Thursday, November 27, 2003 :: 12:49 a.m.

Hee hee. ^_^ Just a quick update - back on my OWN computer (you'll know the travails of this if you've been here), and got a bit more written. Wai!

And btw: 56199. ^___________^

Gillian the dockworker was used to boring days. His father had been a dockworker, and HIS father before him; Gillian would have much liked to do something else, but it did not seem as though the option was open to him. It was a pity, too; Gillian knew he would have made a fabulous sheepherder. He sighed as the bell went off, warning him of an approaching vessel. He grabbed a piece of parchment off his desk; then, studying the ship through the window, grabbed another. Blast large ships - blast them all! They always took twice as long to process, which was something Gillian absolutely hated to do. He sighed. This group looked ecclectic enough; maybe he would be lucky and they'd give a good tip. "Hello!" The man at the top of the just-lowered gangplank greeted him, smiling in an annoyingly dapper and fresh way for someone who'd probably been at sea for at least two months. Gillian had to resist the urge to tug at the bow holding the captain's hair back as the man came dancing down toward him. "Hello, hello!" repeated the man. "Hi," said Gillian without enthusiasm. "We'd like to dock here, as you can see, and - come on, Alexander." The man's slave came down the gangplank after him, looking mildly surly. Well, Gillian supposed if some people wanted to spoil their slaves, it wasn't his place to disagree. "As I was saying, we'd like to dock here, assuming that the price isn't too steep. We've been overseas for a while, and I think we're going to enjoy land and its pleasures for a good long while before we leave again," said the captain with a lacivious wink. One hand rested on the shoulder of the surly slave boy. Pretty slave boy, Gillian noted absently, which was more than he usually noticed; well, whatever. It didn't look as though this ribbon-haired man would be bothering much with the ladies of the evening, and as far as Gillian was concerned, that was fine., "Cargo?" he asked, sounding bored. "Some furs, leathers, and other exotic materials for trading." "Right," replied, Gillian, writing it down. "So does everybody else who comes to enjoy Sinestra. Anything to delcare before the crown?" The captain seemed to think, which, Gillian supposed, was courteous. "Not that I know of, my good man. Now what price are we talking about for using this dock?" Gillian took his turn to appear to be thinking, sketching sheep idly on his parchment just so he could look like he was doing something; numbers had never been his strong suit. "Here's my price." He named one. Unsurprisingly, the captain was shocked, and tried to argue. Doubly unsurprisingly, Gillian named a slightly lower price, but nowhere near where the captain wished. This went on for a while. It was long enough that the men this ship had brought all gathered along the edges of the vessel, peering down like impatient children and giving Gillian glares that said they blamed him for the delay, rather than their cheapskate captain. Gillian ignored them. He drew another sheep. He liked sheep. The annoying captain seemed to finally agree on a price. "Well," he said. "All right. I suppose we can part with that; but I don't take responsibility for the mad money you stole from the mouths of my desperate men." "Uh, huh." Gillian wrote up a receipt and held it out, waiting. The captain sighed; one piece at a time, he counted out the gold agreed upon. "Thank you," Gillian said perfunctorily. "Tie this - " he handed the man a bright colored piece of cloth - "to your masthead or your sail or whatever you like, as long as people can see it. Go your way and respect the law of the land." Having delivered this speech, Gillian returned to his tiny bunkhouse, marking the ship and its occupants in a log before depositing the gold in a safe. He heard the captain's voice out there, probably instructing his men; then there was a wild, manly cheer, followed by the mad thunmder of at least two dozen feet stampeding their way to freedom. Ah, well. Hopefully they would have a good time, even though he would not, stuck here as he was without a real sheep in sight. Sheep would have relaxed him, but he supposed it was not to be. Gillian did not even look up from his sketching as captain Leetel and his men stormed past into the famed city of Sinestra and disappeared in the crowd.

Saturday, November 22, 2003 :: 03:34 a.m.

Just a quick note on my dad's comp before I go to bed.

Wednesday, November 19, 2003 :: 11:42 p.m.

....50,029 words. I DID IT.

I DID IT!!!!!!

I DID IT!!!!!!!!!!

Tuesday, November 18, 2003 :: 03:52 a.m.

38,124. EEK. @_@

Okay. This loooong bit is COMPLETELY UNEDITED. As in, I haven't even read it over; but I have to go to bed, and I just wanted to put it here. For some silly reason. ^^;

