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Blurble

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Everything posted by Blurble

  1. Technically there are four guys all told: Lars Danny Agas Ahriman (ewewew) (he's there mostly for the traumatic, horrifying lulz) You'll notice Dameon does not appear on that list. He has someone else =DDDD
  2. that is beautiful and perfect and beautiful, thank you. I am hyperventilating from stress and work overload. I should finish the chapter but just the thought of doing anything more than what I need to do right now makes my heartbeat start to speed up. So. I will finish up. It will probably not be today. X_X
  3. might not be done tonight =( (pushed off work logn enough, the hangman is calling)
  4. prologue has been updated but is still in-progress, sigh.
  5. well i had some more plot ideas today during the commute sooo. more to come.
  6. @aveyondstars: it was darzon. but laurent it is, for the purpose of the story. @D_A: well, you do have pedo!ahriman... (and i wrote that before i saw you had already posted the cover)
  7. Prologue, or rather In Which Our Protagonist Experiences Flashback/Exposition: School had ended two weeks before before, but it had already been preceded by summer, which had hung like a tantalizing vapor over the last few weeks of junior year and now clung pleasantly to these first glorious days of vacation. Rhen Laurent wandered barefoot through her backyard, looking for pretty flowers to make into a bouquet to bring her mother. Well, ostensibly that was what she was doing but mostly she was simply enjoying the day. Clearwater was always gorgeous during the summer, drowning in greenery. Rhen had lived in it all her life, and although it was admittedly a rather boring place it was also... Well, home. "Oh! A marionbell!" she exclaimed, catching glimpse of that unmistakable shade of blue in an otherwise unremarkable clump of gorse on the other side of the road. Marionbells were vivid blue, gorgeous and rather rare wildflowers, and they also happened to be Mother's favorite. Rhen crossed the street quickly and considered the quandary the thorny gorse-bush presented. Finally she shrugged and simply stuck her hand in, wincing at the pinpricks of pain. She withdrew, but with the prize in hand- "Oof!" She crashed into a... rather suspicious looking man and fell, flowers tumbling. The man was dressed in what looked to be a wool suit, despite the summer weather, and she couldn't see his eyes beneath his large reflective sunglasses. "Er," she said, stumbling back up. "I'm so sorry..." She trailed off. She felt as if the man was staring at her, but she couldn't really tell, thanks to the sunglasses. She tried to shake off the uneasy feeling and smiled weakly, before gathering up her flowers and walking away. To her horror, the man followed her. She sped up. So did he. Terrified, she broke into a run, racing for the safety of her house, not daring to look back. She slammed the door behind her and locked it quickly, fingers fumbling, heart racing, and only then did she peak out the window to the street. The man was nowhere to be found. "Rhen?" Mother called from the kitchen. "Is something wrong?" "Uh... no, nothing, Mother," Rhen called back. She took another look at the street. Empty. Had she simply imagined that he was following her? That must have been it. --- Later that night she found herself in her room, trying to concentrate on a book. She had read the same page three times without understanding a word of it when she finally gave up, with a groan. She'd been trying to forget the incident earlier that day, but she'd been so creeped out. She couldn't. She sighed. Clearly she was in no mood for reading. She'd go downstairs, drink something, have some cookies... maybe take a shower, go to sleep early. By tomorrow she'd have gotten over the shock, she'd be able to laugh about it with Danny. She headed down the hallway into her room towards the light of the kitchen and stopped, frozen in shock. The man from earlier was standing there, his back to her. She nearly screamed, so certain she was that he must be a kidnapper or burglar or worse coming into her house, when she noticed that Father and Mother were standing there also. But she couldn't breathe a sigh of relief, either. There was something weird going on. Mother looked like she was about to cry, and Father looked... angry? Resigned? She couldn't tell. They were talking in low urgent adult voices. "You don't have a right-" Father was saying. "Actually," the stranger said, "you'll find that most any court would acknowledge the legal precedent in this sort of case-" Rhen slid up against the wall, trying to hear better. "You can't force us, this is absurd-" "So you're prepared to engage in a long legal brawl with the Pendragon family, one that might take years to settle? I take it you have the resources to pursue such a venture?" he flicked a glance around the small room, disdainfully. "Mother?" The whisper slipped out of Rhen's mouth before she realized it, a tiny whimper of confusion. But the three adults in the room heard it. Father startled and Mother turned pale. "Rhen-!" There was no use hiding