and drawing the attention of passerby. “Did yeh hear tha'! This lad's from a Corner! What Corner yeh from, eh laddie?”

As everyone on the street turned to look at me, I sensed that drawing attention to myself like this would only be trouble; obviously I wasn't supposed to be here. So I yanked my sweatshirt out of the creep's grasp and took off running down the road, ignoring the stairs and shouts of people as I accidentally hit into them or shoved them to the side. I didn't know how long I ran down that main avenue for, but suddenly I found myself at the end of it in front of a gate very much like the first one, only a bit smaller this time. Unlike the last one, though, it didn't open for me automatically; I hardly stared at it for thirty seconds before a pair of big, burly guys that looked like they were guards grabbed my arms from behind. Startled, I tried to break myself out of their iron grip, but they were a lot stronger than me.

They started talking as they held me, but it was so fast that I could only catch a few words here and there; “Earth” was one of them. It sounded like they were trying to decide what to do with me; eventually they must've, because I heard one of them mutter “Open the portcullis,” and suddenly the metal grate – apparently called a portcullis - was rising, just as it had outside the city. I was marched through it and up a sloped path. After about five minutes, I was astounded to see a massive castle come into view, made of white stone with turrets topped with red cone-shaped roofs. I'd never seen anything like it before, but the guards ignored my dropped jaw and pulled me straight up to the massive double doors that led inside it. And as I entered, it was starting to seem more and more like I was trapped inside a dream.

“Welcome, Earth human.”

The guards had taken me into a room that had a wall of windows with a full view of the ocean beyond the mountain. But more imposing was the throne set against the windows. In that throne was an auburn-haired woman who looked like she was in her thirties, wearing a very regal-looking gown...and a crown.

I attempted to find my voice as she greeted me, but being referred to as “Earth Human” was definitely a new one. Was I on a different planet? There was no way that these people weren't human, so why was I so different? “Wh...huh?” I managed to say. She looked slightly bemused.

“You are an Earth human, am I correct? You come from Earth?”

“Er...yes?”

“Did you come in through a door in the mountain?”

“Oh, yeah.” Relieved that someone finally knew what I was talking about, I managed to answer her without stuttering. The guards had finally let me go, but they stood a few feet behind me with expressionless faces and crossed arms, looking ready to seize me or something if I tried to make a run for it, something I'd seriously been considering doing for the past few minutes. If I hurried, I might be able to make it out of the room, back down that grand staircase I'd come up, and out of the castle, and then...I guess I would retrace my steps back out of the city, down the mountain, and through the door...that is, if it had ever reappeared. What if it hadn't? Then what would I do?

“Wonderful. I am Queen Ember.” The woman snapped me out of my plotting as she introduced herself. As I had suspected, she was a queen. Of what, though? The medieval city I'd just walked through? Or more? Did it have something to do with those Corners that lunatic of an old woman had been shouting about a little while ago?

“Sebastian Barnes,” I managed to get out. She didn't acknowledge my own introduction.

“Well then, Earth Human. Welcome to Home.”

----------

And here's my second protagonist, Adder. She and her group of Hunters are arsonists, and currently they're in the process of burning down Robin Hood's Sherwood Forest.

----------

I couldn't locate the campsite Twigs had been talking about, no matter how hard I tried, so eventually I just decided to start my fire at the foot of a nice looking tree with dry leaves that would surely catch fire pretty quickly. I took out my case of matches, which I'd restocked after practicing that morning, quickly made a pile of bark, dry grass, and leaves beside the tree's trunk, and lit a match. I let the tiny flame lick around my fingertips for just a moment, relishing the warm feeling, before dropping the little wooden stick into my pile, along with a wax fire starter that would get the ball rolling a little faster.

As I knew was necessary, I stayed beside my fire for about five minutes longer, feeding it with anything easily burnable that I could locate by the light of the flames. Soon I had a nice, strong fire going; it caressed the bark of the tree it sat beside, snaking up towards the branches. As some of the lowest leaves on the branches caught fire, I watched intently as they spread the blaze to their higher counterparts, and after swiftly setting a few more fire starters on the branches I could reach, it was only a few minutes before it looked like the small oak tree was wearing a crown of brilliant, rich-colored flames. When I decided the trunk would have grown weak enough, I gave it a swift kick; sure enough, it tipped over instantly, picking up speed as it got closer to the ground. It didn't hit, though; another tree blocked its path, so instead it stopped, tipped and spreading its contagious blaze to the new tree. Satisfied with my work, I knew the fire would continue to catch, so I left it and took off running, hoping to find the target area soon.