Leetel was frowning. Nose inches from his maps, he muttered to himself, inching his compass along and trying to see where they'd gone wrong. They were at least a mile too far to the north. How? There had been no problems at all with maintaining their course up to this point, but suddenly it seemed that the Executor simply would not sail straight. At this rate, they would crash directly into one of the islands they were trying so hard to avoid - or worse yet, wreck on the shoals surrounding it. Someone knocked on his door, and he jumped. Swearing, he slammed the folder of maps shut and swung it open. "What?" Alexander's eyes were taking up most of his face. "The water isn't salty." It took Leetel a moment to realize what he was saying. "What? What do you mean, the water isn't salty?" "It isn't salty. I just tasted it. It's freshwater." "That's impossible, Alexander." In response, the boy held up bucket, half-full of water; he looked very self-satisfied. Leetel sighed. "And I suppose this came from overboard?" He dipped three fingers in, lifting them to his mouth in a show of great patience. "Yes. That's just where it came from," said Alexander; his eyes narrowed as Leetel's own opened wide. "You see? It's fresh." There was panic on Leetel's face now. "It can't be," he said. Pushing past Alexander, he ran to the side of the ship and lowered the bucket, emptying it, then refilling it with the water of the sea. Alongside it, the wims laughed at him. He pulled the bucket back up and this time tilted the whole thing to his face, as if he couldn't be sure with such a small face; some water poured down each side of his mouth, drenching his jacket; suddenly, he dropped the bucket. "Jenner," he said softly. "That's our last chance." And with that, he turned and hurried for the stern of the ship. Alexander stared at him; he'd never seen Jonathan Leetel frightened, not like this, not even during the maelstrom of a few months ago. Disturbed, he closed the captain's door behind and followed. Brutus was standing at the back of the ship, staring steadfastly at the horizon behind them as though willing it further away. He turned as Leetel approached; and then, he frowned. "Jonathan?" he asked. "Can Jenner conjure wind?" This was not a good question to hear on a boat in the middle of nowhere. "Wind? I don't know. Why?" "Because we're off. I don't know how; we were fine until this hourly check, and we're off. A lot. And Brutus - the water is fresh." "Damn," Brutus said, and pushed past Leetel on his way to the hold. He saw no help in being subtle; leaning against the door to the hold, he bellowed into it. "JENNER! GET YOURSELF UP HERE! NOW!" Some of the men looked at him oddly, especially his own soldiers, but no one commented; none of them claimed to understand anything he did, and there seemed to be no reason to panic. "For Gimel's sake, man, can you keep it down?" Leetel said behind him, and Jenner agreed. "Yes, do keep it down, would you?" the mage said, approaching from the dark of the hold with a hand over his hooded face to shield even more from the sun. "I'd swear we were going to die with a tone like that." "We are," said Brutus. "Oh. Then I suppose there's no need to worry, then," replied Jenner, and stood beside him on deck. "So what can I do, besides the obvious funeral rites?" "Can you create wind?" There was a long moment of silence after this question; too long, and Brutus began to shift. "I... know how," Jenner said cautiously." "CAN you?" "I don't know. I've never done it." "Damn," Brutus said again, running a hand through his unruly brown hair. "Fine. Then you need to try, and damned quickly." "Ah - need I point out that even if I DID manage to do it, I couldn't do it with any degree of accuracy? I mean... I could probably get us going in the right direction, but beyond that - " "Anything would be better than what's happening right now. The water is without salt." Jenner paused, as though waiting for a punchline. "Meaning...?" Brutus grabbed the front of his robe. "Meaning that we are sailing directly over the lair of a sea dragon, you incomporable moron! We need WIND! NOW!" "Gods," Jenner said quietly, what little Brutus could see of his face going pale. "Let go of me, my friend. I'll do my best. Just point out the direction you want us to go." Leetel did; and Jenner nodded. "Do me a favor, hm? Make sure everything is strapped down. I don't know how this is going to work," the mage warned, and then moved to the stern. "So much for doing this subtly," Leetel muttered, and hurried to address his men. "I don't understand." Brutus turned; Alexander stood behind him, grim. This was interesting; they had not spoken directly before. "Don't understand what, boy?" "Water dragons and fresh water. And what good wind will do; we already have a good headwind." "Water dragons leech all the salt out of the water as they lay their eggs; it becomes a sort of hard shell around the young, protecting them. And this headwind does not help; we're clearly caught in some sort of current that's strong than the wind, or we wouldn't be offcourse. I don't like it; a current like this says to me that the water dragon has already begun to swim around us, however distantly." "Okay," Alexander said slowly. "And somehow going sideways would be better than simply going straight?" Brutus sounded impatient. "We're following the water dragon's territory; that's why the current moves this way, and if we keep doing so, she will attack us. That will be the end, boy. Now go strap yourself down. We don't have much time." Jenner was murmuring something behind them, words that - again Alexander did not understand; but as he spoke them, his voice seemed to grow; and in the bright sunlight, his white robe was suddenly so white that he was impossible to look at. "NOW, boy!" Brutus said, and grabbing Alexander by one shoulder, steered him toward the ropes around the mast. Surprised, Alexander did not resist; but he did notice something else: the wims were gone. Jenner continued chanting, balanced precariously on the very wall of the ship, his arms out and his head back; his hood fell away just enough to reveal a hint of dark, violently red hair, and then suddenly, came the wind. There was simply not enough warning; the blast hit them broadside, as out-of-control as Jenner had warned and twice as powerful. The sails creaked alarmingly; men flattened themselves on the deck and grabbed hold of whatever they could, covering their heads and crying out as any loose articles of clothing they'd worn were torn away from them. Suddenly the Executor lurched; this was not from the wind. Slowly, it surged, tilting to the side almost as though something were coming up from underneath - "That's it! Hang on to something! Everyone!" Brutus cried, slamming Alexander to him and gripping the ropes of the sail. With a horrible roar, a sound made of thunder in bad dreams, a water dragon rose into the air and nearly capsized the vessel. White, white as bone, as Jenner's robes, as the crest of waves in the ocean, she launched herself straight into the air, high enough that Alexander could see the massive flippers she bore on either side of her; and then, she came crashing down. Either she missed or they were lucky; she had clearly intended to ram the Executor, landing on it from up above, and that surely would have finished it completley. The dragon was far, far larger than the vessel itself; and even as everyone screamed and anything untied went sailing off into the water, Alexander was amazed to see that she had scales that picked up colors like a rainbow. Roaring once more, she disappeared under the water, leaving the Executor to bob from side to side like a toy. Brutus shouted immediately. "Jenner! Now! Not tomorrow!" Somehow, Jenner had managed to stay on the boat. Standing again, he began his chant once more, and the gust of wind that answered seemed to be responding directly to his emotional state. so strong that Alexander felt as though his clothing were being melted into his skin, the wind came; and miraculously, the sails responded. Billowing, full, they pulled at the ship. Leetel clung to the wheel; he had the king spoke pointed nearly toward the deck, he himself tied to the wheel to keep from blowing away. His hair ribbon was already gone. The ship surged again, clear warning that the dragon was approaching them from a great depth indeed. Slowly the ship turned, too slowly, but it was just enough; the water dragon shot to the surface again, nearly her whole, massive body in the air, and her roar of frustration was very obvious as she crashed down and for a second time, missed them. Brutus kept his arm around Alexander and his eyes on Jenner. "Come on," he said, even though no one could hear over the wind. "Come ON!" Jenner was somehow staying in place; his robes did not even flap in the wind, but Alexander could feel the strain even from where he was. It seemed to him that an invisible hand rested on Jenner, trying to push him down. And if he bent... Jenner's voice loudened, and the wind increased. Keeping his head, Leetel spun the wheel back around so the ship was now pointed in the direction he wanted to go, and now - with rudder straight and sails full - the Executor sprang forward as though shot from a cannon. The water dragon roared behind them, again sounding frustrated; but she did not try to chase. Instead she roared at them again, her small, red eyes glittering like the finest rubies - apparently content that she was driving them away from her precious hatchery. The ship was moving fast; too fast. It literally seemed to bounce as it hit the waves, landing hard enough to force any who tried to rise back to the floor, hard enough that one cask of wine simply broke open. Jenner was having trouble making the wind stop. His voice rose above the gale, stronger, more strained, and yet now the wind would not listen. It seemed to increase in the face of his protests; and then, just for a moment, he stumbled. Alexander could feel it. In his mind's eye, he saw Jenner bending under the force of the magic he'd woven and as a result, being blown off the ship, into the ocean, lost. Dead. Drowned. Something rose in him; something he did not understand, could not comprehend, and the only thing he could do in its wake was scream. "NO!" And the wind stopped. It was as though someone had shut the door on a drafty day; it simply stopped, suddenly enough that Jenner - his energy gone - lost his balance and fell backwards onto the deck; but it was not the ocean, and that was good. The sails, unconvinced, billowed for a moment before collapsing like punctured lungs, and with only a few more rough bounces through the waves, the Executor regained its equilibrium. So too did its passengers. Groans tasted the air. One by one, the men stood, counting themselves, amazed that no one had been lost in this adventure. All were brave; all knew the risks. Still, they did not know what to think of this. Leetel slowly stood. His arms trembling from the strain they'd had, he called Magg over and gave him the wheel. Stumbling forward slightly, he spoke. "We lived." Everyone simply looked at him, pausing in their shuffle around the deck to find their missing thoughts. "We owe Jenner." Again, silence; no one felt the need to disagree. "We are going to find a place to anchor tonight. All of us need rest; we are going to take it, and make sure that the ship isn't damaged before we continue our journey. Any questions?" "There are safe islands here, captain?" asked Magg quietly; but everyone heard him anyway. Leetel grinned weakly. "There are now. We've blown directly past the islands of the siren in that gale and couldn't even hear them." This was a stroke of fortune indeed. Leetel leaned back, sitting on the forecastle to relax his aching limbs. Slowly, automatically, the men went back to their work; they only had to keep the ship going until they could anchor, and that was something they could definitely do. Even Brutus' men joined in; it was better to work than to think about what had just almost happened. Brutus, for his part, had not moved from the mast. He kept his grip on Alexander, staring at him, eyes wide in his pale face; he said absolutely nothing. Alexander swallowed. The silence was horrible. "I - " "No." Brutus shoved him away slightly, and unwound his arm from the rope; there was blood speckling both. "...Brutus, I - " "No. We will talk later." Holding his arm against his chest, Brutus walked away to see to Jenner, who was sitting up and holding his head as though he thought it were going to fall off. Maybe he did feel that way. Alexander certainly did. He had cancelled that spell. HE had. He had known he could, suddenly, and then he had, and he did not even know why. Suddenly he laughed, quietly and nervously, but no one paid attention; everyone expected a little stress after an experience like this. Abruptly, Alexander could not stand being looked at anymore - whether they were looking at him or not. He could not even handle the idea. Stumbling briefly into the hold, he returned with his robe and cinched it on again, hood up - something he had not worn since the storm because he had not felt the need. And this way, covered like some dwarven version of a human mage, he saw to the sails and did his job, and tried not to think about anything at all.