now. She walked forward, uncertain. "W-what's going on?" She asked. "It's... complicated," Mother began, but was cut off by Father, who had turned triumphantly towards the man in black. "That's another thing!" Father said, triumphant. "What if she doesn't want to go with you? You can't just kidnap her against her will!" "You do not have legal custody of the girl," the stranger said, calmly. Father flinched. The stranger continued, "Any court in the land would accept Devin Pendragon's claim to her. She was given away without his consent and he still retains guardianship over her, so long as she is a minor. Keep that in mind if you do plan on trying for a court- there is very little chance you would win. And regardless, until the case would be settled the girl would stay with her de facto guardian. Not you." He paused, before adopting a more conciliatory tone. "It's only another year. Then she'll be a legal adult and can stay where she wishes. You have to understand, Mr. Pendragon has been searching for her ever since he found out she hadn't died as he'd thought. He needs his daughter, Mr. and Mrs. Laurent, he has a right to his daughter." "What's going on?" Rhen repeated, louder this time. "Mother? Father?" She was fighting back panic that rose like bile in her throat. "We wanted to tell y-" Mother began. Father turned angrily on the man in black. "See? See what you're doing? Is this what your... master wanted?" He spat the word 'master' like a curse. "Couldn't you at least have let us tell it to her, gently, in our own way-" "Father, what are you talking about?" Rhen said, again. She felt like no one could hear her. "Yes, do tell her," said the stranger. "She has a right to know." Father looked like he was about to continue arguing, but mother put a hand on his shoulder. "Rhen, love," she said. "We were going to tell you this one day. But we didn't want you to think it made any difference to us, we didn't want it to worry you. The truth is..." "The truth is you're adopted," cut in the stranger, impatiently. Rhen blinked. "I- what?" "You are not the daughter of Sophie and Tailor Laurent, needless to say you have never been." "Now don't you dare-" Mother bristled. She broke off and turned to Rhen. "Whatever this... man says, you have always been our daughter. Just not by blood." "You might as well tell her, while you're at it, whose daughter she is, by blood." The man took a step towards Rhen, and instinctively she took a step back. "You are the daughter of Alicia and Devin Pendragon, Rhen." Rhen stared at him for a second, and then began to laugh. Haha. This was funny. Because she was totally the daughter of some snobby rich family. This man must think she was one of those girls who dreamed of being a princess, that's why he'd even thought she'd fall for this. But he'd done a good job, she had to admit. Her parents looked all worked up. It was really quite funny, she could barely breathe from laughter... And they were all staring at her. "I get it, guys," she managed to say between giggles, "very funny, haha, I wasn't really expecting a birthday prank just yet but that was beautiful." "...This isn't a prank, Rhen," mother said. It was the expression that convinced Rhen. Now that she thought about it, Mother had never been that good an actress. And she looked... very sad. And old, almost, or weary or broken. "I-it isn't?" Rhen whispered, but already knew the answer. Funny, her stomach had vanished, leaving a sort of void in its place. She tried to swallow against a suddenly dry throat. The stranger looked... Smug, surprised, she couldn't tell behind the damn glasses. She suddenly wanted to rip them off. Instead she stood there, helplessly, and her parents- not her parents, maybe her parents- her parents stood there, too. But it was Tailor who broke the silence. "Seventeen years ago someone brought you to us. She didn't explain why, she just said you needed a place to stay. She never came back." He paused, breathed heavily. We had no children of our own. We were more than happy to take you in. The first year we worried and wondered, the second year as well, but by the time you were toddling all over the backyard we felt sure that you were ours, that she had gone..." "But you could have told me," Rhen said. "We planned to! We just... kept pushing it off. But we were going to tell you. We didn't expect to have the past intrude on us like this, so suddenly." He shot the man a dirty look. "Rhen," mother said, pleaded almost. "You don't have to go with him. We can fight to keep you. You're our daughter, nothing will change that." Did it have to be a fight? Rhen thought back to the conversation she had overheard. Mother might say she could stay with them, but this sunglasses-man clearly thought otherwise. "I'm a Pendragon?" She asked, carefully. The man nodded. "May I ask what your name is?" His eyebrows rose over the darkened shades. "Wilton," he said. "Wilton, what would happen if I chose to stay here?" She asked. "I'm afraid that's not possible. Your... adopted parents might be arrested, in fact. They'd be guilty of conscious kidnapping. Really they could have been tried for not reporting you to the authorities as a baby, to