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Created in response for the Paper Doll Gang Blog City. |
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** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** They who dream by day are cognizant of many things which escape those who dream only by night. --Edgar Allan Poe-- Just a little place to keep the train of my thoughts as they come. Thoughts, feelings, people, anything goes, just a wide collection of whatevers. Sometimes the best thing to do with the thoughts that skitter across your mind is to write them down as they come. They may seem mad, biased or abstract - mundane, straightforward or reasonable - but they're all a part of you. All the thoughts you have are always relevant at the time they're processed, and sometimes it's nice to be able to reflect on them. We think and we dream, and we are. I will very, very likely want to throw down some story ideas and character views in here as well, since I love writing, and wish to improve. Welcome to my blog! |
| Originally in this blog there were several personal entries, but I deleted them and left fictional character vignettes on display instead. This addresses part of an ongoing problem I have, which is to be able to express and confront anything personal about myself. I'm not the best at talking about feelings, and prefer to keep a lid on things, or push them aside. I also convince myself that I can't tell anyone what has happened in the past and how it feels - because I wonder if they'd believe the whole thing or not. Self esteem issues, right? Yeah. Working on that. So much happens to us, both good and bad, it's almost impossible to keep a track on things. There's a lot of secrets we keep buried, and a lot of things we don't realise affects us, and influences our every action. Everyone's battling something in their corner of the world. I just thought maybe I should list some of mine, for the sake of getting things out. Since apparently talking about stuff is good therapy. So. Who am I? I'm a twenty-something working a normal job, with aspirations to go to University and to, you know, do something that's not just work eat and sleep. I have a small circle of friends who don't really overlap, but they are all amazing people, and I'm glad to have them. I've had friends who have turned out to not really be friends, and friends who start off as good friends but for one reason or another, drift away until you don't speak to each other because of leading different existences. Guess that's just part of, well, life. There's online friends as well, who I will most likely never meet, but I like to consider them as good people to know. It's interesting, the different types of friendships we can strike up, and how each of them contribute something in their own small ways. I'll probably end up talking about them sooner or later. BECAUSE THEY ARE SO AWESOME. I live in a sort of flat. The building is essentially a big old house with sections allocated to the tenants. I have my own bedroom, lounge, kitchen and bathroom, and the other tenants have the same things. One of my best friends lives in the top part of the house, and it's nice being able to invade each other's rooms clad in just pyjamas and talk random stuff. My friends are also great in dealing with the problems I can have, as I was born hearing impaired, and wear hearing aids. Generally, all I need is eye contact, as I prefer to lip read what people say, and it's fine. I always get comments about how surprised people are to hear me talk, since I don't sound deaf. Which is nice, but also annoying, but also expected. So I've learned to smile and take it as a compliment when I hear it. The impairment's an inconvenience, more on self esteem than anything, and it can be annoying when you meet people ignorant of the condition, and who then treat you as an invalid, or someone inferior. But again, you learn to cope with it. Out of the family members that are alive, I have three half-brothers, two half-sisters, four nephews, two nieces, three uncles, three aunts, three cousins, and a bunch of other relations who I have never spoken to, so I won't include them. I don't really speak to the uncles, aunts or cousins anymore, but used to know and associate a lot with them when I was younger. I don't even know if one of the uncles is still alive. He used to send me letters. I used to keep them, but in all the chaos of the past few years, I've lost them. Out of the family members who I used to know and have lost, there's the grandparents on my mother's side of the family when I was young. Since my dad and his brothers hailed from an Scottish orphanage, I never knew grandparents his side. I lost an uncle, an aunt, my father, my mother. Not the greatest of growing up experiences, but I'm still here. Still breathing. Perhaps one day I can talk about them. But for now, that's a good enough summary of things so far. Funny thing is, I do actually feel a little better after typing this out. Squee P.S: Real name is Melissa, but people call me Poppy. Why? I was nicknamed "Poppet" as a baby, which gradually changed to Poppy. Since one of the nieces is called Melissa, and a sister's called Mel, it turned out easier for all of us to address me as Poppy. :) |