Monday, November 17, 2003 :: 12:33 a.m.

Hmmmmm....

Walls of water crashed over the stern. The Executor split the waves, rising at such an angle that more than once men were nearly swept overboard. Once the sails were finally bound, there was nothing left to do but cling to something - the wiser men strapping themselves down - and ride it out. None of them had ever seen such a storm; it raged for hour after hour, and even Brutus had to take time out while other men fought with the wheel. Alexander clung to the ropes around the mast, drenched. He was grimacing; eyes closed, face twisted in pain - because something stranger than the storm was raging in his mind. There were voices in the wind. He was mistaken, surely; he had to be. How could there be voices in the sky, carried malevolenty on the air as though they themselves were responsible for its power? It was absurd; and yet, as the storm raged on, for hours, days, weeks, he couldn't tell - the voices did not go away. They never went silent; it seemed they rose as the wind rose, quieted as the waves quieted. He could hear words on the wind; they were not words he knew, but they were repeated over, and over, and long before the storm stopped he had them memorized. But that was not the worst of it. The reason these voices panicked him so badly was because of the desire, implacable, intractable, to chant along with them. A very long time passed before the storm was over. It ended suddenly, as quickly as it had begun, and as the waves calmed down and the ship and its occupants regained equilibrium, Alexander found that the quiet - relief from the voices, specifically - was the most beautiful thing of all. His head was spinning; somehow, he forced his hands to release their death grip on the ropes. He heard Leetel's voice. "Everyone all right? Sound off. I want to know you're all here. Alexander? Alexander!" Strange; the captain's voice seemed to be coming from a great distance. Stranger yet - Alexander himself had somehow fallen to his knees. His world tilted; the deck rushed to meet him, and everything went dark.

Saturday, November 15, 2003 :: 03:38 a.m.

30,384. EEK. @_@

Okay, this snippet is COMPLETELY UNEDITED. As in, I haven't even read it over; however, I want to put it in 'cause it hints at stuff, and... er... why not?

Pfft. Judge me not. ~_^

Perhaps Leetel knew of the government's official stance on half-breeds; or perhaps he simply did not wish to risk the reaction should the boy be brought up. Either way, Alexander was a conversation piece never touched, and for this both men were strongly, uncomfortably grateful. Alexander did not mind. If anything, he was enjoying it. For the first time in his life, people were not grabbing at him or making suggestive comments; no one was remarking on his appearance, staring, drooling, or doing anything else inappropriate. In fact, he was being treated as - well, as an equal, as far as his experience was concerned, and by the end of those two days, he already felt more content than he ever had in his life. Leetel's men had - with one or two exceptions - accepted his presence as part of the crew. Why, Alexander did not know; but he did not have to understand it to be able to enjoy it. It was beautiful; they ate with him, joked with him, complimented him on jobs well done and patted him on the back when they'd completed some project successfully. The laugher, smiles, and camaraderie were so new; they were beautiful, perhaps addicting - or so Alexander feared. But addictive or no, the feeling was filling a hole inside him he had not known he had, and so for now, he simply accepted it and tried not to question. The nights were still long for him. He would sit up, on top of the captain's quarters, watching the moon and letting its light play off his hair. Looking off into the distance, to where he could no longer see the sea and sky meet, to where the stars themselves seemed to fade into nothing; and he would wonder. It was unspoken; he dared not speak it. But the hope inside him simply would not die: he would find, finally, whatever strange creature his father had been, and would finally get some answers. He had lived on an island with a huge population in terms of commerce, in which he had seen so many strange things - and heard even stranger - that there were few things left, he felt, that could surprise him any more. Jonathan Leetel had, it was true; but kindness in men was always surprising, especially when it was true kindness and required nothing in return. The difficulty was that Alexander had seen many well-traveled men - and they had seen him - and yet none of them had ever been able to pinpoint just exactly what he was. Oh, they'd had plenty of guesses; everything from elf to sea wim - which of course was utter nonsense - but none of their suggestions had quite fit, somehow. Elven had seemed the closest, it was true, but he did not have the key features of a half-elf man. His ears were human; perfectly normal, rounded at the top. His eyes were not slanted, nor almond-shaped; and most telling of all, the main features on his body which were not human were - ...well. Very much not elven at all. Alexander had thought over this. He'd asked the priests at the temple of Gimel, but they had had no suggestions, either; although to be fair, he had not showed them everything. Alexander had learned a long time ago that some things needed to remain private, for the sake of the one being shown as well as the one showing. Some things... were too great a shame to be brought out in casual circumstances. He spent both those nights watching the stars. Watching the sky, feeling the softness of that inky black, of the velvet cloak the gods dragged over the sky every night to show off the beauty of the diamonds caught inside it. Answers were there, somewhere. Somehow. SOMETHING had to know what in heaven or hell he was... something would know what he was to do, how he was to deal. Surely he was not the only half-human, half... whatever to exist on the face of the planet. Alexander would be ready. Only a fool let opportunities pass for fear of taking the chance; it was this realization that had brought him back onto this vessel, and it was this realization that he warmed in his heart now. He would not let the chance pass, when - not if - he found what he was looking for. Finally, still on the roof of the captain's cabin, he fell asleep.

Thursday, November 13, 2003 :: 02:32 a.m.

25,756. And to think - I didn't have much time to write yesterday or today. @_@ Meeeep.... So busy working on the store, getting it ready for its presentation next Monday.

At least the first meeting of minds went well....