see if you matched any reports of disappeared babies, but Master Pendragon is willing to overlook that if you come now. But if you don't..." At the word "kidnapping" Mother paled and covered her mouth, before recovering her composure- but not before Rhen had already noticed. This was serious, then. "Can I have another week, to pack?" Rhen asked, slowly. She felt her heartbeat, thumping painfully in her chest, but she was doing her best not to care. "You don't really need to pack very much," Wilton said. "But- still..." Rhen said. "Alright," he said, with a sigh. "I get it. You need to tie things up. Well. As long as you're coming- sensible girl, I see- as long as you're coming, it should be fine. I'll tell the master, and be back in a week to pick you up." He gave her the slightest tip of his head before turning to leave- "Are you sure, Rhen?" Father said. "It's fine," she assured him. "It's a chance to see something new and exciting, isn't it? And I'll come visit, every chance I get." "Not to mention," Wilton said, calmly, on his way out the door, "The opportunities that this can give you, the doors this will open for you. Surely for that alone, you should come." "And of course you can visit," he added, more gently, and the door shut behind him with a click. --- She almost regretted asking for an entire week. It was too much. Too much crying, mostly, and the vast majority of it from her parents, because Rhen had gone... oddly numb. She did not, at any point after that first night, think it was not real. It was very obviously real, in the most absurd, bizarre way. Dreams did not feel like this. Dreams did not involve awful lunches filled with sudden bursts of sobs from her mother. Not-mother. Whatever. She was filled with restlessness, that was the thing. It was the restlessness of dread and anticipation and the knowledge that something big and terrifying was headed her way, and she just wanted it to hit her and do whatever damage it planned on doing, so she could get over it and be done with it. But Mother, Father, they were not restless. Father was awkward and miserable and Mother was clingy and- And she felt like hot soup had been poured into her head, or alternatively that said hot soup had gone cold and congealed, and her thoughts were little fizzy formless bubbles. And when the morning came, the morning she was leaving, she realized she had pushed off saying goodbye to any of her friends. And there wasn't time, and... All her belongings fit inside two bags. She stripped her bed. Then she helped carry her bags outside, and hugged, and hugged again, and then... then... The goodbye didn't feel real, though. She only looked back through the rear window once. She napped fitfully the entire forty-five minute ride. --- --- --- "We're here," Wilton said, and Rhen blearily opened her eyes, head aching. "Bqguujgh," she said, very coherently. Her gaze happened to drift out the window and she promptly snapped fully awake. "Th-that's the house?!" It was massive and white and massive and... massive. It stretched beyond the limits of Rhen's vision and when she stepped out of the car she had to crane her head upwards to glimpse the silvery shine of the pointed roof. She had never seen anything this big in her life, and that included the Clearwater Public School and her one brief excursion to see the Mayor's house. "It has a long and distinguished history," Wilton commented, as he unloaded her bags from the trunk and shook off her feeble attempt to help. "It has been the Pendragon estate for centuries." They approached the house by way of a winding pathway that meandered through a large garden. Flowers grew unruly along the path, flowers Rhen had never seen before, flowers she had read of only in books, and- oh!- a huge patch of only marionbells. "You can pick one, if you want," Wilton commented. Rhen flushed, feeling as if she'd been too obvious in her delight. "There's no need," she said, "maybe some other time..." Yet still she knelt and plucked one- just one, she thought, it couldn't make a difference- and held it carefully as they continued. As they came closer to the house- mansion, really, house couldn't begin to describe a building of its size- she was able to see that the white stone of the house was carved, covered in decorations, nymphs and knights and suchlike. She couldn't begin to imagine what lay inside. Gold furniture and marble floors and crystal statues? Her imagination seemed to fail her, when confronted with such excess, such obvious wealth and age and... She could only think of fairytales, of ruby necklaces and emerald chokers. Surely in such a house there would be treasures even beyond that. The entrance way itself seemed a small hall in its own right, all Grecian pillars, and beyond that... She swallowed. Beyond that a great imposing set of double doors made from some dark wood. There was a knocker, made from what appeared to be brass, a snarling gargoyle holding a loop of metal in his mouth, which Wilton briskly used to rap sharply on the wood. Then, without bothering to wait, he opened the door himself. Rhen, confused, almost began to ask before stopping herself to follow him, clutching the marionbell.
