b i t t e r s w e e t i n d e c i s i v e 5 9

NOTICE: There has been a change of procedure. Basically, this is going to be a FIC blog; if you would like to know what's going on in my life, then please visit my livejournal.

Tuesday, September 21, 2004 :: 10:30 p.m.

HA! I live. Working on original novel stuffs now, which is a lot harder to post here; after all, I don't want THAT getting out before I'm ready. ~_^

However, I AM also working on new GW fic, so I'll be able to put bits of that here! Woohoo! ^_^

Trowa was very, very good. He was so good at what he did that rather than spare it any thought, he simply chose the best course available to him and took it - without any question or thought as to his own abilities to fulfill the job.

This wasn't necessarily a matter of training, although he was certain someone must have taught him. He had no idea who that someone could be, mind; Trowa Barton could not remember anything significant regarding training or anything else in his past - even his name had been stolen from someone else. There had been a stint spent with criminals, that much he recalled; but he'd already had his abilities and uniquely cool, efficient demeanor by then, so clearly that was not the beginning. As far as his memory showed, the thing which made him so unique, which made him so good, had been in him all his life:

That thing was a heart nearly empty of emotion.

Oh, it wasn't completely empty, of course. Trowa knew annoyance, and he could feel fond for some things - just a little, like with Heavyarms - but even these bare flashes of feeling came without the depth, without the strident theft of attention and focus that "normal" people seemed to experience every day. Trowa had observed this kind of socially accepted madness in others, and he had no idea how anyone could live that way - or even how they ever managed to get anything done.

Not that he actually spent much time thinking about it. Take right now, for example; the only thing in his mind was what to do with the twisted metal husk of Deathscythe.

A rare flash of emotion crossed his heart, briefly, like a leaf passing in the wind; that had been someone's gundam, once, and he knew how a man could feel about his gundam. But it was no one's anymore; the pilot was missing and presumed dead, and although Trowa himself could not assume death or life in the pilot's case, the gundam's fate was certainly sealed.

That sucker was dead.

Men in white coats and OZ insignia worked diligently around it like ants on a corpse in the desert, but it was obvious to Trowa that ants would have had more success. The entire gundam had been fused into one solid mass; there was no way to get into the control department without literally cutting through the chest, which they WERE doing - but anyone with half a brain could see there was no point. Anything computerized that had been exposed to so much damage that its joints melted together definitely had no information left in its memory banks for the diligent to gather.

Therefore, information gathered by the enemy was not Trowa's concern. What WAS his concern was what had done all this damage in the first place. He had been ordered to destory the remains of gundam 02. It was pointless, although he would do it; but not before he found out what did this.

What COULD have done it? Nothing Trowa knew of had the firepower to cause such damage to a gundam - EARTH-bound damage, which was a key factor in this. Gundanium was a stuff so strong that in order for it to be used and shaped into mobile suits or anything else, it had to be worked in the zero-gravity of space. Not only that; but it was nonconductive to electricity and could not be detected by radar. A more perfect mobile-suit material had never been seen; but that wasn't the point. The point was that Lady Une had found something that not only worked on Gundamium in earth-bound conditions, but abused the alloy as though it were simple steel.

Trowa did not panic; he showed and felt nothing but calm in 99.9% of his heart and soul, but the portion of his mind dedicated to analysis knew how bad this was. This weapon - whatever it was - could spell the end for the rebellion on earth.

Face utterly dispassionate, he tugged his OZ uniform cap low over his eyes and began the dangerous job of hacking into the OZ base's computer system.

The alert first reached General Fifateen at 15:47 on the dot, and in spite of the fact that its existence surprised him so badly he nearly lost control of his bladder, he responded with enough appearance of skill that he was not blamed for the things that went wrong.

The first red flag came at 15:22. It was a simple anomaly; one of the main hard drives was refusing to sync with the system's world clock. The automatic maintenance program immediately switched on, just as it was supposed to do; but then something funny happened. The software stalled; commands, invisible to the human eye, were sent and queried back and forth, and suddenly the automatic maintenance software wasn't maintenance software anymore.