To be fair, Brutus was disappointed. His own rough life had taught him to accept rough men as worthy of attention, at least as far as warriors and the like were concerned. Mages hardly counted; but sailors did. The man in front of him could not possibly be Jonathan Leetel. It was true he was the right age; this man could have been anywhere from thirty to sixty, but something about his air told Brutus he was somewhere in between. His hair was neat, pulled into a small ponytail at the nape of his neck with a blue ribbon; his clothing was... dapper. Brutus could not think of a better way to describe the neatly kept breeches and velvet jacket. But what really confused him was the man's face. His skin was tanned, yes, but unlined. He did not have the squint of a career seaman; he did not look like someone who'd spent years fighting the wind and wave. He did not look like a man who could possibly have done the things Jonathan Leetel was purported to do. "Um, Brutus?" Jenner asked quietly; the man never could stand silence. "I think that's him." "We'll find out," Brutus replied, and took another step foward. "Joanthan Leetel?" The too-neat man nodded, summing - it seemed - Brutus' men up in his glance. "I am he. What is this about?" Brutus studied him. "You are really the Jonathan Leetel." This comment earned an arched eyebrow. "I should hope so, or I've been a very confused man for a very long time. Is there some reason I should not be Jonathan Leetel?" Brutus handed him a sheet of parchment. "Did you do these things?" Aware that the soldiers were watching him - the mage in particular for any untruth - Leetel took the paper and began to study it. He was silent for nearly a full minute; twice, he scanned the parchment, and then finally, he handed it back. "Not everything is true." Brutus waited. Leetel shrugged. "I didn't find Gor's jewels in the time listed there. It took me a year longer than it says. Whoever told you this is full of fish dung." Jenner made a noise suspiciously like a snicker, and Brutus ignored him. "So you did the rest of this. In the methods described." "I did, sir. And now, if you don't mind, I would like to ask how you received this information. I did not send it." "I am beginning to get that impression," Brutus replied. "Clearly someone wants you on this mission; I assume you know why we are here?" "I do." Curious. "And yet you did not request our attention yourself?" "No sir, I did not. I am not interested in this mission for the crown, nor am I under obligation to fulfill it." There was slight challenge in his tone now; this would only make things more difficult. Brutus sighed. "Captain Leetel, please do not put me in the position of forcing you to accept." Leetel laughed once, nervously. "Forcing me to accept? What are you talking about?" "We have sifted through every single offer. Through every single volunteer who wanted to go on this mission, and every single one has petered out. They are either unable to do what must be done, too inexperienced, or untrustworthy. You have already passed a battery of tests without knowing you did; there is no one else within reasonable distance of Angora who could do what needs to be done." "...you're kidding." Leetel said. Brutus turned. "Jenner." Jenner smiled. "Captain, it's very simple. From what we understand, you were actually on the way to Angora a week ago - perhaps right in time for the massive explosion along our docks? "Yes," Leetel said hesitantly. "That explosion is the reason why we must send men to the land of the Sun King. There is a strong possibility that it was his witches that caused this." "Then wouldn't sending an army be wiser than sending a single ship of sailors?" "It would - if we were certain. We're not. Hence - we will be going as a diplomatic contingent." Leetel laughed again, even more nervously than before; he was beginning to feel slightly sick. "Tell me this is a joke. I've never heard such nonsense - " Jenner held up his hand; Leetel fell quiet. "I wish it were, my good captain, but it is not. Our king has ordered a contingent - including us - over the sea, on a year-long journey, to make sure that all is well between that kingdom and ours. And you are the most qualified of anyone - which is to say, your trustworthiness and experience balance out. I'm sorry, brother." Leetel sighed. "So." "So." "Either I go on this foolhardy mission, or I risk my patriotism - is that the basic gist?" Brutus interrupted, soft. "You certainly risk banishment. I speak for our king. He gave no choice to any of us." "So none of you want to be going on this little trip, and neither do I, but we're all going anyway, is that it?" said Leetel, now sounding mildly peeved. Silence met this statement. "Good gods. I should have trusted my gut and left yesterday. Do I have time to think about this?" "No," said Jenner and Brutus at the same time. Leetel sighed. Well, he reasoned, there were worse ways to die than on an adventure. "Good thing I emptied my hull, I suppose. All right, then. I need three days to stock provisions, and plenty of gold; I will assume you are going to supply that, because I do not have enough for two years' worth of travel under dubious conditions." Brutus nodded. "I'll tell my men. I assume you're prepared to force all of them?" "Only the ones you think worthy." "This whole thing is like a bad dream," Leetel informed them. "I'll see you here tomrorow at noon; by that time I'll have a list of what we need. The Executor, at least, is big enough for all of us." "And we can be sure you'll return tomorrow how?" Brutus asked. "Well, it's a good test for you, isn't it? If I don't, then I'm not trustworthy." Leetel grinned. "Do have a good day." He bowed, saluting them jauntily; and with that, walked away. Jenner leaned against the railing lining the street. "He's right, you know. This is like one long, absurd dream. Perhaps we should go visit some lovely islands instead and just say we went there." Brutus sighed. "I want to know who sent this letter." "Oh, come on, man, our job is done for today. Change the subject, at least." "I want to know who. If what I saw in Leetel's eyes was true, he's going to ask his men if any of them sent it; perhaps we'll find out tomorrow." Jenner shrugged. "I could not care less at the moment. Let's go find an inn, hm? Food and rest for the last day on solid ground for a while." Brutus nodded, now silent. Wonderful; just wonderful. His mission to find a surrogate princess had been baffled by an unknown man, answering letters in another's name; and now the captain he needed to employ was baffled because an unknown had written and sent his personal recommendation. Brutus rubbed his temples slowly. No, he decided; his headache was never going away, ever again.

Tuesday, November 11, 2003 :: 03:47 a.m.

22,480. @_@ Meep. And to think, today I had some trouble getting things done...

Anyway, here is snippet. ^_^ Er... there's bad stuff coming soon, I fear. Not quite yet - but Mean Things are going to be happening... ;_;

Their search turned up nothing. There were a few more people who felt the need to flaunt the laws regarding magic - both trinkets and creatures - but nothing that seemed to apply to the situation at hand. When the sun went down and they could not longer see clearly enough to look, Brutus resigned himself to the inevitable and left to report to Reinart. Jenner was not so easily discouraged. He watched Brutus walk toward the palace, shoulders squared; Reinart was sure to be upset over this, and knowing him, he'd take it out on his men. Jenner pursed his lips; soldiers were not, in general, his favorite people, but perhaps there was an option that had not been tried. Of course, it would require a little bit of magic, but that was all right; it was now after dark - and what Reinart's court didn't know wouldn't hurt them. Jenner made his way down to what remained of the docks. Just two feet shy of the waterline, he studied the blackened waves and thought. Well; it was an idea - why not try? Cupping his hands together, he murmured softly as a pale blue ball formed in his hands. Still murmuring, he tilted his hands slightly and the ball floated out over the ocean, pausing then and evaporating in midair. Suddenly there was the sound of splashing; Jenner smiled. "Hello there." An odd sound greeted him, sort of a hoarse kind of bark. "Yes, I quite agree; I apologize about the water, but you see, I need your help. There was a great tragedy here; do you or your commrades know anything about it?" The seal - for that's what it was - answered him again, splashing a little in the water as it did. Then suddenly, it dove under. Jenner waited. Trained by Reinart's army, the seal had no fear of man or the things man created, and hence was confident in the murky, smoky water; but Jenner was not army. Were he to be caught using his magic to communicate in this way, he would be prosecuted. But what good, he reasoned, was anything without some element of risk? The seal resurfaced; now, there was something in its mouth. "What's that, boy? Oh, you're going to show me." The seal flaped onto the shore, just far enough to drop what it had fetched from its mouth - any further and it stood the risk of damaging itself against the chunks of burnt wood everywhere. Striding forward, Jenner leaned and lifted what the seal had brought. "....this..." The seal barked. "Yes. Yes, my friend; this is exactly what we needed." Still kneeling, he bowed. "I thank you." The seal barked one last time, and then turned, splashing back into the water and out of sight. Jenner studied the trinket in his hand. "I knew they'd feel you," he said to it softly, tilting it to see more in the moonlight. Dropping it to the sand, he stood back and raised his hands once more. This time the glowing ball that appeared above his fingers was red; dark red, like embers in a dying fire, and the language he used to summon it was harsh. With a soft cry, he thrust the red sphere toward the item the seal had found. The spell seemed to disappear; and in its place, very suddenly, was the spirit of a man. Jenner smiled. "Well, hello," he said.