  8. erm. it's more like you can come back to it later and post updates that are relevant to other things throughout the thread (as the thread grows). I don't believe in having people have to click through the thread to find stuff that we could just link to in the first two posts, basically. but this thread needs story in it pronto. (wanna post your pictures, too?)
  9. Hello and Welcome to Aveyond High, a collaboration between Blurble and Daeva_agas. An AU set in a modern highschool in a universe more similar to ours than to Aveyond's, consider it an "illustrated story". Also, it is crack. Very crack. Think romantic-comedy reverse-harem is-that-Ahriman-hitting-on-Rhen-dear-lord-my-EYES crack. (Not to spoil anything...) Sit back and enjoy (or, um, run away screaming in terror. both work) Links (regular=text, italicized=picture) Title Page Prologue A Looming Man in Black Some random sketches: (may contain spoilers, hi.) 1 2
  10. lololol that was hysterical. I realized it ages ago but i think rpg logic is twisted and amusing
  11. I drew something I wanted to draw for ages and it lifted a weight off of me i hadn't known i had =)
  12. i need to stop writing at 3 in the morning but that seems to be the only time i can get anything done...
  13. @d_a: sorry, i'm not... a big fan of the av2 characters or av2. my only ship for the game is ean/adventure, so... @aveyondstars: because I wanted a chance to express what it meant for Ean to choose the adventure ending and it ended up mutating into something else entirely @diamondmist: thanks ^^
  14. he's not evil in this story, but the general theory is that professor grey is the most powerful person in the aveyond universe. think about it. he sends mel off to the furthest corners of the world and there are STILL people who understand what she means if she says "professor grey sent me"
  15. oh this is just beautiful. sparkling. GREYYYYYYY. lol. (My take on him has him... even more of an evil mastermind... but it's nice to see some prof love in general!)
  16. ...... crackitty crack crack. have a crack kitty :KittyLuv:
  17. He does. But not enough that he can give up the entire rest of the world for her... He likes her but their goals and dreams diverged. (I know. I'm sorry it's unclear. It is not my best piece of writing, it just... needed to get out. Actually most of my writing happens because of that.)
  18. [u rl=http://www.amaranthia.com/modules/newbb/viewtopic.php?topic_id=14955&forum=6]And in Circles[/url] (By Blurble): Humans told stories in lines, piece by piece, occasionally zigzagging back and forth between forgotten scraps, another product of their strange confusing minds... Elves tell stories in circles, the normal way. (Aveyond 2, not quite Ean/Iya) (Complete)
  19. He decided to stay in the human world =)
  20. (A/n: This did not come out the way I wanted it, but...) Humans told stories in lines, piece by piece, occasionally zigzagging back and forth between forgotten scraps, another product of their strange confusing minds. Elves tell stories in circles, of course, the normal way. (Ean/Iya, the adventure ending, ish.) --- Late nights sometimes Ean found his parents sitting together on the couch, staring, into each other's eyes or into the distance. It was... a form of meditation, a communion with a wholeness of things. It was something wonderful, they explained to him. Countless others explained to him. Young elves matured and married and together were able to sit quietly, peacefully, in deep thought. No words needed to be exchanged. It was a happiness and completion of being that belonged solely to elves, the Goddess's gift to them. The Goddess had a soft spot for all her charges but the elves were her favorite, because they were closest to her, because they were kind and peaceful and content to remain the same, sitting together, experiencing the perfection of unity. All this Ean learned, and he learned to accept and love and yearn for the same for himself, when the restless twitches off elf-childhood slaked away from him as they did from all elves, and he could live the hundreds of remaining years of his life in peaceful contentment. What he forgot, was the fear he felt that first night that he wandered from his bed, when he saw the soft sweet smiles on his parents' faces while they did not answer him when he called. --- The human world was strange and colorless and dull, they said, and certainly in the Snow Queen's kingdom it was bare and bleak... and cold, so cold. And Iya had been shivering and miserable and confused when he found her, when they ran away. He had been so happy, so relieved to see her. Later, when things became increasingly difficult, as they raced around this unfamiliar world searching for the missing parts of her, that was what he would remember and hold on to. How happy he had been. How beautiful she had looked, even terrified out of her senses. --- Humans, he