A scream sounded as an alarm, cutting sharply through the deep, noiseless night; the only sound previously had been the crackling of nearby flames, so this startled me. Less than a moment later, I heard the sounds of an ambush beginning; the clash of swords on stone and wood and even other metal, arrows slicing through the air, sharp orders from Hunter commanders whose voices I recognized, but couldn't place a name for. This meant that Twigs had gotten word to the other factions, the ones trained for man-to-man combat, that we'd done our job and the forest would soon be completely ablaze. It also meant that I was near all the action; and indeed, soon I came upon the scene of the assault. My Hunters had taken the unsuspecting Merry Men completely by surprise, and now their campsite had turned into an utter massacre. I watched as a Hunter slit the throat of a man clothed entirely in mismatched rags, and another bash in the head of someone else. I didn't much like close combat like this; it was why I used a ranged weapon, when I ever needed one. Unnerved, I ran north, away from the battle, to where I hoped I'd be able to start another fire and do my duty.

Smoke was growing thick in the air, but my lungs were tough against it by now. I navigated my way to a relatively clear area, and was about to search for the proper materials for another fire, but was distracted when I spotted a patch of what seemed to be glowing light – at first I thought it was just more fire, but then I realized it had more of a greenish haze to it, and it wasn't as bright, more muted. Instinct told me to avoid it, whatever it was, because chances were that it was dangerous in some way, but curiosity got the better of me and I pushed my way through the trees, looking around to see if I could spot the light again.

Then suddenly it appeared again from behind a tree, and I entered a clearing and gasped audibly as I saw it; standing in between two oaks was a door. A plain wooden door, completely unremarkable except for the green haze of light emanating from it.

There was no doubt in my mind; this was the Sherwood Forest portal door.

It didn't look like anyone else had found it yet, because there seemed to be no Hunters in the area, nor the telltale boot prints we always left in the dirt everywhere we walked. The flames, however, were drawing nearer and nearer, engulfing trees that were merely ten feet away. What was I supposed to do, now that I'd found this? Did I call for someone? Or would that only draw attention to me? There had to be some sort of guard on the door, and even if they'd disappeared for a moment, it was doubtful that they'd leave something so precious alone for long. Did I just leave it alone, let the fire run its course? Would it even have any effect on the door at all? Whatever I did, I had to do it fast, because clearly I didn't have much—

“One of them! It's one of them!”

The cry was followed by a round of coughing, as if whoever had shouted it had used too much breath and was beginning to succumb to the smoke. Thinking fast, I darted up the branches of a nearby tree that hadn't caught fire yet, perching on one of the lowest ones because I wasn't that nimble of a climber and if I went any higher, I would probably fall. I readied my crossbow, preparing to see someone walk below me tree looking for me, because clearly they'd seem me if they'd noticed that 'one of them' was by the door. Sure enough, a pair of men appeared from the opposite direction, and without thinking about what I was doing I took aim and fired, watching as the bolt buried itself into the chest of the first man. The second hardly had time to gasp before another of my bolts hit him in the neck, and he collapsed to the ground.

I just killed someone. I just killed two people. This wasn't the first time I'd murdered; sometimes business called for it. But it always made me a bit squeamish to see a dead body that I'd personally killed. Starting fires was one thing; when one of my fires killed someone, I didn't react in the same way. It was an indirect killing, so it didn't count. But this? The men on the ground right now, they'd died personally at my hand. And there was nothing I could do about it.

I stayed up in the tree for a few more minutes, just to make sure that they hadn't brought reinforcements. When no one showed up, I cautiously slid down the trunk, just in the nick of time, because its upper leaves were beginning to catch fire.

My feet hit the ground, and I turned around just in time to watch flames begin to lick around the portal door, burning it to nothing more than a pile of ashes in mere minutes.

For a moment I just stared, hardly daring to believe that the door was really destroyed and our fire had just cut off an entire story world from Home in just seconds. There would be no more Robin Hood and his Merry Men after that; by burning their door, we'd closed their world off for good, which had been our intent in the first place. It was gone; that much was plain to see, and I had to get out of there fast because I was quickly losing my ability to breathe in this air. So I turned on my heel and ran away from the smoke. I'd hardly been running for thirty seconds when I collided with someone.