Monday, November 10, 2003 :: 12:50 a.m.

I'm at 20,456. I didn't plan to stop there - it was just time to stop and... wow. @_@

Me going to bed now. *peers*

Saturday, November 8, 2003 :: 11:51 p.m.

I have just had a character dropped onto my head out of nowhere. Complete, name, and everything. Er... here's his introduction. ^^;; Understand this is a LONG snippet; but I want you to understand Jenner and how he and Brutus work.

17,673, btw. Meep.

"The difficulty is that no one who might have witnessed anything survived the incident itself. This means that we need to find people who were there before and after it happened, and find out what they know. All right? Are we clear? Do any of you not understand?" The men Brutus had lined up before them were trustworthy, and they knew him well. As one they nodded, eyes locked onto his. "All right. You have your assignments. Go." Every man in the room stood, weapons slapped across their chests in a salute of respect; and then marched out to do as they were told. Brutus was left alone in a room with maps, empty chairs, and the king's personal mage. "That was very well done." Brutus could not smile. "Mm. It isn't enough." Jenner laughed softly. Like all mages, he wore a full-length cloak, hooded to cover most of his face; and over the cloack was a heavy medallion on a thick, golden chain. Magic - as an exercise decidedly not human in origin - was tightly regulated in the capitol of Anglacea, and heaven help anyone who was caught doing it without that offiical seal of approval. "It's never enough, Brutus. Our job is to do as much as we can and that's all. 'Enough' is up to the gods." Brutus shook his head. "They never do enough either, and I have no intention of waiting for them. I'm going to look for more clues; perhaps you would like to come with me." Jenner shook his head, but agreed. "I will, Brutus, I will." He shook one finger, smiling. "One of these days you'll discover faith is not quite the poison you believe." "I'll believe it when I see something other than empty air to put that faith in." Jenner laughed again and put one hand over his chest. "Brutus, my friend, you wound me." Brutus didn't bother answering; instead, he simply walked out the door. Jenner chuckled again. "The types it takes to make a world..." he said, and followed after. Brutus had no intention of retracing his steps of the morning, so instead he referred to the list of merchants and their shipping schedules his men had obtained for him. There were several pickups that had been due the day before; Brutus had the names and addresses of the men involved. Not bothering to check if Jenner were behind him, he headed toward the far side of the docks, on the east side, planning to methodically track the merchants down. Jenner was following. Apparently comfortable in his cloak despite the cold, he walked behind Brutus, his gaze resting on anything but the path straight ahead. "I could try to use my magic, you know. See if there's some pattern or essence left over from the people who survived." "No." Jenner caught up with him. "You know it's going to come to that eventually, Brutus," he said reasonably. "I don't see why you have to do it the hard way first." "Because there might be some trap rigged to go off if someone uses magic to investigate. It's happened more than once." "And the doors we open as we search might be rigged to explode, too, but you don't hesitate at that." "That's different. Besides, I'm going in first." Jenner threw his head back and laughed; his hood fell back slightly, but he caught it before it slid completely off his head. "By the way, Brutus, did I hear it true that you decided to come through the king's secret entrance rather than through the front door like civilized people?" "That is none of your business." Jenner grinned. "I swear they don't need a fool at court, Brutus; not when they have you." Again, Brutus ignored him. Stopping in front of a door, he double checked the number on a small, brass sign at eye level with the number on his paper. "Brutus." "Mm." "Be careful. The man of the house is home, but so is something else. Something I can't quite yet identify." Brutus nodded, accepting this information. Then, he knocked. There was a long moment of silence before anyone came to the door. There were sounds of many chains and locks being undone, and then it swung open. A young lady peeked out at them. "Yes?" she asked, cautious. "Can I help you, sirs?" "I need to speak to Artemus Wales." The girl stared at Brutus. "Um... Mr. Wales is not available at this time. Maybe I could... take some sort of message...?" The girl's voice trailed off, as if she wasn't sure what else she was supposed to say but was certain she'd forgotten some of it. Brutus frowned slightly, and Jenner leaned around his shoulder to smile. "Actually, miss, we know that he is in point of fact, inside this humble home - I do, at any rate - and we are prepared to take some rather drastic steps to ensure the three of us speak together before we leave. Now, do you plan to be a good girl and help us with that, or not?" The girl's eyes traveled along his robes, rested on his medallion for a second, and then opened as wide as they possibly could. Wordless, she nodded; then quickly, she shut the door. Brutus looked at Jenner. Jenner smiled back. "Three." "You're cheating," Brutus said. "Two - I like cheating, Brutus, it would ruin the point of being a mage if I did not - one - " The number was not completely out of his mouth before the door re-opened, and there stood a man, his hair in spikes and his shirt in tatters. He looked singed. "Artemus Wales?" asked Brutus. "Yes. Perhaps. What do you want? I've been injured badly today, and I need my rest." "You need a new set of clothes, too, if my eyes tell me rightly," Jenner remarked, eyeing him. "Why haven't you changed since the explosion?" "I don't see how that is any business of yours, sir," said Wales tighly, glaring at Jenner. Brutus had no time for niceties. Silent, he simply simply pushed past the merchant and into the house. "Hey!" Wales panicked. "You can't do that!" "Now, now, my friend," Jenner said with a smile, his tone slightly warning. "You know who this is? Brutus - the king's right-hand commander. He has the right to walk into any house in the kingdom if he wishes, pilfer the silverware, and trot back to the castle with the lot on his back. YOU know that, my good man, why am I telling you?" Wales was sputtering. "This... this is Brutus? But - wait. No, wait. I haven't - " "Haven't what?" Brutus asked. Eyes narrowed, he studied the room, taking in every crack and shadow, and then started for the stairs. "No!" Wales lunged for him, but Jenner pulled him back, one hand on his arm. "So, Mr. Wales - what DO you do? Our handy little list didn't say." Wales looked back and forth, unwilling to turn his back on either man. "I... I work in cotton and silk sales." "Cotton and silk? How lovely! I suppose you make a pretty penny, then, don't you? Surely enough to afford another set of clothes - " Wales was no longer looking at Jenner. Pale, his teeth bared, he watched as Brutus ascended the stairs to the second level of his home. "Wait. Stop! You can't go up there! Stop!" Twisting his arm from Jenner's grip, he suddenly ran for the stairs, arms out to reach Brutus before whatever he feared came to pass. Brutus had already reached the top; he paid no attention to Wales. Apparently, he'd found someone to look at instead. His voice was soft. "What in the... siren! SIREN! JENNER!" Jenner felt it a moment before it happened. Wales, too, knew something was coming; suddenly crying out, he turned and tried to run back down the stairs, but it was too late. There was a sharp, painfully shrill scream; suddenly an wall of blue power, shaped in a vaguely humanoid form, surged down the stairwell, carrying Brutus helpless before it. Brutus came flying backward, knocking into Wales and slamming them both to the floor at the bottom. The voice above - it sounded female - screamed again. Power crackled in the air. Brutus was already scrambling to his feet. Grabbing Wales, he dragged the now-sobbing merchant out of the way, and nodded at Jenner sharply. "Go!" Jenner moved smoothly to the bottom of the stairs, his hands up and cupped as though pushing an invisible ball before him. He looked up. A small girl stood there. She looked no more than seven years of age; her short, fine hair was matted, and her eyes were glowing a bright blue that made her ragged dress look faded. She screamed again, and power - formed in a perfect silhouette of her body - suddenly came surging forward, burning the already blackened stairs and wall as it passed, heading right for Jenner. He braced himself. The girl's attack met what seemed to be some kind of shield; echoing the sound of her scream, her power expanded and faded until it petered out completely. Wales cried out. He lifted one hand toward Jenner, in supplication - for protection or condemnation, no one could say. The servant girl had wisely run to another room. Jenner was focused. "Hello there," he said, softly, studying the... child?... before him. "I'm going to have to ask you to stop that. You have one more chance, little one." The girl, in response, screamed again; an identical wave of power shot down the stairwell, and he deflected it in the same way, physically pushed back some inches as he held her power at bay. "She's not human, Brutus," Jenner said through his teeth, feet braced securely and hands held so taut that his veins showed. "Do what you have to!" Brutus replied. Wales cried out. "No! She's a CHILD!" "She's not a child," Jenner said softly, and gracefully turned his hands outward. His own eyes closed; a white glow rose from his palms, hovering, then solidifying into a single, white ball. He opened his eyes, and now they were giving off the same nearly-blinding light. When he spoke, his voice seemed to come from far away. "I'm sorry, siren-child," he said. His hands opened as wide, fingers fully spread; and then sharply clenched into fists. His own power - a spell of assault - flew back up the stairs, singing the walls and steps so thoroughly that the peeled, blackened paint disappeared completely, and the girl screamed again. Her own, power, blue, met his halfway. Jenner's spell seemed to absorb it; pausing and swelling as it swallowed her smaller spell, it suddenly surged, and in one quick move, engulfed her completely. She screamed again; but there was no power in it now. The sound lasted for so long; longer than any human lungs could hold, and while she screamed the white light around her only grew until no one could see. Finally, her voice trailed off; weak and uneven, it quieted, broke, and then stopped. The light increased for a fraction of a section, almost as if signifying a job completed; then it vanished. In the sudden silence, they could hear Wales weeping softly. "She... she was... she was my...." "She wasn't yours," Brutus said quietly, looking at Jenner for confirmation. Jenner straightened. His hands were slightly dark, almost as if he'd been playing with ash; approaching, he wiped them rapidly on a part of Wales' shirt that had come off in the fray. "She wasn't yours, Wales," he said. "When did you find her? I thougth sirens no longer produced their own children." "She was only a baby," Wales said helplessly, only sitting upright because Brutus held one arm. He did not look inclined to move. Brutus looked around the house, understanding now why so much of it seemed to be burned or damaged. "You couldn't control her." "I COULD! She loved me..." Jenner sighed, closing his eyes. "Sirens. They have power over the human heart even when they're young. Sir, there was nothing you could do to control her. By the time she reached puberty, she'd have been capable of wiping this entire city out - and she'd probably have done it, too." Wales said nothing. Disconsolate, he wept. Brutus studied the man at his feet; he looked at his companion. Jenner shook his head no. "Your call, commander." Brutus nodded and Dropped Wales' arm; the merchant immediately slumped to the floor. "There's nothing to report here; no criminal left to be prosecuted. The damage is done. We're leaving." Jenner pursed his lips. "As you wish, commander. I suppose there's little danger of him doing it again...?" He sounded doubtful, but Wales was beyond caring. Curling into a fetal position, he continued to weep. The servant girl reappeared; kneeling beside her master, she lifted him and rocked him - stiff though he was - and did not look as they closed the door behind them. "He won't do it again, Jenner," Brutus said, checking his list as he walked. "He's a broken man. That happens after too much time with sirens." "It does." Jenner still did not seem certain. Brutus stopped walking and looked at him. "He is no further danger to anyone, Jenner. Locking him in a prison would do nothing but turn his servant out onto the street and make him suffer physically as well as mentally. We've done all we can here today." Jenner seemed to consider this; then, relenting, he nodded. "As I said, Brutus - it's your call. You're the wise one here. If you say he won't pick up any more strays, then he won't pick up any more strays." Brutus nodded, and together, they walked on. If either man felt ill over what he had just seen and done, neither chose to say so. There was no need; when men know each for long enough, there is little use in words and more comfort in silence. This was a time for silence.