discovered, smelled funny. The-boy-whose-name-is-Rye smelled like something musky and salty and not entirely pleasant. At night he whispered to Iya about it. “Don't be mean,” she murmured, and dozed off. She did that very much, lately, but he couldn't blame her, she was missing so very much of herself. --- In the elf world they sang the dead to sleep, six days of mourning and a day of celebration as the newly departed joined the ranks of the Ancestors. On the seventh day the soul returned to its home and waited there, to receive well-wishers and parting gifts before leaving, for once and for all. Ean had only attended two such Singings in his entire life, and the first one was a dim memory from babyhood. As for the second, he'd joined in the singing as fervently as all the elves. A death-singing wasn't just for Singers to participate in. Even unskilled, untrained voices added to the raw force of power. But. He did not sing the woodsman to sleep. He had nothing to sing. He thought, perhaps, that Iya might. But she stared blankly at his corpse instead. No compassion in her, he remembered. He had to be... understanding. He thought of the dead man's eyes and he wanted to scream, or vomit. Instead he tightened his fingers on the wooden figurine. It was important, in this cursed world. This cursed world where the dead were not sung for. He ached for home. His claws struck viciously at every creature that crossed his way. He ached for home. --- The world had once been water. The Goddess had created land, for the land-creatures to live on, but the voice of the water remained. Elves followed the flow of the memory of water. Elves bent- but did not break. Redirected, but did not resist. Elves were in harmony, elves were at peace. Ean doubted that Prince Uthar understood the implication of the word “resistance” in elvish. Nor did he care. He would join it anyway. Cursed world. --- It was Rye who closed the dead man's eyes. “He was very brave,” he said. “And noble.” The words fell with little thunks from his mouth. The woodsman did not stir. It was Rye who pressed the elf-shape into Ean's paw at last, who forced him to eat something, to recover. Rye clapped him on the back and kept his hand there for just a moment, long enough to let the heat seep through, before he stepped back awkwardly. Elves did not cry. Ean did not cry. He smelled, instead, the whiff that Rye left behind, salt and sweat and regret. For once he did not grimace. ---- Their last night in the Bogwoods before they headed to Seri, he kept watch as the others slept. Gavin had curled up in a pile of leaves. Rye and Iya were leaning against the trunk of a dark, twisted tree. He was listening to the rhythm of Rye's soft snores when he heard Iya step quietly towards him. “You should rest,” he said. “You are still very weak.” “I know,” she said. “But I feel much better, even if I'm not. It's fading, I think, but for a moment after I got the blessing I felt such a rush...” “Still...” he said, carefully. “I can't sleep,” she said. “That boy snores and he smells.” She paused. “Rather like an animal,” she added. And giggled. He couldn't disagree. It was, after all, true. He focused his gaze on some point in the distance. “I hate this place,” he said. “So do I,” she said. --- Heptitus was all manner of words that ended in itch. They fled the house before she returned, and he looked at Iya and waited to see a difference. Was she more alive? He thought she was. She saw him watching and winked. He blinked, surprised at the smile that twitched on her lips, and wondered, just for a moment, what sort of blessing an evil witch could bestow, anyway. --- The way the spy moved around Gavin and the way Gavin looked at her, felt like something strange and unfamiliar and uncomfortable. “It's just love,” Rye said, but looked disgusted. “I wish they'd put a lid on it.” It wasn't any love that Ean had seen. --- He bought Iya the kitten. It mewled cutely and she smiled and petted it. He'd wanted it to bring her back. She'd blushed and said thank you. There was still the glow of Ceri's blessing in her, a glow he remembered from Heptitus's blessing as well. It had faded, after a while. It would fade again, but maybe this time it would last longer. He felt something like frustration and was surprised at his own selfishness. It was not Iya's fault. It was... He bought her the ring as well. Because that was what love was about. --- They made camp and settled and he walked into a clearing, to find Iya, standing still with eyes closed. “I- oh. I'm sorry,” he said, feeling awkward. She looked at him and smiled, turning slightly pink. “It's okay,” she said. “I was just meditating. I get so worried, sometimes, and it helps. You can join me.” She held out her hands and hesitantly he stepped forward and touched fingers with her, felt the peace rush in. Peace and calm and quiet and relaxation and rest and ease