| Six weeks and I’ve kept my head down. Gone to the classes, bolted out the door when they finished, and kept to myself, avoiding other students. All three of my roommates tried befriending me, but you could say I had trust issues. Considering the entire school hosted people possessing supernatural bloodlines, most with the unfortunate tendency to eat your face, I believed my concerns pretty valid. Bracing myself, I stepped into the dorm room. Denver glared daggers my way, growling: “You’re late.” Ignoring her, I approached the coffee machine, grabbing a mug off the oak desk. “Hello? Sister here. It’s not healthy to block me out.” Steamed milk spurted into the mug, followed by the tantalising smell of burnt coffee beans. Denver should know by now: never talk to me until I’ve had my coffee fix. Even better, just don’t disturb me at all. Unfortunately, you can’t choose your relatives, or kill them. Not without negative consequence, anyway. Red light crackled the air. Baring my teeth, I deflected the pathetic attempt at magic. Denver ducked with a yelp. The rebound fizzled harmlessly into the wall. “Better luck next time, little sis.” I smiled sweetly, lavishing the coffee. “One day,” she muttered, slumping out on a lower bunk. Her dark fringe fell down one cheekbone. I sat beside her, noting with irritated concern the fresh bruise under her left eye. “Who d’ya upset this time?” Subtlety: not my strong point. “A vampire. And a quarter demon? At least, I think it was one…” “Idiot. Next time, send them my way.” Swigging the last of the drink, I rubbed my forehead. Transferring here felt like a mistake. Public to private; humans into happy multicultural species world. I wanted to continue normal education, but family bloodlines made it conspicuous as to what I was the more I aged. A shame, as I’d convinced myself the change wouldn’t happen. No, I won’t change. No, I won’t grow a prehensile tail and fangs …Wistful childhood fantasy, meet reality. Wielding a hammer. Denver appeared relatively human, still, but her eyes were gradually shifting colour. At the moment they shone a dark orange hue. Spotting my finished drink, Denver reached for her backpack, shoving one of her books in my face. “Do my homework.” “Do it yourself, brat.” The homework was already done. Her neat handwriting lined the page, dutifully answering questions. Scanning the science document, I discovered eight wrong answers and helped her through each one. Eidetic memory left me plenty of spare time - too much spare time, so Denver leeched some of it to assist in bettering her grades. One roommate sauntered in - Claw, I think her name was - eyeing us cautiously. With good reason. Back in the old days, my kind apparently had some sort of blood feud with hers. But then again, I’m sure my kind had blood feuds with nearly everyone in existence. We're just that pleasant a species. Claw scooped up one of the tomes on the floor. She hesitated once before leaving, probably torn between the dilemma of wanting to say something and knowing I’d likely rebuke it. For a werewolf, she seemed a bookish, shy character - at least from what glimpses I've had of her. But, happy multicultural school or not, I’m not interested. Two years surviving in this place was bad enough. No need in staying much longer. “Don’t you have any friends yet?” Denver asked, crossing out her fifth wrong answer and submitting in the correct one. “I have some.” “Yeah? Good for you.” I glanced out the window towards the school grounds. Dark green pine forests rimmed around meticulously cultivated lawns and flower beds. A river sloped down the beginnings of a valley. Some kind of game went on in the field, involving a lot of magic spells hitting people. I liked those kind of games. I absently scratched at my nose stud. “Are you even listening? I said I’m friends with a kitsune, and a ice angel. And that quarter demon might be alright, too.” “The one who hurt you?” I scoffed at her exuberance. “Wasn’t aware you played happy families with demons.” “Well, he is kinda hot…” She grinned lecherously. “And he said sorry.” Guiding her through the last question, I shook my head. “I know the names of my roommates. That’s about it.” I ticked them off, one by one. “Claw, werewolf, Vash, high functioning zombie; not that the standards of high function for a zombie is anything special… and Morgana, witch.” “But you don’t talk to anyone? Still? You suck.” “I don’t want to be here.” My sister harrumphed, obviously finding me beneath contempt, and pack away her homework. “Cheers, Xanthe. You still suck, though.” “Yeah, yeah.” I waved magnanimously as she left, taking the opportunity to sit back for a few moments. I examined the graffiti on the bunk bed above me, mostly carved initials and hearts. Boredom does funny things to people. I flicked out my army knife to begin some artwork of my own. “Why don’t you want to be here, then?” Startled at the invasive voice, I scowled about the room. “Who the hell is there?” No response. Vaguely recognising the tone, I tried again. “Is that