The program had access to every single system on the base, without exception, and the virus that had changed it sent it back to those systems with a set of simple, timed commands.

At 15:42, every single modem, outlink, phone line, and communication server shut down.

At 15:43, the main power grid shut down, sending everything at full speed onto emergency backup - which generators and batteries were never meant to last for long with the base running at full strength.

At 15:46, the sliding doors betwen the three separate sections of the base slid silently closed - and locked down.

And at 15:47, a full-scale red alert suddenly sounded through the system, proclaiming attacks, break-ins, and system failure at every single major terminal in the base. There had been no warning, of course; all went from peace to chaos in a heartbeat of a second, and general Fifateen leapt into action as though he'd been primed for it all his life.

He hadn't been, but that was okay. Appearance was everything.

In seconds, Fifateen had everyone in his sectioned-off area of the base organized and working on one of two functions: getting the damned doors open and communicating with the outside world. Both goals were not being reached, but at least they were busy.

Trowa waited calmly in the darkness of one corner until the last command of his virus shot through the system. In his mind, it was easy to count down: four... three... two...

The lights went off. ALL of them.

...one.

Trowa did not smile. He gave evidence of no pleasure or success as he casually slid his small, hand-held computer out of his pocket and hooked it up to the mainframe next to the ruined Deathscythe. Without looking at his watch, he counted down from ten; suddenly, power to the single terminal he stood next to was restored, and three quick keystrokes began sending streams of information into his palm-top computer.

There was no need to rush. Trowa knew the speed of his system and OZ's as intimately as if he'd created them himself. At the count of thirty, his hand-held finished gathering the information he'd programmed it to cipher. He unplugged it, packed it away, and waited.

Three, two, one. The lights abruptly came back on - blinding the men who'd been sent up to the ceiling to try to fix them - and beautifully showed the doors sliding open in unison. The shouts of confusion began immediately, as did the random arming and pointing of weapons, as though whoever was responsible for this was going to come prancing in. Through those doors, however, the only things visible were other OZ soldiers, weapons also out, looking as confused as everybody else.

Fifateen started shouting orders, and Trowa made himself busy. Showing neither sweat nor pallor, he buckled down to his task with the calm efficiency of a man who has all the time in the world.

Wednesday, May 26, 2004 :: 01:53 p.m.

Notes to self: last book, Aaron's Song? Fixing at end, perhaps - baritone tenor? Repairing? Alex-cover-san?

Wednesday, May 26, 2004 :: 09:58 a.m.

Wooo, have fallen behind on this!! Well, I'll just have to make up for it. ^_^

Sunday, May 23, 2004 :: 01:23 p.m.

Ooooh, I've figured something out! See, chapter 01 didn't feel right, not QUiTE... and now I know why.

Don't read it yet, Celine-and-others! :)

Sunday, May 23, 2004 :: 12:04 a.m.

Notes to self:

1. Waking up is bad. Don't do it unless it's day.
2. Stories are good. Must consider writing more ideas down.
3. I had a third. I can't remember it anymore. ^^;

Ah well, this will have to count: San: singer. Alex: guardian. I'm sure of that now, pretty much. So there you go. ^_^

Saturday, May 22, 2004 :: 12:11 a.m.

*wobbles* Gah. I think... that's half of chapter one. Which is ironic, considering that the PREVIOUS post is the end of BOOK one.

Anyway, it's really too long to post here; so, I'm gonna link it. Erm... most of the people who read this already have the username/password combo for this protected folder - in all seriousness, it's huge. @_@ (well, compared to the snippets I usually post....)

Chapter 01

Thursday, May 20, 2004 :: 11:41 p.m.