“Adder?”

I knew that voice. “Twigs!” I sputtered, choking on the smoke. “I just...the door! I just watched it burn! It's gone!”

He looked as if he didn't believe me for a second. “Are you sure?” But he was blatantly suffering from the effects of the fire, too, and probably wanted to get out of there as soon as possible, so when I nodded confirmation he looked convinced. A second later he was running off in the other direction, calling, “Retreat! Retreat!” as loud as he could, so that any Hunters nearby would hear him and spread the message.

I was more than happy to oblige.

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Your Rightful King!

NaNoWriMo Excerpts Nov 6, 2011 0:51:34 GMT -5

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Post by Prince Inigo on Nov 6, 2011 0:51:34 GMT -5

Prologue to the story. Has nothing to do with main characters yet.

Mewing came from a crib. The sunlight gushed into the room bursting with toys, a clawing post, and various paintings that expressed calmness from an ocean or the silliness of a cat popping out of the frame with clown paints splattered on his face. Overall, the room was practical in design and execution; this was supported by the fact that the walls and building were made of sticks and hay. The carpet was the earth and the air flowing in was from Nature herself.

A light-gray kitten covered in spots continued to cry in the crib. It thrust itself left and right, mewing. Not long after that it was crying for a couple minutes did a smoky-colored cat enter into the room on its hind legs, sighing with an stain-filled apron strapped its waist. Her slim figure void of wrinkles suggested youth and vigor, but sleep deprivation showed in black spots around the blue eyes. Its tail flicked as it neared the crib and took the kitten out. The cat cuddled the tiny creature, a skewed smile plastered on its face, and the infant almost immediately was serene, snuggling in the warmth.

The cat walked out from the room into a kitchen, coupled with a dining table and chairs of unpolished wood. There was a crudely-made pot cooking over an open fire low enough to not send its fiery cackles aflame on the dry twigs and grass making the hut. Hiding in the corner was a counter covered in unsorted meats and crops.

The smoky feline went towards the table and picked up a half-finished milk bottle and urged the little kitten to take its sips. The cat stepped out into the outside through a door-less arch, and it cocked its head to the right, glimpsing a short-haired, striped cat tending to a small garden. Its paws carefully caressed some herbs that were just sprouting out of the soil; and, without noticing the cat looking at it, it was waving to a fellow neighbor that was passing by with a smirk. It laughed at a joke the other cat said before it noticed the kitten-carrying cat and smiled a cheeky smile. "Good morning, Grace. How is your day so far?"

Sigh. "I can't say I'm the happiest cat in the world, Dandelion. Close enough, possibly." It pointed to the various marks on the apron and then showed the kitten. "I haven't been able to get a good meal in because of our kitten. Swear he is the greatest howler in the village! He wouldn't let me sleep a wink last night!" Her eyes expressed the scowl she would have showed the gardener cat if not trying to keep a positive tone in her voice at the same time. "That's the responsibility of caring for a kitten though, isn't it? I can't really complain. You do help me in the afternoons."

Soft laugh. "That's right." He rose and hastily snatched a peck on the mouth from a flustered wife. "I wouldn't leave you like that. Say," he turned towards the heart of the noise composed of laughter and meowing. "Once I'm done with the crops, do you want to head into town and walk around for a bit? The Bridgers' had come by earlier and said they would like to take the kitten off our hands for a little while." Deeper smile.

"Oh, I don't know about that." Grace shot a glance down at her son and then back to Dandelion. "I have to be honest: I don't exactly trust the Bridgers'. Have you heard of the rumors that happen around their neighborhood? They have sprung up just the day they moved in. The other felines are already saying that they were the cause of those... horrible things down there. Would you really trust them with our kitten?"

Dandelion had shifted his cheerful face to one that was not pleased. "Don't listen to those old hoots. What do they know? The Bridgers' have been nothing but nice to us. No one has the proof to back up those rumors anyways." He placed his paws on Grace's shoulders. "It's just one night. He's not going anywhere, right kiddo?" Dandelion had lightly tapped against the spotted kitten's tiny paw with good cheer, which startled the tiny feline and made it cry slightly - to Grace's chagrin. "Ooh, sorry."

"I told you, didn't I? Great. You gave him a scare." Grace cuddled the kitten and tried cooing the baby to silence. Her look stayed on him until she attempted to glance back at Dandelion. "Dand..." Her brows flicked upwards while her paw directed toward the sky. "Dand, there is something in the clouds. Do you see it?"