you, Morgana?” A spot in the corner of the room shimmered, unveiling the witch. Long blonde hair, dark eyes, and a mouth made for sarcastic smirking. “Ding, dong.” “The witch is dead.” “Please. Like you could take me.” Morgana waltzed up to me, unafraid. Her lack of fear was somewhat irritating. “What were you doing eavesdropping? It’s not polite.” I got out of bed and offered her a coffee. She declined. Eavesdropping or not, if I decided to somehow tack friends onto my resume, I’d probably get on with Morg; her sense of humour was downright sardonic. But currently, coffee was about the only bonding I mustered, so people wouldn’t end up treating me as a hostile being, ripe for being ganged up on. “I wasn’t. I wanted to practise invisibility, and happened to walk in on your sister-meet. That was your sister, right? She’s an Amesha like you, I mean.” The smirk popped up. “We don’t exactly get many around here.” “No.” I glugged down my next coffee. I felt the nausea building up. Too much. Not standing out proved a difficult feat considering the only Amesha Spenta in the entire school were Denver and I. Our kind apparently had some glory spot back in old Persia. At least, according to the parentals. “No.” Morgana popped the word. “You’re really going out of your way to be unsociable.” “I offered coffee.” “That’s not enough.” “You were eavesdropping.” “You don’t care.” “True.” I didn’t bother to expand. She sighed. “What you’re doing, it’s not working. People are already eyeing you. Take my advice. Blend in better. And don’t go out at night.” Cryptic, much? “Thanks? I suppose you want me to become buddy buddy best friends with you as well?” “Could be a start.” Morgana grinned. “Sarcastic bitch.” My automatic response was to smile. Morgana cloaked herself in invisibility again, leaving the room. I know because I checked afterwards, throwing stuff into the corners. I stared at the door for some time. Magic school as an Amesha Spenta. Surviving this would be a challenge. N.B: Amesha Spenta is a Zoroastrian word/figure for the guardian of the soul. This should have been longer, but didn’t write it in time for the competition it was intended for. Oh well. :P |
| Vignette featuring the characters out of a prospective sci fi story floating in my head... “Eight thousand. Take it or leave it.” Howard smiled thinly at his prospective buyers. On display was the sought after plasma reactor and nitro-box of tomtainers. Together they scraped up a measly three thousand worth of plundered spare parts; a detail naturally omitted in this current business transaction. The buyers looked between the objects and Howard. Bet not one of these hicks has a clue about engineering. They’re buying off a list, for crying out loud. He flattened out an intrusive smirk into a smile. The small arakar woman idly tapped her side. Howard spied the top of a gun handle in her belt. He pointed at her, addressing the captain of the group. “Keep an leash on that animal of yours.” Howard couldn’t recall the creature’s name. In fact, he couldn’t recall any of their names. The three other humans with her winced at his words. The scrawny one squeezed the arakar on the shoulder. “I advise you not to upset Akari here. She has a bit of a temper when it comes to impolite people. Can get very messy.” Howard stared hard at the arakar. He didn’t like their kind. He didn’t like the new age theology movement, either, but their stigma over arakar horns had some merit. All throughout human history, demons had been pictured with horns. Akari’s horns curled on either side of her head like a ram’s. Like a demon. Her expression at the moment when locked onto his eyes could only be best described as murderous. “Kill me and you’ll be dead before you walk out that door.” Akari growled, almost inaudible. The leader of the group, a short and stocky human, picked up one of the tomtainers. “No brand on this,” he began, drawing tension out of the air, “No stabilisers. We could get halfway to our ship and one of these things might implode. That’s two thou off the price straight away. Add in the illegal salvage operations going on in this area, I bet you’re inflating for nearly triple the price.” “Take it or leave it,” Howard grunted. “And good luck finding other sellers willing to do a cut like I am. These things ain’t easy to get.” “Let’s go.” The mercenary one’s voice rumbled. He towered above everyone else in width and height. Wouldn’t want to piss that one off. Damn. Howard’s buyers headed for the exit. He gritted his teeth, annoyed. “Wait! Wait. Let’s not be hasty about this.” *** The nitro-box containing the tomtainers was carried by Lewis. He swung the box in his hand as though it had normal food in it, rather than contents which could level an entire town. He grinned at Akari, who strode alongside him, dwarfed by his large frame. “That seller caved in pretty quick. Usually we have to work at them more or shoot the guards.” “Too quick,” Akari agreed. They kicked up dust from the ground as they walked. The whole town resembled something out of an old earth western, down to the wooden structures and local old fashioned clothing. Denzell and Rufus fronted their