Benjamin had stopped. Blank and numb, he simply stared at the shoreline that should not have been, no sign of understanding or explanation anyhwere on his face. And then, he shouted.
"NO!" His ragged voice matched his steps; stumbling, tripping on his robe, he hurried to that broken shoreline and fell inches from the water, his shoulders beginning to shake in a mad kind of sobbing.
"It's gone, it's gone, it's all gone..." he was saying, over, and over, and over again.
"What? What's gone? What's going on? Benjamin!" Confused - it was such a lovely sunset, even - San ran to the fallen angel's side, kneeling and touching his shoulder with hesitation. Slowly, Brutus followed.
Benjamin continued to sob; he was doubled over now, and his wings were out.
"It isn't over yet, Ben," said Brutus very softly.
"Yes, it is. Oh, it is, it IS!" Benjamin cried; San only looked more confused.
"Is somebody going to tell me what's going on? PLEASE?" His adolescent voice cracked, but for once he didn't notice.
"The land is gone."
A new voice; all three men looked up quickly, startled by the stranger's approach. Benjamin suddenly leapt to his feet... and his sword was in his hand.
"Who are you?" he cried.
The stranger stopped. His clothing was torn and burned; dirt covered his faceand what they could see of his skin, but all of this only served to emphasize his beauty. Hollow blue eyes under a wealth of dark lashes, hair that seemed to catch the sun and throw it back as an holy light -
And he had wings. White, unblemished, the tips gleaming like fresh-made steel -
"I said... the land is gone." The stranger rubbed his face; an oddly human gesture. "The strange fellow... took it. I guess. I'm not sure what else could have happened to make it all just blow up like that."
"Blow up?"
"Oh... you know, the usual. Lava, and... cracking... no screams. There wasn't anybody left to... to scream." The stranger stumbled.
Benjamin dropped his sword and hurried to the stranger's side. Catching him before he fell, Benjamin studied the man in his arms; and softly, he inhaled.
"That's impossible."
"'S not," protested the stranger with dazed indignance; he seemed to be on the verge of passing out. "I saw it with my own... two...."
Benjamin grunted; the stranger had collapsed in his arms, wings limp, head down.
"I thought you said all were accounted for, Ben," said Brutus, his tone warning.
"They are. This... this is impossible. This boy..." Benjamin looked up. "He's half human."
The sun finished its setting, and darkness soothed the broken landscape. There was no longer an Anglacea to go back to. The stranger's wings gleamed in the dark, and everywhere in the world, there was silence.

Tuesday, May 18, 2004 :: 09:32 p.m.

Randomness. And... yes.

"You still understand so little." Lilith's voice, always smooth, always husky, was soft - and right... in... his... ear. "There is Nothing. No meaning to anything you have done, no meaning to anything you will do." She moved from his left ear to his right, bitterness contorting her smile. "You only think your world has meaning because you must, because you need it, becuase you have convinced yourself that to live without purpose is not possible!"
Alexander sighed. "Ah, nihilism," he commented as if to himself, his tone almost cheerful. "I suppose anything's better than actually bothering to put in the effort to find your purpose these days... or even worse, discovering that your purpose is dung." He feigned shock, looking at her with wide eyes. "Why, just imagine If your purpose in life was to provide the fodder for the REAL heroes to trample over - I can't even imagine. Wouldn't that be just AWFUL?"
Lilith hissed at him. In a moment she was gone, taking off in a flurry of blue feathers.
Raphael was staring at him. "You're cruel."
Alexander smiled. "I'm practical. She'll be gone for at least half an hour," he said, the picture of innocence. "Let's get back to these runes, shall we?" And with that, he did, turning his back to the door.

Tuesday, May 18, 2004 :: 03:14 a.m.

Ha! I thought YOU thought I hadn't been writing, didn't you? Weeeell, HA HAAAA! *points* I HAVE!

Here you go. ^_^ New Tokyo Babylon Fic for EVERYBODY! ^__^

Sunday, May 16, 2004 :: 12:58 a.m.

It was a perfect place to put a village.

The shores were white, broad, and peaceful, separated from fields by a natural divide of rock and fresh water. Mountains and pines provided both backdrop and protection; neither war nor rumor of war were close enough to be acknowledged, and travelers rarely remembered its name. For the past six generations, the [san family name] family had lived on the shore of Peyton's Crossing, quietly making nets and repairing them, and from all appearances had no reason to leave.

In a way, this was unfortunate, because San really wished he could.

Saturday, May 15, 2004 :: 12:47 a.m.