The male cat turned on his heels where his wife was pointing. His ears twitched in curiosity. Their neighbors also stopped from their daily chores and stared into the white puffs.

Right in the center of the clouds was a black spot - pure black. It reminded Dandelion of a water droplet on the surface on a hard surface. There was no gradation to be seen from where the couple was standing. As they watched, though, the spot had grown, encroaching the clouds. Even as it spread beyond the boundaries, the black merged the blue sky with the clouds into a single mass of an abyss. Cats were starting to talk amongst each other about the meaning of the event, but Dandelion and Grace continued to stare, with only minor shifts of their feet. Their kitten did not make a noise as the black continued to consume everything.

Not long was it before the black has taken over the entire sky and started to drip - ooze - down, pouring over buildings and spreading onto animal pedestrians screaming their heads off. They would try to wipe off the substance only to get powered to the ground by a greater mass. With no knowledge of the situation, the folk tried to scurry away, a couple actually pushing cats into the encroaching black to have an unobstructed path. The velocity that it reached was like a flooding wave; nothing would be able to stop it, not even a wall. From the looks of it, there was an infinite flow of the liquid coming from the heavens.

Dandelion ordered his wife to start climbing the house while he took a grip on the other side. Grace grabbed the kitten by the skin with her teeth and hiked up their home. An idea popped into her head declaring this futile, yet she continued to progress to the rooftop, thinking about the young now crying and dangling from her mouth.

The couple got to the roof and instinctively clustered in the center, holding each other. They watched as the former spot in the sky now presented danger to them by possibly drowning them. Whatever form of color that existed before was mostly dark and thick. In fact, it seemed the sky was 'drying' according to Grace's imagination. It was certainly not as concentrated as the wave climbing up their house. She saw a few of their fellow cats doing the same as them, but they were kicking the substance off their roofs since their buildings were shorter than theirs.

Dandelion's side had a higher level and was trying to eat him, lapping onto the hay floor. The male cat backed into Grace with a soft touch, and then his attention was averted to a cry in the mad river. Ears perked as he picked up on a mewing sound within the chaos.

The flood was sweeping up an infant hardly older than his own. Its head was poking out of the black, crying with all its might, unable to swim but bobbing up in the wave by sheer force. Its fur was stained to the point Dandelion might not have recognized it as a cat, but its white muzzle distinguished it as, indeed, a feline's fuzzy mouth.

"Grace, I'm going after him." Dandelion turned to his horrified wife's face, with a bitter smile. "You take care of our kitten, you hear?"

Grace had already put the kitten in her paws and shook her head viciously. "No. No, no, no. Dand, you can't leave me like this. You won't leave me like this!"

Dandelion hunched over onto his four paws at the edge of the roof. "You have to take care of Spinal. Promise me-- Hey!"

She grabbed onto Dandelion and was pulling him back towards the center, though he did not budge with his own opposing force. "You can't! You can't, Dand! Please!"

They struggled under their differing opinions, Grace pulling harder and Dandelion trying to gently push her off. The flood rose to the hay roof; and, in their fright, the family of three had fallen into the river together, the kitten flying from Grace's arms. The splash in was not as fluid as water, but it was certainly not of honey or molasses. Dandelion gasped out as he whipped his head out of the substance and attempted to look around for his family, calling Grace by her name while he struggled to keep afloat. The thickness was pulling him down; yet, the striped cat put his concern of others before himself.

A turn to the left revealed that Grace's snout was just a nose tip from being sunk. Dandelion pushed his way over to her and then cried as he was too late, as another wave washed over her and leveled to his chin. While he was shorter and smaller than Grace, he still remained on top to look for their son. He could not hearing the distinctive mewing. He wanted to shed tears. His heart beat slow in an overbearing sadness but fast from the adrenaline shots in the bloodstream.

He could not stop the next wave from spreading over him, and he last saw the world in a black, unable to tell one object from the other. Dandelion could not even signify that he was alive under the liquid due to the thickness, not allowed to let bubbles rise to the top as the black had done to everyone else. For some reason, the cat could not detect the liquid entering his lungs, though he assumed that was the case and maybe he was just delirious from the series of events that had captured him and his family in a cruel moment.

For a second, he thought he could hear the snarling snickers of the very thing that haunted the village every day as he closed his eyes.

ƠᴥƠ

8/8/10: Made moddemon (666 pc)

pH: f*** that s**t, luna! ***** bitch douche.