procession, with the captain already on the comms to their ship. “True,” Lewis shrugged, “So we’ll probably be tailed on the way back.” One side of Akari‘s lip curled. “We are. Two men. Brown trench and white shirt.” “And a third,” Rufus added to her observation. “Really?” The smirk dropped. “Not seen them yet.” “That’s because you never ran a space mafia operation before joining Denzell’s Crazy Crew Emporium, like I did. The woman. Five o’ clock. Blue handbag.” Lewis and Akari discreetly peeked. “Ah. I see it,” Lewis nodded. Denzell finished communicating to Ella on their ship and scowled at them. “Walk faster before we’re shot at. Hop to it!” “Yes, cap’n.” Lewis saluted Denzell smartly. “Did everyone spot the third guy before I did?” Akari sounded peeved. Her left hand edged towards her gun. “Yep. Obviously that means you’re losing your touch. Could be all that hair in front of your incredibly angry face.” Lewis flicked at her hair, swerving out of an answering punch. |
| An attempt at free form poetry after months of not actually writing poetry. :3 Swift bird flies, Wending way through the meadows, Between the willows and lay of land with a flitter-flutter, A tiny stutter of wings bending on the river flow. Minds will dream, and pitter-patter and rittle-rattle with constant motion, Like the bird, like a shadow, Attached to your feet and in rain and sleet, Always follows in sleek devotion. |
Character profile: Roze. Gender: Male World: Dystopian. Humanity is in ruins, and only small bands of survivors wander the wastes and the empty cities. Roze travels with a small group of survivors. As one of the strongest members there he helps scavenge empty cities for food, clothes, and protects them from the horrors that infest the earth. They constantly move, just struggling from day to day to survive. Thorns curled over the ground. Roze chopped at some of the thick brambles as they snagged his clothing. The cold Canadian forests offered great refuge when it came to hiding out from the demons - apparently they didn't like the cold almost as much as he did - but the harsh climate sometimes killed off more people than the monsters. Roze focused on making his way through the overgrowth, tracking down the source of the sound in the form of tiny, hitching noises - rather like someone desperately trying not to cry. Sensitive hearing far beyond the range of a normal human enabled him to pick up dangers before they hit too close, and the sounds of humanity in the darkness. He found his target sitting bewildered in a mass of corpses. His stomach turned cold at the sight. A little girl scratched at salty tears leaking from her eyes in a fruitless attempt to stop them. He sheathed his sword. She couldn't be more than seven years old. A sightless, emaciated head leered by the side of the girl. Tangled masses of bones and organs scrunched up around the surrounding trees. All of the dead were monsters. Not one single scrap of human lay there apart from the remarkably unscathed child, if a little grubby and gaunt, and obviously distressed. Flecks of blood painted her burlap dress. 'Hey,' Roze tried, voice cracked and broken from lack of use. The girl immediately flinched, her sniffling converting into a startled hiccup. She stared at Roze in animal terror, tiny frame shrinking into itself. 'Hey. It's alright, little one,' Roze soothed, careful to keep his voice quiet and his movements slow. 'You got some healthy crying going on. Can't be fun sitting there, though. It's very cold. You must be cold. Are you waiting for someone?' Roze stayed calm and banal, delivering a smile through a face unused to showing warmth. The words were inane, but the girl looked on the verge of losing it altogether so he had to keep talking, keep the gentle mood, wash over whatever trauma she happened to be going through. We're all damaged, in this world. Maybe she'd been living with a band of survivors, possibly her parents, before mummy and daddy got their brains eaten by some hungry monsters. Maybe she just wandered off and seperated from her group, but the important thing was to be as unthreatening as possible... The girl shuffled backwards a little as he approached. 'It's okay, kid. I won't harm you. I'm going to help you. It's not safe, here...' 'Don't come near.' Her breath hitched,and she stared at Roze with hard eyes. Such beautiful auburn hair. Such strange eyes. They never stayed the same colour. First he thought they were grey, then blue - a peculiar shade of blue that made him think of clouds reflected in water. They were empty, devoid of the usual expression a kid should have. An innocence lost. 'If that's what you want,' Roze replied, evenly. 'I've people to protect, after all. People to feed. No point I suppose, helping someone who doesn't need it. Right?' he turned to walk away. Any moment now... 'Wait!' Roze halted. The girl had no choice, of course. 'You won't hurt me?' Sounds so desperate. 'Scouts honour,' Roze confirmed, placing a hand on his heart as he faced her again. 'Only thing I do hurt is these.' He pointed at the dead monsters, one by one, before walking close, crouching, and reaching out a hand to her, all in steady movement. 