flowed through him, suffused him... He twitched. Somewhere deep inside of him something stirred, restless and uneasy. Against his will his eyes snapped open, and he saw Iya, eyes still closed, smiling peacefully. Feeling deeply guilty, unsure why, he held her hands for another moment before tearing himself away, to hunt down some monsters and get some more practice, because he needed it, because he needed to be strong. The restlessness remained. --- Emma fought in the tournament. He watched and felt the excitement rushing through him his hair standing on edge, breath catching as she tripped, as she recovered, as she... It was not a feeling he would have appreciated or understood, before. But now he knew what it meant to fight. It was not an elf-thing. But he knew it anyway. --- “Are you okay?” They were her first words to him after every battle. No matter how injured she was herself. Always when the rest of them were tired and fed up, even when she was tired and scared herself, she tried to comfort them and keep them going. She had three blessings, now, half of herself restored, and he could see in her his Iya, his kind, lovely Iya. What he could also see was something he might not have noticed, once. But surrounded by Emma and Rye on one side, and Gavin and Ava on the other, it was far easier for him to notice the symptoms in his dear friend. She was in love with him, he thought, and felt happy, of course, and knew that it was right, fated, meant to be. And of course he was okay. --- As per usual they came to a town and split up, to gather information and supplies. When Rye wasn't with Emma- i.e. during each of their rather frequent fights- he hung around with Ean. He was very funny, actually, and charming and interesting. Interesting in particular. His mind worked in a... in a human way, Ean thought. He managed to provide a refreshing yet bizarre perspective on so many things Ean had taken for granted. There was that, then. Rye had become a... friend. It was strange using the term only because Ean knew when he said it that he meant something distinct from elf-friend. Rye couldn't be an elf-friend, Ean knew that instinctively. It wasn't something that... It just didn't work. A friend of a different sort, then. --- Iya was learning, learning by the day, songs and magic like elves should and he- He felt the flesh press in underneath his claws, felt the ripping and tearing of the muscle as he swiped, as they crumpled- Elves did not destroy. Elves did not fight. Elves did not grin and high-five over a battle well fought and well-won. An elf figurine and a beast. He was... he wish he remembered which one he was. --- There were the others, too. Emma who was passionate- alright, sometimes disconcertingly so- and who understood somehow intuitively the need Ean felt to be better, to be more, to be stronger. They fell in the habit of sparring together. As for Ava, Ean had something like awe for her, not at first but after a while. She was wise, he thought. She was wise in a way he wouldn't have recognized as wisdom, in a stranger, quicker, sharper way. Gavin simply confused Ean. --- They'd helped dressmakers and novel-writers and star-crossed lovers and more. The human world, he thought, was not so colorless nor so bleak as he had once thought. But it was so very big. He had never known the world could be so big. --- One night Iya was the one who stayed up with him to keep watch- these days he usually kept watch at least half the night, spurred by a need to stay alert, keep moving, that left him incapable of sleep unless utterly exhausted. And Iya had gotten strong enough to handle it and anyway she wanted to stay with him, to talk with him, and he wanted to talk with her too. They spoke softly so as not to wake the others, about home and mutual friends and their journey together. “I miss the Elfwood,” she said. “I want to go back.” “I miss it too,” he said, as always, by rote, but then he hesitated. “But I... I've kind of gotten used to it here,” he said. “It's so much more...” She tilted her head, uncomprehending. “Never mind,” he said, and smiled to reassure her, to ease the crinkle of worry between her eyes. --- Hope made Iya vibrant, he thought. It made her... sparkle. His throat ached when he looked at her. He hadn't realized being in love felt quite this painful. And lovely. He told her that. “What do you mean, painful?” She said. He hesitated, unsure. “I feel so happy being with you,” she said, nuzzling him lightly. “Me too,” he said, whispered, hoarse. --- The anti-were potion turned a beast into a man. Somewhere inside of him a weight he had forgotten he was carrying lifted. --- And as they came closer and closer to some fateful moment- it was an approach they could almost sense, with each piece that fell into place, the blueprints, the squirrels... They flew together on dragonback, his arms around her waist, and she talked and