ALICE: Remove these shorts of obfuscation and let us gaze upon it-this so-called "hose"!

Alice, I hate you, but this quote is so... so... *dies*

sadniss everdeen
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nyte: date fossils? is that some kind of fetish?

NaNoWriMo Excerpts Nov 6, 2011 18:40:21 GMT -5

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Post by sadniss everdeen on Nov 6, 2011 18:40:21 GMT -5

Fluff for my NaNo; it was easier to write than I expected, but is bittersweet as they aren't together anymore.

“Is it on? I think it's on.” A shuffling and noisy clicking of the camera before Momma appears in front of it, sun kissed skin taking on a glow in the rising sun. There is a floppy hat obscuring her whiteblonde hair but her eyes are visible, pools of the brightest blue as a grin teases across the corners of her lips. She looks happy; no, beyond happy. As if the world could end today and she'd be content with the life she's known.

“So, hi Dan.” She grins sheepishly and ducks her head for a moment, twining her fingers together and resting her elbows on her knees. “We're in Hawaii right now, I think you can tell by the room. It's our third day here, I'm not burnt yet.” Beyond her the sunset creeps high in the sky and shadows one half of her features but the twinkling of her eyes alerts to the amusement that swims within them. “And I know it's not done yet, but I want to say that I've had the most amazing time. Who knew that we'd be here one day, huh? They always said that we wouldn't last, that we were just too opposite. But we knew better, didn't we?” A soft snore interrupts her speech and her face melts into something that makes my chest pang fondly in remembrance. She takes the camera from where she put it down and swivels it until it rests on Dad's sleeping face. He's younger than he is now, peaceful with his glasses resting on the nightstand.

“I, um, I just wanted to say thank you.” She brushes a strand of hair from his eyes and smiles the way Dad always says was his favourite kind of smile; unguarded and bright and reminiscent of all the good things in life. “For giving me this. And... for dealing with me when I'm not at my best. I was bad when I was a teenager, but it seems that as an adult I'm three times as insufferable.”

From where he lays Dad gives a soft exhale and rolls over, head brushing her knuckles and arm splaying out unconsciously, seeking her warmth. She tangles her fingers with his and then when the camera refocuses she's crying, salty tears trickling down her cheeks where they get lost in the loose pyjamas that circle her neck. “I love you. No matter what happens, in this moment, I love you so much. I love how soft spoken you are and your little quirks and how the way your hair always sticks up. I love the way your face always gets that lovestruck look when I walk in, no matter how long it's been since we've seen each other. And how you know how to love me in the way that nobody else does.”

“So, whenever you feel sad, take this out and watch it, and I'll always be with you here.” Her breath hitches and she blows a kiss to the screen, tilting the camera down to hit the sheets just as a scratchy, sleep-ridden voice floats from off-screen. “Hey, why are you crying?”

She laughs, and it's possibly the most beautiful thing I've ever heard.

“No reason. Go back to sleep.”

Nocturnal
Merchant

146 POSTS
last seen Jun 6, 2015 17:11:31 GMT -5

Mix long periods of egotistical indulgence with occasional doses of nostalgia for best results.

NaNoWriMo Excerpts Nov 9, 2011 20:26:21 GMT -5

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Post by Nocturnal on Nov 9, 2011 20:26:21 GMT -5

Please don't make fun of me for my crappy writing? This is the first chapter or so to mine.

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"Get in here!" I can hear his deep, rumbling voice echo throughout the entire mansion, empty marble halls and dark rooms that hadn't seen daylight for years. The fact that I can hear him from without hurting my ears is a miracle in itself, though it means he's pretty far away. And he sounds angry. Honestly, I don't really feel like doing anything right now, making my father happy isn't exactly feeling like a huge priority, even though it probably should be. Who knows what will happen if he didn't get what he wants? I think it's enough to leave it at 'bad stuff.' Whenever Mother was called , she would put down whatever she was working on, and scuttle off to provide the stupid drunk with whatever he desired. Before she left, I'd always asked where she went, why she was going. The only thing she had said in reply was, "Your Father is not a patient man."

Not anymore.

Sighing, I lay down the multicolored mess of scattered string that’s my first, and likely last attempt at knitting. People always made it look so easy, molding one string into another, forming a warm scarf for the winter. Mine looks more like something decided to barf out one giant knot and call it a sock. Pft. Yeah right, I think, sitting unresponsively on my hard back hair, and staring at my little disaster. I glance at my plain tunic, as if the horrible workmanship can migrate over to my clothes as well. Nope. Worn, but regular enough for me.