'What's your name then, princess?' The girl eyed his hand tentatively, clutching her knees tight. 'Don't... know...' 'You don't know?' Perhaps this girl had been alone longer than he thought... She shook her head mutely, choking down another sob. 'Want me to give you one?' The girl didn't answer back. After a long time, she nodded. Roze swiped her dirty face with a padded thumb after making sure she knew his intention. 'Pretty little thing,' he murmured. 'Red hair. Tough. Brave. You're like a flower.' A flower in the middle of this screw-up of a world... 'I'm a flower too, you know. I'm called Roze.' A small smile hovered around the girl's lips. 'That's a silly name.' 'I know, right? But it's mine.' He pretended to look deep in thought. 'Tell you what. I'll give you a flower name, too. How about... Lily?' 'Lily.' The girl tasted the name on her tongue, rolling it around like a small morsel. 'Lily...' 'Lily,' Roze confirmed. The girl placed a small thumb in her mouth, nodding. 'Lets get you out of here then.' He picked her up, his stomach churning from the stench of the dead all around them. Lily clung onto him like a limpet, saying nothing else as he picked his way back to camp. |
More character profile! Name: Akari Gender: Female Race: Arakar Story she appears in: a sci world, the same one as Rufus Varne, incidentally. :D Character: Very troubled. In the right - or wrong hands - she's a deadly weapon, not letting silly things like morals get in the way of a mission. She's fiercely loyal of the captain of the rag-tag crew she hangs around with. Just don't say she's troubled to her face, though. Gravel and dust thumped into the atmosphere as Akari rolled unceremoniously around, dodging whizzing bullets. One buzzed into the sifting ground, inches from her ear. Sand stuck to everything. Her mind suppressed all errant strands of thought in favour of basic monosyllables. Move. Hide. Live. Her tattered clothes became cloaked in dirt. Bullets persisted to buzz spitefully past until she toppled down a hillock into a mass of loose sand. The wind unsettled the tracks made skidding down, giving her a flash of an idea. She burrowed into the sand like a mole, digging deep enough to avoid exposure to outside vision. Her horns helped scratch around the dirt around her head. She finally settled, resisting the urge to spit out shards from her mouth, and to claw around her eyes against the pressure sealing them shut. Gods, she needed to breathe. She constricted her lungs to a barely satisfactory grasping of air, reducing the visual movement of the rolling sand as much as possible. Shouts scraped, curses hollered, and the tangled whumf of footsteps told her of the Militia guards currently searching for her, with the intention to kill. Understandable, since she'd done a few things to upset them. After a few minutes, vibrations caused the ground over her to judder. She hoped it wasn't a tank. She didn't feel much like being squashed anytime soon. At this given moment she wanted nothing more than to leap into a cold bath, rather than skulk in the dirt hiding from hordes of angry Militia. 'Bitch. Don't know how she does it,' someone grumbled. From the sound of his voice, she judged him to be standing no more than ten feet away from her spot, and obviously with a companion. 'Them arakar,' his friend confided with the air of one giving away a great secret, 'Tricky blighters. They'm like cockroches - no matter how much you stamp on one, you just can't kill them. Probably long gone now.' Oh really, Akari thought, dry lips curling into a smug smirk. How did they think she was going to escape in a terrain of sand, dust and pounding sunlight? Her nose tickled. She frantically edged her hand to it and squeezed hard to stop the impulse to sneeze. She couldn't prevent a dry heave, however. Some of the sand slithered away. Since there's only two... She wriggled to grasp some throwing knives from her belt. Densell would not be happy if she never made it back to their ship alive. Of course, the bastard crew had only gone and left her stranded on this godforsaken husk of a federation planet. The daggers inched out of her belt. She told the crew to leave her if she didn't make it out in an hour. She seriously regretted the decision now. You just wait until I make it. Then I will snap. Your. Necks. 'So yeah, when I signed up for this job I didn't think it would be so shit.' 'Rose tinted glasses, my friend. You didn't really think you'd be protecting our glorious cities from spies and subterfuge, right? No. You fondle paperwork, stand out in the cold freezing your balls off or baking to a crisp under the sun - ' The reply came back as a mutter, too quiet for her to hear. Alari poked a tiny hole through the sand, cupping a hand around one eye to squint into the desert. Nothing in front, apart from a tank lumbering a good half-mile off. Nothing to the side, either - and she couldn't see over the hillock to her left, or behind without drawing attention - the unwanted kind. She took a slow, deep breath to oxygen starved lungs. The guards appeared not to notice, still exchanging banalities to each other. *** 'Hey. Malc. D'you see that?' Adam grabbed Malcom's sleeve, pointing to a shifting pile of sand. 'Huh?' Malcolm glanced sharply to the sand, cocked his gun and fired a stream of bullets into it. The movement instantly stopped. 'Check it out, mate,' Malcom said, still holding his gun at the ready. Adam crouched by the now motionless sand, sifting nervous fingers into it. He pulled a face. 'Bloody lizard, man.' He tugged out a dead lizard by the tail, a gaping wound in its tiny stomach. Malcom didn't respond. Adam waved the limped reptile and faced his friend. 'You killed the poor -' his jaw locked for a split second. Malcom lay on the ground, a blade portruding from his neck. A monster coated in dust grinned, a second knife in her hand aimed directly at him. |