talked of home. He listened to the music the wind made of her voice. He listened and ignored the doubts. They were in love and they were perfect. --- Post-marriage, Rye and Emma- in between fights, or more disturbingly during fights- had a tendency to kiss rather a lot. Ean and Iya looked away in unison, embarrassed. --- But in the end it wasn't Ishtar. But in the end it wasn't... It was over, actually. It didn't feel real, but the others immediately drifted away, released to do what they needed. Of course he goes with Iya, to a tree he remembers from what seems like so long ago. Of course he does. But. But she looks at him with something like compassion in her eyes. The final piece, he thinks. “Are you coming, Ean?” She says, slender, perfect arm extended. And he wills his legs to move and they do not. He stared at her, the awful understanding grown so huge inside him it can no longer be denied, there is nothing he can do but say it- He thinks of snowy mountains, and deserts, and dragons, and city guards and talking squirrels and the wooden statues he carries with him. “No,” he says. And she turns to sing- and he glimpses, for a moment, what she would look like in a wedding dress, resplendent, beautiful. “N-” He begins, and the tree opens up and she is gone. Elves do not cry, he thinks, and curls up in agony on the ground, aching empty dryness filling him, he breathes in pine and life and freshness and he sobs. And when that ceases he lies there. And when that, too, ends he gets up. And he brushes himself off. And he flies, dragon-back, to Thais. --- It had always, he realized, been a story about finding something. Those were always stories about losing something, weren't they?
  21. what happened: my laptop was out of business i had my copy of this saved to a external drive... worked on it on another computer and BRILLIANTLY decided to email it to myself instead of saving. gmail lopped off the second half of the story, ie.e. the last couple of chapters, i.e. the part i had been working on. keep in mind that these chapters had been lost in a hard drive crash sometime previous. so I had abandoned them and then when at last I felt the desire to continue, a stirring of the muse... yeah. By all rights this story should be dead, actually. But Ed is kinda persistent....
  22. On the Top 10 List of Things I hate doing: Rewriting something I've already written, that was perfectly fine the first time until the computer ate it. Even if the second version is actually better, I will never know, because in my mind the first version will always live on as this perfect ideal I will never manage to recreate. Made writing this chapter and will make writing the next chapter bloody difficult. They were better the first time. (why yes i realized i would not be able to fall asleep without writing this. [d]my muse is a horrid, abusive, kidnapping blackmailing cough[/d]. My muse is wonderful and kind and compassionate and has never harmed a fly in her life please don't hurt me) She wasn't worried when he didn't show up the next day, either. She had to stay late to carefully pluck pieces of lint out of every single one of Professor Grey's pillows and when she came out he wasn't there, so she figured he'd gotten bored and left. Nor was she worried the next day, when he didn't show up. Again. She was most definitely absolutely not worried about him when, for the sixth day in a row, he completely failed to show up outside her classroom, to annoy, irritate, and harass her. To the contrary. She was glad! She was glad he was leaving her alone! She'd been asking him to do that all along, after all. At least once a day, in fact. It was gratifying to know that the boy had finally listened. She'd rather gotten the impression that he never listened to anyone, ever, unless he felt like it. Which of course meant he'd felt like leaving. Well fine. She hadn't wanted to be friends with him anyway. She wasn't offended at all. --- The next morning, as she stumbled blearily out of her apartment to school, she passed by one of the newspapers that were always tacked up all over the place. “STRING OF DISAPPEARANCES CONFOUNDS CITY,” read the headline. Underneath in smaller letters it said “Officials suspect murder or kidnapping”. “Oh my god,” she said, eyes wide. “Edward.” She broke into a run. --- She dashed into his classroom. “Has anyone seen Edward?” She gasped, panting. “Um, no,” one of the boys said. “He's been gone for a week, why-” “A week? You're sure?” she said, heart thumping, stomach somewhere in the vicinity of her knees. “Positive.” The boy said. “Did he tell anyone where he was going?” she asked, desperately. The boy edged away from her. “Not that I know of-” A light cough interrupted them. Mel whirled around and found herself face to face with Lydia. Damn. She tried to avoid the girl whenever possible. “And why,” Lydia sniffed, “Should a little street rat like