(Why just "the Enemy?" Because I haven't QUITE figured out who's facing him here. Could be anybody. O_O)

Alexander roared and threw the sack as hard as he could. Hurling end over end, the bag from the butcher slammed into the wall with such force that it burst wide open - and the raw meat and blood inside went everywhere.
And here it was clear that the Enemy had made a miscalculation; the wolves were not trained. Without hesitation, they changed direction and went for the mess.
Alex leaned against the wall, catching his breath in the minutes this bought him. Blood and sweat stuck to his skin, and strips of his torn clothing fluttered like banners in a field after a battle. Slowly, eyes hard, he looked at the Enemy.
"Now, you see," he said, in a reasonable if breathless tone. "That's the difference between animals and people. Animals can only do what their instinct tells them. But as for the rest of us..." And he turned toward the temple door.
The darkness in the doorway had grown. Chaotic, wild, and tornadic in nature, it sent whisps of black up into the sky like sparks and curls of nightmare into the air like smoke. All of the vegatation around the doorway was already dead, and the edges of nearby plants still alive were frosted. It swallowed light and hope; and it was the only path remaining.
"...the rest of us," he said, to himself more than them, "know that sometimes we can't listen to our instincts at all." And without allowing himself to hesitate any longer, Alexander threw himself into the dark.

Friday, May 14, 2004 :: 03:04 a.m.

"I once had a mother," said Alexander, and threw another stone into the sea. Below him, the whims went mad trying to find it, making a game of it among themselves just because they could.
"Once had?" asked San. "Did she die?"
"No, no, she's still alive," replied Alexander, thoughtful. "Unfortunately, she doesn't really care that she is - or that I am, or anything is. In fact, last I checked, she didn't care about anything much at all."
San tried to wrap his mind around this concept and failed utterly. "Um... okay," he finally hesitated, risking a sidelong peek.
Alexander chuckled. "It's okay, kid. I've dealt with it by now. It just... isn't a good thing to have on your side, you know?" He stretched. "When it comes down to these things... the things you carry with you, the things on your side - I guess the things that make you who you are - I dunno. I guess I'd have preferred to have something different." He looked at San, studying him with an expression too old for his age. "Maybe... heh. I'd better stop. Next I'll be pining for a lady-love." And he turned back to watching the whims play.
San sighed, thinking about his own family - more loved now, it seems, than before they had died. "Maybe it's a good thing they were normal, after all," he said very quietly, and wished that somehow they could hear.

Thursday, May 13, 2004 :: 03:31 a.m.

Woo, well... no novel-stuff today. However, I did get two part-chapters written to things (Gundam Wing and Harry Potter, as promised); and since I'm keeping myself accountable, I'm gonna post 'em here. ^_^

The first is a continuation of this fic.

"What - ugh," Wufei grunted as 02 fell against him. What horrible timing; risking a quick glance up and down the street, Wufei gripped his unwelcome visitor beneath his arms and dragged him into the building.

02 groaned.

"Quiet, you fool," Wufei growled as he reset the locks. He leaned against the cool metal door for a moment, trying to collect his thoughts. Were there OZ specials right on this idiot's tail? Well... if there were, there was nothing he could do about it now. Regardless, the idiot was bleeding all over his carpet. Muttering something ungentlemanly in Mandarin, he hoisted 02 up and carted him to the bathroom.

02 woke before they arrived there, groggy, clearly in pain, and made a face. "Don't jostle me. It hurts...."

"Don't complain. I'm not throwing you back on the street," Wufei replied sharply, and put him in the bathtub.

"Gnuh," 02 said, and closed his eyes. The idiot's clothing was practically melted onto his skin; frowning in concentration, Wufei pulled a small knife from his pocket and began cutting open 02's ruined outfit.

The boy was a mess.

Scrapes and burns were the least of it. The pattern of bruising all along his side indicated one broken rib at least, and there were open lacerations as though he'd been caught in flying shrapnel. Perhaps he had; Wufei would have to check for anything embedded under the skin.