| Just came back from watching clothes dry...and kinda made a poem. This is what it looks like in my scrap book. Only with more readable writing. Cars flash by, lights in darkness - rain on woodwork mud on concrete. Another day gone by Sinking into shadows, Slipping into time. Silhouette in window translucent with grime, Eyes black and still, unblinking like twin clouds. Phone trills wordless chimes. Machines churning rainbows. Blue walls, cold lungs, hard bench. Children cower from the weather. Someone bowed to the wind. Man mutters beside clacking coins, stiff and slow, Everything goes by, And I see my own reflection and wonder if it cries Rain falling, little rivers on glass No expression, moments blink past with new sounds. Machine clicked. Frost limbs open haul out colour. Warmth on my hands warmth on my bones Fast fading into grey. |
Another character from one of the many worlds stuck in my poor head... Character: Rufus Varne Gender: Male Age: 30 World/Story: Event Horizon/Sci Fi Good/Bad: Good. Place in the story: A charmer and a bit of a con man, he helps get the tricky deals done on the ship as they soar through the stars. He puts on a good face to everyone, but he has a darker past than he lets on, a crueller side to him he currently tries to make up for. Let me tell you, it isn't easy living the life of a brigand. The crew I bunk with are diverse in their ways. I don't think I'd ever meet a crazier gathering of people in the whole universe, and believe me. I've seen a few crazies in my time. You work on various planets operating with the underbelly of each civilisation, they all come crawling out of the woodwork to add to the excitement. We rake the galaxy, do rum deals, get chased a lot - I charm my way into the trickier areas and pet up the criminal networks. I have connections, and a lot of them. I spent years ironing the wrinkles. I like to consider myself a valuable asset to the team. The crew I hang with? I wouldn't give up for anything. Captain Densell, Akari, Ella, Lewis - they've all got a place in my heart. I treat them horribly at times, especially Akari, but secretly? I think she's amazing. Homicidal, but amazing. Just don't expect me to admit it, ever. I grew up on an Navolean core planet, in the deepest, dankest shithole imaginable. Capitalism ruined the economy, so the locals decided to refute to a more Feudal origin, making the poor slave on the land to generate food for the upper echelons. Thankfully, my family were amongst the wealthiest there - and they ran an entire criminal operation through several planets and factions. A galactic mafia at your service, tromping bodies and spitting blood like nobody's business. The arakar particularly got it bad. When you're a race of pointy horn people whom got enslaved by the invading humans just over five hundred years ago, you're not going to be treated nice. We had arakar servants in the household. I remember one got executed for impregnating one of the female human slaves. The human was six months gone at the time. Our solution for the unborn child: tear it from her hands at birth and rear it as a bona fide slave. Interracial incidents happened all the time. We used it as an excuse to bump off the arakar involved. Even though human slaves got treated like nothing, the arakar existed at the even shorter end of the stick. I killed my first person when I turned eight. Father made me hold the gun to the trembling man's head. He ballsed up some sort of trade deal, I never found out what - but I got to blow out his brains with a small handgun. I hated doing that. I was always up for daddy's approval though, so I did as he asked, and rose up through the ranks as a fearsome and intimidating gangster. I had the looks as well, and realised I could use them to my advantage. Whereas most of the thugs in our ring went for physical violence, I went for charm and psychological warfare, and got a reputation as one sick kid. I never truly enjoyed what I did though. I just thought I had no other choice but this life. One little moment in my life sticks out. At the tender age of sixteen, I headed an operation to clear out a nest of our rivals. The night before the mission, I sat outside a seedy pub, drinking beer - with a few lackies tearing up the place inside. They caught an arakar couple, beat the daylight out of them and chucked them out the pub. I remember the raucous laughing as I