Enough dilly-dallying, I tell myself, as I lean forwards out of the chair and onto my own two feet. "I'll be right back," I promise Skai. She just ruffles her golden-brown feathers like she couldn't care less. Being a Royal Falcon, she doesn't miss much, but she can sure act like it when she wants to. My fiery eyes stray over to the empty silver cage cast off to the corner of the room, where she is technically supposed to be right now. Father would kill me if he found out that I had let her out, and that she is perched on the furniture, but he never really leaves his room much. Hopefully he won't, because Skai refuses to stay in there for any longer than she is obligated to. Can you imagine how cramped it must be in a tiny cage without any room to stretch your wings? I can imagine it a little better than most people since Skai decided to show me her memory, and it was horrible.

With one last glance over my shoulder, I push open the small oak door out of the sun room, and into the barren halls between rooms. It had been so long since I, or anyone for that matter, had cleaned it? Sure, there probably wasn't anything out of place- no books off their shelves, no flowers not in their vases, but there was a thin layer of dust that had settled on everything

he a single step forwards, and then halt again. He opens his mouth, and his plan comes tumbling out.

“Say, let’s sell that Jewelry in the back of your drawers, I’m sure you won’t miss it.” Seeing my stunned expression, he smirks and continues. “Oh, you thought you were the only one who knew about that treasure tove? Ha. I’ve known about that for a long time, darling.” Emphasizing the word Darling makes me cringe; he knows that that was what Mother always called me, and now he’s using it like a weapon. With him, words are the equivalent to blades, though I didn’t know he knew how to use them.

“They won’t fetch very much, but it’s enough for tonight.” He shrugs his shoulders nonchalantly, and challenges my gaze. How dare he? How dare he talk about her things as if they were worthless? I can feel the hot tears leap to my eyes, and I struggle to hold them back. Her jewelry was worth much more than he’d ever get for them. People had always said that I looked like my mother in them, and that is not something I’ about to sacrifice for some stupid gambling party with his friends.

My mouth hangs open in delayed shock, and I can’t bring myself to force it closed. How could he? A mantra repeated over and over in my mind, and that one sentence is my only thought, until the words themselves lose meaning.
The beast who taunts me with this proposition raises his head, and looks down on me, if such a feat is possible for someone far away to do so. He’s not far away for much longer- his long gait closing down on me until he there is only a few inches between us. One of his sweaty hands grasps my chin, and tilts it upwards so as to inspect it. Mouth curling into a sneer, he examines my face. “You’re not a very pretty girl, are you? What use would you have for jewelry?” He doesn’t expect an answer; that much is clear.

Disgusted, I shake my head free from his weak grasp, and find myself face to face with his rushing palm, growing larger and larger as it neared me. Smack! I could feel pain streaming down my cheek and into my brain, spreading like a wildfire. If I look in the mirror right now, I would bet anything there is a big red welt on my cheek, dominating that side of it, and my entire face for that matter. And it hurt like anything. Mouth open again, I crumple in on myself like a submarine under too much pressure.

Fathers' laughter roars loudly, and his footsteps were the only thing I could focus on as I contemplate my next plan of action. How can I keep him away from Mothers' gems? Her emerald necklaces, and diamond earrings? I can hide them away, but he will find them. He always does. Father is the man of the house, the only one really, and there is nothing that he can’t do when he put his mind to it in our mansion. In the meantime, he’d find some way to get back at me for defying him, all the while drunk.

Rubbing my cheek irritatedly, I rise back to my full stature, eyes blazing in unmasked fury. He is not going to get those, not ever. They are my last memory of her, the figure who had stood over me for the first 12 years of my life, and was taken away by the fever, the all consuming one that had raged through the land two winters ago. They still have her scent on them too, the comforting smell of apples and cinnamon that had made up her perfume every day.

I brush the dust of my clothes, and start down the hall, the opposite way that he had left, and walk, slowly and controlled, to the sunroom. Skai is waiting

Stare
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and i will hold you tight / like the moon in the arms of the sky

NaNoWriMo Excerpts Nov 9, 2011 21:36:30 GMT -5

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Post by Stare on Nov 9, 2011 21:36:30 GMT -5

(Ignore any typos or horrible grammar... editing is for December. xD)

“Something troubles you, old friend?” the warmth and voice are here unexpectedly, and I nearly leap right up out of the hut. But I recognize that silky, kind voice, and my eyes widen in disbelief.