Saturday, November 8, 2003 :: 01:49 a.m.

Long snippet. Why? Because... I like Brutus. I'm silly. ^__^

Oh - and did I mention my word count is up to 15,504? @_@ I'm not actually AIMING for a word count... I'm just... writing. And it's coming, and... eeee!!

"So you disobeyed my command and actually walked past the front gate." Brutus was expressionless. He tended to do that when scolded for doing a good job. "Yes. There was no other way, thanks to the recent fortifications. At least I didn't actually deport at the dock." "Oh, dear, you told us about that. Really, Brutus - taking a lifeboat and rowing halfway around the city just to avoid being seen? It must have taken you all day!" The difference between the king and the queen's perceived attitudes had always been something of a mystery to Brutus; that both should seem so clear and yet feel the opposite of how they appeared hurt his mind to think about right now, plain and simple. So, he didn't. "It did, my lady." "And the ship?" The king again, brusk and formal. "Gone," Brutus replied softly. "told that fool not to dock. Obviously he did not listen to me. "You don't know that for sure," said lady Abriel, her tone somewhere between comforting and chiding. She was older than her husband; an accident of politics had mated them. "Maybe they got away. Or maybe - " she trailed off. "My lady, the docks were blown because that ship came in to port. And that ship came in to port and its doom because I and the girl were purported to be on it." "You can't know that for certain!" she gasped, hands over her heart. Brutus tried not to look at her; histrionics had always bothered him. "I do." "Then we are at war again, and all our work is for naught. Is that what you're saying?" The king's tone was now slightly antagonistic. "So, too, then, the death of my daughter. And perhaps any other replacements we might conjure up, as well." "I did not say we were at war, my lord." King Reinart seemed annoyed at his commander's unruffled calm. "Then what ARE you saying?" "Simply what I have said. Someone is determined to bring harm of physical, emotional, and financial nature to your lord's family, and this is merely one more plan in how to do it. Not only was this explosion costly, but it was an attempt to rob you of your surrogate daughter." "Oh!" cried the queen, hands over her mouth as if the very mention of the word "surrogate" was a horrible thing. Evenly, Brutus continued. "Your letter was intercepted. It was replied to by an anonymous threat - someone who felt the need to imitate the owner of the Midian Inn to ensure that we would try our plan and fail in a most spectacular manner. It was hardly a secret that I had chosen Phica's vessel as my envoy; anyone could have done that. But the one who had access to our private message is not only privy to things he should not be, but also very powerful. All your mages bound that letter; no one but Alden should have been able to read it. And yet, we received a falsified respone." He looked at them both, gaguing their reactions; Brutus rarely made such a long speech. "This was no coincidence." "Do not GIVE me your nonsense any longer!" Reinart finally replied. "I will have none of it! Not in my bedroom, not in front of my delicate wife! Do you understand me?" "Yes, my lord." "Peace has been won here! Won, and held, at a VERY great price! I will not have you disrespecting our efforts!" "Yes, my lord." "And now in the wake of the death of our own daughter you DARE bring imaginary plots and accusations into our sight?" Abriel seemed to have been waiting for her cue. At these words, she turned and scuffled quickly out of the room, making tiny hitching noises behind her hands and looking quite heart-broken. Nothing unusual there. "No, my lord," Brutus answered, as though nothing had happened. Reinart was no longer looking at Brutus; thoughtful, his gaze rested on the small lump of girl buried under covers in the four-poster bed. Lilly's color had returned to normal, and now, she slept; drugged to keep her quiet long enough for the mage's herbs to purge the poison completely from her system. "Perhaps we should all rest," the king added. "You need to investigate the matter at the docks, and I need to get to know my new daughter." "Then I am dismissed?" "You are dismissed." "Thank you, my lord." Tired, stiff, sore as if from a thousand beatings, Brutus rose to his feet and finally left the room, trudging straight to his own on the other side of the hall. He needed rest; he needed to think. It would have been nice somehow if he could do both, but right now the need for sleep took precedence. Brutus hoped his busy mind would allow him rest; seeing more than others burdened him with the problems others had, even as he lay upon his bed. Some days, it did not pay to see so well.