gulped my drink. I sat alone, and the couple - would you believe it - crawled over to where I was, and joined me at the table. To be honest, they didn't notice me at first, being slumped under the shadow of the sparse trees. When they finally did, they apologised and went to leave. "Hey. You can stay here if you want," I managed to say. I tried a smile. I remember their faces; stunned. It made me squirm uncomfortably inside, like some sort of conscience bug took up residence in my stomach. I could tell right off these people were used to being treated like animals. It didn't really take a genius to figure that out, since all arakar got tossed to the bottom of the garbage pile. This couple were regulars of the pub, so god knows how many times they'd been beaten by some asshole human, or worse. I glanced at the woman. Sure enough, purplish bruises weaved on her wrists. So why the hell did they keep coming back? "No thanks," the male said politely. He gave me an insincere smile. Veiled hatred simmered in his eyes. I shrugged, and went back to nursing my tankard. Then as an afterthought, I threw my wallet at them. They ducked, startled. "Take it," I said. I turned my back to them, lapping up the last of the beer. When I creaked around a short amount of time later, they were gone, and so was the wallet. I didn't expect a thank-you. In this world, people grab onto opportunities like starving animals. There's a lot of hate and some guy throwing his wallet at someone isn't going to shift it. My livery also stamped out a message to the people in our world; I was a rich bastard, and probably killed people for breakfast. But not to eat them. Because that would be wrong. The next day, the operation kicked into effect. The lair contained a lot of rival members, so shots rang out through the dust strewn air like wasps. We had the advantage, and pressed on what should have been a clear victory. At least until the entire rival gang turned suicidal bomber on us. The whole warehouse exploded into thick, smokey mess. Shrapnel pounded through most of our team. I got three shots of it in the stomach, shoulder and leg. I didn't remember much else, having passed out. I know the rest of the team that remained scuttled out, leaving me for dead. Only three of them survived out of the thirty or so sent into the base. None of the enemy made it. When I woke up, I was in a filthy bed, but my wounds all tended to. The linen seemed clean, apart from the seeping blood resulting from my little excursion into trigger-happy land. Turned out my carers were the same arakar couple whom I'd negligently tossed money to the day before. They scavenged the site for any resources or remains, and spotted me. And despite the awful, diabolical way we treated them, they took me in and helped me back to waking life. How nice of them. The money gesture affected them a little deeper than I previously expected. I lay snug in the middle of the arakar community, in their dirty little hovels, and they treated me... Pretty much better than I'd ever been treated. I'd been treated with fear, with disdain, with rough pride and as a useful commodity. But not like I actually mattered. And all for a small thing, no skin off my nose. It completly uphauled me. And from then on, the way I acted changed. Sure I was still daddy's perfect little mafia boy, but I started making my own connections. I started assisting anyone and anything for a price. My network became neutral, and I roped both arakar and humans into it. I got some very steadfast arakar workers - and my best man was an arakar male known as Darexx. The guy was slippery and intelligent, and it was thanks to him my network really started to kick off. The couple who helped me got killed in a raid, but they had a surviving son. I discreetly made sure the son made his way into hands on another planet, safe from the world he would have been brought into. Safe from slavery. I drifted, aimless for a while after my father died. His whole operation crumbled down from petty bickering and internal feuds, before eventually being taken over by some stupid, cruel bastard. He tried to bump me off, being the heir and all, so I fled. I decided to try and branch off from the lifestyle after that. An epiphany, if you will. Darexx ended up taking over the entire ring for me. He kept me informed, and I still helped on certain matters. The most important thing we did was attempt to evacuate some of the slaves from my home planet to positions in our work force or greener grass on other worlds. We did some good. I met captain Densell on a small time operation on the distant planet of Yevis. He wanted some meds and fuel for his ship. Somehow I ended up becoming a permenant member. Thank the gods he found me. Being a swashbuckling buccaneer of the dark horizons is infinitely better than grubbing around in the dirt of my old home, fighting gang wars on enemy turf or defending your own. I felt like I had a purpose, a status unlike anything I had as a petty criminal. We were terrorists to some and heroes to others, and we bunked the galaxy as freedom fighters and tricky traders. And I still love every second of it. One day we'll most likely stick our noses in too far, but until then, we can drive this rusting tinbucket all the way to the next star. |