yourself have any right to be prying around about the- about Edward? You should know your place, trash.” “The only trash I see here is you, Lydia.” Mel said. “Tell me, did a swamp monster throw up in your hair or did that color just happen naturally?” “Why you little-” Lydia began. Mel realized it was useless. No one had any information here. “Terrible talking to you,” she said, with a mocking bow at Lydia, and left. --- Afterward she almost regretted it. Lydia had a tendency to appear as if she knew something about Edward that Mel didn't. It was... something about the way she said Edward's name. With an extra inflection. It was the kind of thing Mel would have dismissed as Lydia putting on airs, if Edward hadn't always been so eager to keep the two of them apart. As in, he forcibly dragged her away whenever he saw Lydia coming, and he had been openly, obviously relieved when Mel had said she tried to avoid the girl whenever humanly possible. Actually, never mind. It made perfect sense for Edward to want to avoid Lydia, too, and to be relieved if Mel had the good sense not to like her either. She was not thinking approvingly about Edward thinking approvingly about her. She was just... She just... agh. She wasn't. ...Not to mention that there was absolutely no chance she would have gotten any information out of Lydia anyway. --- She realized she would have to go about this her own way. And so that afternoon she slipped out of school and down to the southern part of town, where the tavern, jail, and brothel shared a cozy little corner of an alleyway. She sat down at a wooden table with one leg uneven so the whole thing wobbled, and looked around. Taverns were excellent places to gather information, if you knew how to recognize the right sort of people for that kind of thing. This tavern, however, looked rather dull and lacking in intrigue, beyond the usual slow-brewing brawl. She waited, slouching into the bench over a mug filled with a... mystery substance. Well, alright, it was probably beer, but the sort of beer she'd rather not bring anywhere near her internal organs, if possible. In the corner, fading into the shadows, was a man in a dark cloak. Mel very quietly got up from her seat and casually sidled over to the corner. “Why, hello,” the man said. “You look... curious.” “Possibly,” Mel said, casting him a sideways glance. “Can I help you with that?” “It would depend,” she said. “Seen anyone interesting around this... place?” She gestured. “I might have,” he said, carefully. “Although it is hard to remember these sorts of things, you know. The mind goes.” “The mind can't be persuaded to come back?” He coughed lightly. “Well, for an incentive...” “20 gold.” He laughed. “You must be far less curious than I had thought. 50.” “Or maybe I doubt your information will be of any use to me, anyway,” she said. “30 and that's all I've got to offer.” “35.” “30,” she repeated. She really didn't have more than that to spend right now, not if she wanted supper at least. “...Alright then,” he said, grudgingly, and waited expectantly. She fumbled for her money bag and counted out the coins reluctantly into his hand. He tucked them smoothly somewhere in the folds of his cloak. “...Well?” She said, impatiently. “You asked if I'd seen anyone interesting around this place,” he said, and flashed her a nasty smile. “Well, I haven't.” “W-what?” “It's been the same old boring regulars ever since the police started cracking down on this place. And thanks for the gold, miss.” “Why, you-” She hissed, and then stopped short, catching a glimpse of the hilt of a knife tucked into his belt. Bastard, she thought furiously, clenching her fists, but there was nothing she could do. She stalked away, and the sound of his low chuckle made her face flame as she headed for the door. --- She was furious for all of three blocks before she managed to calm herself down. She'd get back at the jerk later, for the time being she needed to focus on the task at hand. So the coppers were cracking down on the tavern. That made it a dead end, probably- Kidnappers wouldn't hang around there, it would be too conspicuous. Practically safer to meet out in the open. She stopped short. Safer to... In her mind the pieces clicked into place quietly. Oh. How utterly obvious. She rounded the corner and arrived at the cafe.
  23. well, one, you should read the fic (YOU SHOULD PLAY AV-3) but anyway. it's really quite painful, i'm getting fidgety and unable to concentrate on my work because i want to write quite badly but i have piles i mean piles of work. which of course is a self-defeating cycle since if i can't concentrate i can't finish and if i can't finish i can't eventually get back to writing this. i's not capitalized because i'm lazy and er in a rush. (PILES)
  24. I want so badly to write and I just I DON'T HAVE TIME WAAAAAAAH.
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