Wednesday, November 5, 2003 :: 02:35 a.m.

Word count: 12449. EEK. @_@

Lilly opened her mouth and began to screech; then startled, she silenced as Brutus' hand closed over mouth. His face was alert. Gaunt, even, wild-eyed in its concentration, as he listened to or felt something beyond Lilly's own range. His own eyes widened; For a moment, he was terrified. Lilly stared at him. She shivered as his eyes narrowed, his jaw set so tightly that muscles stood in stark relief on his throat. Suddenly he stood. "Hold on to me," he said quietly, and swung her around onto his back. Unlooping the leather strap from his belt, he used it to harness her tightly against him, fastening it to the plate armor he wore on his chest. And then - torch and sword both held before him - he crouched down low and began to run. He knew what was in these caverns. There were things down here, things that oustripped even the popular fantasies of evil and doom, so far that the normal human mind could never comprehend them. There were creatures down here, too, that had been exposed to unhealthy magics for so many years that they became magic themselves, and these were the ones Brutus hoped most to avoid. Dead things were probably sealed behind thick walls, assuming those walls had not fallen; but the living, false-magicked creatures were loose. Free; and all to ready to follow the screams of a little girl all the way to dinner. Lilly bounced roughly on his back, unhappy because of his how armor scratched her, but too frightened to complain. There had been something in his face a moment ago - something she had never seen, had never dreamed, and she had no words for it. Tightly, she clutched the tiny mirror against her chest and tried to rest her head on his shoulder. It was as she did this that she heard the sounds. A strange sound, sort of a skittering, a scratching, uneven and far too fast to be coming from feet - wasn't that true? She was sure of that at first, and yet it seemed that the further Brutus ran, the closer these sounds came. They seemed creepy to her; she didn't like them. And as Brutus ducked low to avoid broken overhangs, she turned her head to look behind and see what she could see. Lilly screamed.

Sunday, November 2, 2003 :: 11:33 p.m.

6909 words. How the heck did THAT happen? o_O (btw. today's date is cool.) Er... rather long and in-the-middle-of-things snippet. Be warned. ^_^

Captain Jack Leetel loved his ship. It was his heart, his soul, his lifeblood, and as a livelihood it wasn't half-bad, either. He had stood on this dock viewing his ship countless times in the past, sated from his trip to the Midian and proud of the haul his men had brought from over the treacherous sea. Spices, clocks, woven things of indescribable color - anything was good for trading with him, and no matter what he took with him to make the trade, he always returned better for the bargain. Not five minutes ago, he'd signed the final papers guaranteeing him payment for shipped goods to the Midian and for services rendered. Services rendered, indeed; it was a nice way of saying "thanks for not telling us where these things came from," so nobody could be liable. Ah... the beauty of politics. Honestly, Leetel was only too happy to provide such goods and services to the island of Midia. He knew - especially as a captain - how important it was for men who'd been on the sea for months to have a place to let out their wilder behavior before returning home; and in fact, he'd used promises of extra trips to Midia to avoid mutany three times. Of course, his first mate had slit the throat of every man who'd tried to betray him; it was regrettable, and not at all the way Leetel liked to do things, but it was also smart business. A first mate as loyal as Magg was hard to find. Said first mate was approaching him now, wiping his greasy hands on an already greasy cloth. "Ready to go, captain. Whenever you're ready." Leetel surveyed his ship once more and sighed, a pleased smile on his face. "Lucky the tides were turning just right tonight; I'd hate to keep the good people of Anglacea waiting for all their goodies until later." Mogg gave him a dry look, but merely nodded. When Leetel didn't move, he prodded, "Best get aboard, eh?" "Yes. Yes, I suppose we'd better. All right, you scalliwags! All aboard! Now, if you're going for land, otherwise we'll leave you here and let the maekes get you - " Leetel had barely finished shouting when he heard quick, light footsteps on the wooden dock behind him, and suddenly a slender boy in his very early teens shot right past him. "What the frey - hey! Stop that kid!" The boy had made for the gangplank, but the moment he saw sailors coming for him he changed direction. Leaping straight out over the chilly sea, he grasped hold of a full net of cargo just being lifted on board and scrambled to the top. "Hey! HEY! What in Gimel's name is that stupid little monkey - " but then Leetel turned because he heard another voice. A maeke was at the edge of the forest, shaking one furry claw and looking quite put-out. "Damn you! I don't like little boy anyway!" it screamed, and then turned and ran into the forest without waiting for a reply. Leetel stared after it for a moment, putting two and two together; his men, meanwhile, were shouting at the slip of a boy who had by this time perched on top of the netting. It seemed he wouldn't come down; some of the men were threatening to throw things. "Oi!" Leetel cried, jogging to the end of the dock. "Hold off, men! Hold off, now. Yo. You, kid. What's your name?" The blonde boy glared over the side of the net, as though he had great reason to take offense with them all. "Alexander," he shouted back after a moment, gripping the net beneath him for all he was worth.

Yeaaah that's long enough. ^_^;;;

Sunday, November 2, 2003 :: 12:08 a.m.

It was dancing day. Alexander hated dancing day. Unfortunately, it did not seem to be something he could avoid. "Get him!" "Gah," said Alexander, and instead of waiting to see what they would do once they'd gotten, he turned and ran as quickly as he could for the outside door. Whoops and hollers followed him, and at the last minute Alexander changed his course and headed for the window instead of the door. "Hey!" someone cried, but he made it; vaulting with all the gangly grace only a thirteen-year-old could muster, he leapt through the window and into the snow, running into the woods with his own whoop of joyful freedom. Temporary freedom, yes; but nevertheless, joyful. Maybe dancing day could be avoided after all. Back in the room he'd vacated so quickly, a middle-aged man with not quite enough hair to tug on tried anyway. When that didn't work, he ground his teeth instead. "Damnit. He's thirteen. What's wrong with you?" "Uh... he'll be back," offered one of the grinning hirelings, absolutely unrepentant; the bAldeng man growled. "I KNOW he'll be back, you moron. What's he going to do, swim to shore?" The hirelings shifted, looking moderately guilty, and Alden continued. "Look. He's thirteen. All of you are nearly or over twice that. Why can't you do a simple thing like catch him when I ask?" He eyed them. "Nobody has an answer. Fine. Nobody ever has an answer. Why I hire you people, I don't know. Go get to work on the backdrop." Glad to be away from their irritable boss, the hirelings fled to the stage to prepare it for the evening's performance. Alden muttered and tried to grip his hair again, scribbling notes left-handed on the packet of bills before him. Something he saw clearly irritated him further; pushing away from the table, he dropped his pen and stared at the pile before standing and walking away from it completely.