| I have a hell of a lot of worlds, characters and ideas floating around in my head. Trying to grab one of them long enough to start writing for more than 5k words is the real challenge, though. But just for some exercises, I decided to every now and then do a character mini series on this blog, where I go into the mind of a character from one of these worlds/ideas stuck in my crazed, plot bunny head. Character: Ilessa Gender: Female Age: Technically ageless. She "died" when she was 27. World/Story: The Black Dragoon/Tales of Lanturon. Good/bad: Bad Place in the story: She's a spirit, trying to gain coporeal form, and manages to lodge herself in the head of the main character of this world. There is a constant mental battle going on between them. She has been in spirit form for nearly a thousand years, although she should have been destroyed, since in normal cases, the place were she became trapped in was a place designed as the junkyard of the universe. It eats and consumes everything, turning them into nothing, but it couldn't consume her. For some reason I love Ilessa's personality, even though she's pretty freeking evil. That's the thing I love about creating characters. Slipping into the minds of people who aren't you, and thinking about how they would write or do things. One thousand years of having your soul constantly ripped apart like a hunk of meat will send you insane. Hell, I was crazy from the moment I got tossed in here. One moment, I was delving into the dark magicks, trying my hand at a particulary potent spell - next - bam. Soul sucked out of my body, body eaten, and I'm in some sorta space junkyard. I call it a junkyard cos it seems like all the broken things in the universe gets dumped here, to be consumed by The Monster. I've never seen The Monster, but I know it exists - and I know it's always hungry. The whole place looks like a vast black room, with debris floating throughout. The Monster lives in the centre, so I avoid that place. I still feel it gnawing at my soul, though. The first few centuries in this scrapyard were quite the pain, if you get what I mean. After all, having something constantly chewing at what remains of your tattered soul over the centuries is akin to being tortured. When I wasn't screaming or gibbering like a loon, I plotted profusely to get the hell outta the place, to the point where it was pretty much the only rational thought I had. I sure as hell didn't wanna be stuck here, suffering to the end of days when all I did was cast a spell. Okay, so it was a spell from the blackest of the black dimensions, but it wasn't like I was gonna cause the end of the world or anything. I just wanted to stop the war, so I reached out and touched the sun. And it burned. Heh. So much for good intentions. I knew I was unusual in the Junkyard. Everything here got completely eaten, 'cept me, and a couple of others. One thousand years of having the abyss gnaw at your soul, and only a couple of others in all those long centuries of torment managed to stay intact. Unlike me though, they were batshit crazy. I like to think I still got sanity tucked away, holding it in reserve for when I finally got the ticket out. So when the girl, Lysi, or whatever her name is, delved into the Junkyard, drawing on its potent magic source, I felt her. A lot of people dive into things they're not ready for, and a lot tried to wrestle with the powers this cold, empty, hungry dimension offered them. Lysi happened to be the first one I could feel doing it, and succeeding. So I leaped on the opportunity. I snagged myself onto her, and suddenly light pierced and blinded my eyes, making me dizzy and nauseous. Then I realised I had eyes. Then the whole realising train realised the eyes were attached to a body. I was alive. Outta the frying pan. I could kiss a eternity of agony goodbye, cos no way I was gonna return for a visit. Then I got rudely shunted to the side, into the metaphorical fire outside of the pan. Turned out I didn't have a body after all, but I lurked in someone else's, Lysi. Still, being trapped in her mind ranked way above being trapped in hell - but not by much. I tasted freedom. God, I had dreamed about the moment for so long. And I sure as hell wasn't gonna let a small matter of Lysi's body not actually belonging to me put me off. Cos I was gonna get that body, and shove her mind off into some little dark corner, if not completely kill it. I'd kill a whole damn orphanage or army of people just to get my freedom back. In fact, I'd do anything short of blowing up the world, cos come on, I needed something to stand on, and blowing up the world is possibly the stupidest thing anyone'd come up with. So way I saw it, the world got a deal. I'd only need to take the one life. I just needed to wait for the opportunity, and I knew patience. Oh hell, I knew patience, so I was gonna sit on this one, and grind my way into her like a lap dancer until she popped. And then I'd go say hello to freedom. |
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