At least it presented something to concentrate on besides his own problems. Removing the rest of 02's clothing, Wufei tossed it into the garbage can and scowled at him.

"Stay," he ordered as if speaking to a dog, and left the room.

Fortunately, he had plenty of medical supplies. Far be it from him to ever go into a situation unprepared; his small, econimical backpack was easy to grab and contained what he needed, at least for a temporary patch-up job. 02 was definitely in need of patching up.

Wufei returned to the bathroom, and there was surprised to find that 02 was awake and trying to climb out of the bathtub. It seemed that finally being out of the hot sun had done him wonders.

"Lie down," Wufei ordered.

02 merely blinked at him, wearing a doe-eyed, innocent look normally reserved for imps and fairies. "Hello! Are you the one who took my clothes?"

"Yes." Businesslike, Wufei put the backpack on the closed toilet lid and started taking out supplies.

"Thanks for helping me," 02 continued, unabashed. "My name's Duo."

This, at least, required a response. "Wufei." He did not elaborate.

"Right," Duo replied, drawing the word out slightly. "So: you pilot 05." He grinned, an expression with more than a hint of rictus as he shifted in the tub, twisting his burned skin. "LOVE the flame thrower."

Wufei ignored this; he was pulling on what looked like surgical gloves. "Lie back."

Duo blinked at the gloves, but decided this was NOT the time to ask. Shrugging, he did what he was told; nakedness, clearly, was not a problem.

Wufei began to clean his wounds, starting on chest. "How did you find me?"

"Oh... I didn't. The Manguanacs did, and I just... er, borrowed their data."

Manguanacs? What the hell were those? "And how did they know where I am?"

"That, my friend, is a mystery," said Duo sagely, then brightened. "Hey, you think this stuff is going to scar?"

Wufei was beginning to wonder if this boy was actually sane. "Probably."

"Cool!" said Duo, and winced. "...stitches?"

"Perhaps." Wufei was speaking with his teeth mostly closed now, in clipped, even pronunciation that would have alerted most people to his growing impatienece.

"Oh, gah... well, I guess that'll be good for the scarring though, huh? It'll be a sort of Frankenstein thing, though I guess I should really say Frankenstein's MONSTER, since Frankenstein himself is the doctor, not the beast. I always thought that was funny, didn't you? That the monter gets the name of the doctor and the doctor's name gets forgotten - "

Wufei stopped cleaning and stared at him. "What's wrong with you? How can you be so chatty? Don't you know you almost DIED?"

There was strained silence for a moment. Duo cleared his throat. "Well... yeah, Wufei, I know. I know that - but the thing is, I didn't. Not-dying is a good reason to feel good, Wufei. Don't you know that?"

Wufei's expression was... guilty? "That is not always true."

And now, both boys stared, trying to gauge the other's words, to weigh the other's meaning.

"I guess we're both human beings, huh?" Duo said, following it with a small, nervous laugh.

Wufei looked completely off-balance in the wake of this; in fact, he looked like he was going to bolt, so, smiling, Duo changed the subject. "Do you think I could at least have a towel or something while you keep working? It's, er, kinda cold in here, if you know what I mean."

Wufei took a moment to adjust. "Once I'm done. the burns on your legs and stomach have to be dealt with first."

"Fair enough. Thanks." Duo closed his eyes and lay back, very visibly putting his trust in the hands of his companion.

Wufei sighed. "...you're welcome," he said, and prepared Duo's skin for the sutures.

The second is a continuation of this fic.

Sunday, 1:00am, Dec. 8th

I have never liked Crummany's Crumbling Crumpets for the obvious reason: they tend to crumble, aiming with near supernaturally vindictiveness for important papers and good robes. Three good bites and the whole thing falls apart; what IS the point, I ask you?

And no, Albus, before you ask, I am NOT being overly critical. I owe a horrible, horrible day to those sadistic Crumpets and the boys who eat them. Perhaps Argus can be convinced to put the infernal things on his "forbidden" list... both of them.

As if I could ever be so fortunate.