“Hestia?” I whisper, slowly turning. And there she is, her rich red-brown curls tumbling down her shoulders, brown eyes wide and warm, flickering as a large flame in my home. I reach out to take her hand but she shakes her head quickly.

“It is good to see you, Artemis,” she says quietly. “But please, do not touch me. It is hard enough for me to stay here in this form without any physical interaction.”

I nod in understanding, still completely stunned by her appearance. “Hestia... what are you doing here?”

She smiles, and the hut becomes ten degrees warmer. “Hades released us from our cells, and we were able to interact with each other. I was told by your brother that you now hunt demigods for Hades.”

There is nothing accusatory in her voice, and yet I feel instantly guilty. I hang my head in shame, drawing my bottom lip between my teeth. “I... I had to, Hestia. For Apollo.”

“I understand,” she says, and I feel warmth flow through me. Hestia has an endless flow of kindness spilling out of her- she is gentle and warm and beautiful. I have always admired her and her delicate spirit. “I do not come here to ask you questions, Artemis. I come to listen.”

“To listen?” I frown in confusion.

“Yes. To listen. Artemis, coming down to Earth to do something you hate in order to save you brother is no small task. Please, Niece, tell me- what troubles you?”

Understanding dawns inside of me. She wishes for me to lay out the broken pieces of my heart and map out my suffering for her, listing one problem after another and having her replace it with her gentle kindness so that when she leaves, I am filled with her warmth. And the words are pouring out before I can stop them.

“I... I don't... I do not wish to hurt them. But Apollo needs me- he's my brother, Hestia! I cannot just sit aside and watch him be destroyed. I love him. For years, he has been my twin. We are two sides of one coin. I can't hurt them... but I know I must. I know I will be hurting them by placing them in Hades' greedy hands.” By this point, I am crying. I curse Hades several times as I sob before continuing. “And... and Aphrodite. I saw Aphrodite, and she suffers! She has lost her mind, Hestia, but she is... she is my best friend. I know that she made a mistake and you are suffering the consequences, but I also know that you understand why I had to forgive her. I love them both so much, Aunt, and... and... and I need them. I can't lose them to Hades. I know I am selfish in this, but they took me in when no one else, save yourself, would, and I cannot repay their kindness with death.”

I run a hand over my face, smudging the tears in a desperate attempt to push these troubled thoughts right out of my head. And then, before I can realize what is happening, I am being surrounded by gentle warmth. My heart feels suddenly full and everything that was frozen has been thawed. I feel soft and gentle and delicate, with candlelight flowing through my veins. I return Hestia's embrace gently.

“I am fading, old friend,” she says as she pulls away, and I realize that her image is flickering and becoming dark. “I offer you this bit of advice before I leave- love others. Love them and hold them close. Give them kindness and give them warmth. But do not deny yourself in the process.”

“Hestia, don't leave me!” I cry. I am shamelessly selfish- I do not care if she gets in trouble or if she is weak. She has to stay so I can pour the rest of my heart out to her, spilling out the worries in this tiny little hut that I will now become home. Today she is my savior and she can't leave yet because she hasn't rescued me yet- I want her to wrap her arms around me and take me back through time before this nightmare. But no, she just shakes her head and smiles sadly. “Hestia! Hestia, you can fix it! Take me home, Aunt! Please! Make the pain go away!” Tears pour down my cheeks, and in one last attempt I launch myself forward like a wild animal pouncing on their prey, my back legs springing outward and my fingers (claws) extended toward her desperately.

The moment I touch her image, it disappears in a whisper, and the hut is chilled once more. I tumble past where she once sat, doing a somersault before coming to a trembling rest at the very edge of my bed. My fingers dig into the springy surface of the mattress and I tilt my head back and let out a howl of utter loneliness and frustration, my cries echoing throughout the rain.

“Hestia!” I sob. “Hestia, come back!”

She does not return, though. For about half an hour, I simply weep in a tight little knot at the edge of the bed. Then, still crying, I stretch out wrap my arms around my head, listening to the rain outside tap the roof in time to my own tears. When at last the crying stops, I find myself feeling very empty and very tired, and eventually drift off into nightmares of Apollo shouting for help and Aphrodite's final screams.