Just a snippet... ^_^

Friday, October 31, 2003 :: 09:41 p.m.

Do I have TIME to do this? No. However... I've wanted to do it for a very long time, and I've decided that this is the year. Maybe I need stress relief; maybe it's just because I've been feeling so encouraged about writing lately (thanks a lot to you who've GIVEN that encouragement - you know who you are ~_^). Either way, it's done: I've signed up, and at midnight tonight, I'm going to start writing:

...WHEEE! ^______^

Friday, October 31, 2003 :: 12:27 a.m.

"Gossip is a funny, funny thing, Sanuel." San looked at him, curious as to what had brought the change in their talk. Apparently women were no longer the topic. "A funny, funny, disgusting thing. And the really funny thing is that you never know quite... how... far... it's gone." As if to demonstrate his point, Alexander crumpled some dead leaves in his hand and let the remains drift over the side of the mountain. "How far's it gone?" Alex was quiet for a moment. "Hm?" he asked. "Whatever gossip you're talking about. How far's it gone?" "Ooooh," Alexander sighed, "the end of the world, or some such thing. Never mind. I'm being morbid." "I think if you were morbid you'd be talking about death." Alex gave him a look that clearly said if he HAD a snowball, he'd be using it. San grinned. Alexander rolled his eyes one last time and stood, laughing softly. "Come on. I still need a new cloak." Together they left, and the fauna they'd crushed blew gently over the mountainside and scattered far away.

Don't even ASK where this one came from. ^^;

Wednesday, October 29, 2003 :: 04:17 p.m.

What, exactly, does one do with a fairy? It was only wise to look at this practically. Holding a living, screeching fairy in one's hand was not usually considered a good thing in this day and age, especially since the fairies themselves were considered imaginary and those who believed in them considered mad. Alexander had had enough consideration. Pocketing the noisy thing, he slipped quietly back to his carrier and deposited it into a safe container before returning to the building. Fairies could be dealt with later; the main attraction, however, could not.

Hee. ^__^

Tuesday, October 28, 2003 :: 04:59 p.m.

Muaha. I wrote a bit of that Cumber fic today. It stops in the middle of a scene because I was... ah, interrupted. That's okay - I think the feel of this bit is RIGHT where it should be.

Tuesday, October 28, 2003 :: 11:00 a.m.

Hmmm... well. Now I know just HOW Alex finds his fabeled city of angels. Ever seen one of those star sapphires? *doesn't say anymore for now*

Tuesday, October 28, 2003 :: 05:38 p.m.

Thanks, Celine - I really appreciate your encouragement! ^_^

I have a bit of Consummatum here - 'twill be chapter five.

Tuesday, October 28, 2003 :: 10:35 a.m.

(Note from Life: RubyD, did I TELL you how much I love your layout? I don't think I did. Well... I do. SO. Much. *glomps poor su*)

Okay - this line HAS to go somewhere. I can hear Alex giving it, but the thing is, it would be modern, not ancient.

Durned stubborn chara....

Meep. I think he's winning. *wasn't aware until this point that A HAD a preference* Ho boy.

Monday, October 27, 2003 :: 06:15 p.m.

Thanks, Gwen. ^_^ And thanks for the info, Isa - I'll put it up VERY shortly.

And now... here's some CCD.

The newspaper editor was named Zuuto Asasho, and he was having a miserable day. It wasn't enough that last-minute changes came from the owner of the paper, not to be rejected under any circumstances and delivered by the most grim ten-year-old he'd ever seen. It wasn't enough that he'd now been trusted with an absurd password, told to await the arrival of the most famed thief of the decade, and to turn away imposters with absolute aplomb. No, the worst part of all was yet to come. Without a doubt, the very last straw was the costume. Complete with cape, mask, and rapier, it was a complete Zorro outfit (if he recalled his dubbed American shows well), and for some reason, he was supposed to wear it. Zutto suspected the reasoning was very ten-year-old-boy, plain and simple; but he dare not object. His employer had a reputation for being very fair, yes, but for also having very creative tete-a-tete when it was necessary. Fine. These people wanted him to do this thing for them? FINE. He'd do it. He'd wear the damned costume and deliver the damned message - but he'd do it in a way that they wouldn't suspect and couldn't stop, and would - in a way - make him feel at least a LITTLE better. Akira had never been so glad for a Saturday. Sleepy, still limping slightly, he rose from his bed and padded down the stairs in stocking feet, absently clutching his stuffed bear to his side and rubbing his eyes with one fist. His mothers were nowhere to be seen, but somehow that did not surprise him. He knew where they'd be: in the room with that horrible, horrible knife. Sniffling a little for the hardness of the world, Akira went to the door and fetched the newspaper. Then, with one foot over the mantle, he froze. The headline was huge: MYSTERIOUS HERO CALLS OUT 20 MASKS! "...oh, no," Akira said softly, and unfolded the front page. The article was brief, for all its headline-status. The life which you enjoy so highly is at stake. Please contact the editor for more information. That had the chairman all over it, somehow, but Akira could not for the life of him understand why he was being contactd in this way. Could it have to do with the knife? Akira closed the front door behind him and gazed up the stairs. He could hear his mothers up there, speaking in strange, too-smooth tones presumably to the knife, and he began to feel the first real stab of fear. Taking a deep, slow breath, he picked up the phone extension in the living room and made a phone call.

Hmmm... I wonder if I can get this finished tonight....

Monday, October 27, 2003 :: 04:35 p.m.

Oooh, this is a definite now...

The phoenixes have taken on an ENTIRELY new light. >:D Oooh... I think I owe Marsh forthis little inspiration....

Saturday, October 25, 2003 :: 11:58 p.m.

Mmmm.... just got new ideas for novel. You know, I may start posting snippets here...

Of course, the battle still rages in my head as to whether this is "modern" or "ancient." Perhaps what I need to start doing is posting bitty scenes set in both and let YOU decide.

Whatcha think? Good idea? Or dumb?

Friday, October 24, 2003 :: 07:22 p.m.

Tada. New blog!

I'd say more in general, but that would disrupt the new procedure. :D *points above*

Layout:

Remus Lupin from the Harry Potter series; poor dear has to drink that hideous stuff on a fairly regular basis. The art is by Yukipon (thanks, Isa!). BRILLIANT, beautiful stuff! Some of it is a bit on the hentai side, so be warned, but everything is gorgeous! Enjoy.

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Welcome to Indecisive - the ficblog of Trinsan.com!

Name: Trin
Age: 27 (*cackle of doom*)
Occupation: Full-time webmaster + full time music minister

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Anime (Tokyo Babylon, Gundam Wing, Dragonball Z, Utena, Slayers,Yami no Matsuei, Princess Tutu), writing, music, HTML

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Getting to graduate schol for a MM in choral studies (USC, I think) and saving up for a new computer

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