The time for detention arrived, earlier than he liked; after all,
the rest of this day would be spent dealing with the Weasley terrors, and there was still much left to accomplish.
Ah, but the schedule was not of his making; merely one more brick in the load he had to
carry... which burden he
would most certainly use
the Weasleys
to relieve. The time for detention arrived, earlier than they liked; after all, the rest of this day would be spent dealing with Snape's sadism, and there was still much left to accomplish. Ah, but the schedule was not of their making; merely one more brick in the load they had to carry... which burden they would most certainly use professor Snape to relieve.

It is safe to say that none of the participants of today's detention arrived in a terribly good mood. Professor Snape hunched darkly about the classroom in his best imitation of indigestion, and when the Weasley boys arrived he eyed them as though they were responsible for his. Fred and George, for their part, did not help; rather than entering the room in a spirit of submission or regret, they walked - no, strode - into Snape's presence as though HE were the one in trouble and THEY his harsh judges.

Well, this would simply not do, at all, at all.

"Weasley," Snape said with a nod, at least pretending to be pleased they'd arrived.

"Professor," said the two in return, in unison, intractable.

"Do have a seat," Severus said, waving his hand graciously to the front row of seats. Fred and George looked at each other, gauging, perhaps, how far they dared push; finally, with some hesitation, they sat down.

"Comfortable?" asked Severus graciously.

Fred considered an answer of any kind was better than none. "Sure, at least at the moment," he replied.

Severus smiled unpleasantly. "Good. It is the last time you are going to be comfortable for the rest of the day. We are going on a little hunting trip, you two and I."

"Hunting," replied George. "Hunting WHAT?"

"Leeches," Severus answered casually, and Fred and George once again looked at each other.

"Leeches?" asked Fred with some doubt. Severus narrowed his eyes.

"If you are going to repeat everything I tell you," he said silkily, "this is going to be a needlessly long adventure. Now, then." He held up his wand as exhibit A. "Shall I assume you actually came prepared to be useful?"

"Always, sir," replied George with such wide-eyed sincerity it had to be fake, and Severus frowned. The mood for this detention clearly had to be made at the outset.

"Mock me again," he promised in a near-whisper, "and I will see to it personally that Filch has you scrubbing off old troll dung for the rest of your scholastic career. Now, then," he said in lighter tones. "We are descending into the northernmost dungeon. In general, most of the things we meet will be waterlogged and of similar difficulty level to boggarts. However, those that are not are generally more than a little dangerous, and often quite hungry for naughty little boys. The kind of leeches we are - yes, Mr. Weasley?"

Fred had his hand up. "Can't we just go and steal you some leeches at an apothecary someplace?" he began - and startled silent when Severus brought his wand down with a shapr swack against Fred's desk.

"Perhaps I should elucidate," he purred. "INTELLIGENT questions only, please, Mr. Weasley. If I could come by this particular kind of leech in an apothecary, don't you think I WOULD?" This rhetorical question elicited no answer; pleased, Severus continued. "The kind of leech we are looking for is known as the Ignus Hirudo, or Firey Leech. It is not to be touched with the bare fingers; you are, of course, welcome to try, but considering that it will in response burn completely through your hand, I would not advise it. It can be spotted by - yes, Mr. Weasley."

George was looking helpful. "I'll bet you Knockturn Alley has a few - "

"Enough!" Severus snapped, baring his crooked teeth. A breath later, he'd calmed; eyes narrowed and once again speaking in a near-whisper, he continued. "Clearly, you believe you already know what I am trying to tell you. Very well; let us simply go down there without further instruction. Perhaps we will trade places and you will become the teachers, since you seem so very knowledgeable about the subject." Slowly, he leaned over the desk, inches from George's face. "But somehow... I. Doubt. It."

They eyed one another for a long moment; and then George finally looked away. He didn't have to do it, both men knew, but it was the wise course of action, giving Severus the upper hand as the only teacher present; and it did serve to mollify. Slightly.

Severus straightened, relatively content once more. "Well, gentlemen? After you."

Sighing and dragging their feet, the Weasley twins slid out from behind their desks and clumped toward the door. Silently, Severus followed.

It was going to be a loooooong day.