Laieanna
Dark Child
Wordcount: 9% 2,770 / 30,000
Posts: 27
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Post by Laieanna on Sept 30, 2009 21:15:13 GMT -5
I was thinking that maybe after a week or so of writing that we should (if you want of course) post a little snippet from that week's writing. What do you guys say? Maybe the first bit can be posted around next Friday or Saturday.
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Post by Kini of the Flesh on Sept 30, 2009 21:17:00 GMT -5
Sounds great to me. If I haven't burned my own house down in frustration by then, I will definitely post a snippet
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Post by Lily Munster on Sept 30, 2009 23:49:24 GMT -5
I think that's an awesome idea. XD
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Post by Nicole on Oct 1, 2009 3:50:20 GMT -5
i think it's a great idea, but i only write in dutch so i don't think it could fully translate a peace of the story
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Post by silvermoon on Oct 1, 2009 16:25:56 GMT -5
I'm in.
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Post by Kini of the Flesh on Oct 1, 2009 17:28:58 GMT -5
I'm curious to see who will be the first to post a snippet of their Gothno induced madness! XD
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Post by luigilargofan1332 on Oct 1, 2009 17:31:29 GMT -5
Hmmmm....I'm curious as to how I'd pick something...
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Post by Kini of the Flesh on Oct 1, 2009 17:34:28 GMT -5
I'm contemplating posting the beginning bit of my story but I don't want people to think I'm terrible D: haha
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Post by luigilargofan1332 on Oct 1, 2009 17:40:08 GMT -5
You ARE terrible!
No you're not...love!
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Post by Kini of the Flesh on Oct 3, 2009 0:15:44 GMT -5
Would anyone have any objection to posting something earlier? I wouldn't mind sharing a bit with you all!
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Post by luigilargofan1332 on Oct 3, 2009 0:17:40 GMT -5
Same...I'm almost done with my second chapter, I just haven't updated my current wordcount on here
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Post by luigilargofan1332 on Oct 5, 2009 12:46:18 GMT -5
Is it late enough to post snippets?
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Post by Kini of the Flesh on Oct 7, 2009 21:24:47 GMT -5
I wanted to share this. It is actually a disconnected scene that I am working on connecting to the rest of the story. I apologize ahead of time for any weak writing, run on sentences or grammar errors. I refuse to edit or think about editing until the end of the month. I'm hoping it will teach me better writing habits! Anyways! Here you go:
A grotesque gurgling noise erupted from the woman's throat and blood dribbled down her chin in sharp contrast to her snow white skin. Kasimir watched the life drain from her, blossoming across the tattered, dirty linen of her robe as some grim flora opening to the sun. Placing his boot on her slender shoulder, he pushed and she fell away, her guts suckling at his blade as if in defiance. She hit the ground with a resounding slap of flesh and bone on stone that echoed across the chamber. Kasimir's head fell, his hair creating a dark curtain covering his face, and the agony that contorted it. He could feel the heat of his own blood dribbling down his arm, past his elbow and making his hands slick. With a shaking hand, he reached up and thumbed the wound, his jagged nail scrapping the exposed underlying flesh. He gritted his teeth against the jolt of pain that sent a shivering wave throughout his entire bulk. His knees shook, and buckled. He collapsed to one knee, using both hands on his sword to support him. A booming laugh echoed across the chamber and he winced, the sound battering his body like a physical attack. “You are resilient, Kasimir. However, it does not seem as though you are immortal.” There was the sharp leisurely clicking of claws on stone, coming nearer. “It seems almost a shame to me that such a valiant fighter should die in such a way,” Morvidicus chuckled, his grin exposing to advantage his cruel set of teeth. “A discarded part of history. Not even forgotten but wiped completely from memory.” Kasimir looked up. His vision was growing dim, blackened by shadows that lurched at the corners of his vision. The monster coming toward him faded out of focus and then slithered back in, his leering face closer than it was before. A cold sweat broke out over his body. He struggled to stand, his limbs shivering with the exertion. Swaying, he pushed himself to his feet, though stood body limp, leaning heavily on his blade. His tongue felt thick and heavy in his mouth. Morvidicus gnashed his fangs together, his head cocked to one side, eying Kasimir with an open look of contempt on his twisted features. “You struggle so hard. To what purpose? Do you seek to fight me, Kasimir?” The monster laughed again, tossing his head back violently as if in the throws of joy. Suddenly, he snarled and fixed Kasimir with a penetrating stare. “Don't be foolish, warrior. You are growing weak. The spark in your eyes is fading. I can hear your heartbeat and it slows with every gasping breath you take. You have lost. Accept your defeat and let me continue my work here. Your escapades of heroism have depleted much of my resources and my patience.” Morvidicus took a step forward to stand in front of Kasimir and rested a clawed hand on his sagging shoulder. He applied pressure, attempting to push Kasimir to his knees. Kasimir stood firm but the monster could feel the muscles beneath his hand quivering with the effort. Morvidicus smirked. “Stubborn human,” he tutted. “Why do you fight so hard? Are you so attached to this body, this bauble, this prison of weak, mortal flesh?” Kasimir growled and shrugged the hand away. Morvidicus let it fall. He seemed to be studying Kasimir. Panting, Kasimir straightened to look Morvidicus in the eye. “I would not expect a monster to understand,” he wheezed, finding that his breath came in short gasps too restricted to say much more. He felt blood pooling in his palm and clenched his fist, his lifeblood running in brilliant crimson rivulets between his fingers and dripping off of his knuckles.
Dun, dun, dunnnnnnnn! And that's only the end of chapter two!
Oh, haha and by the way I realize Morvidicus is a ridiculous name for an antagonist. I had forgotten to name him so I had to pull something out of the air mid-sentence!
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Post by luigilargofan1332 on Oct 7, 2009 21:38:36 GMT -5
Oh, THAT explained it...I wondered about that.
Okay, here goes...my third chapter. Sorry, I know it's pretty short...
Three
Krysta, the hostess, didn’t look too happy about having to seat the quartet that just blew in, letting out all the warmth. They looked like bad news - especially the curly-haired one in the sweatshirt. The other two men, despite wearing matching but inverted black-and-red sweaters, were going to be trouble, if solely for the reason that they were identical. Even the woman, in that knee-length black skirt, white tights and button-down shirt, and black sweater, had an aura of danger around her. She was not happy at all.
“Four, please,” the curly-haired man said.
“Smoking or non?”
“Smoking,” he, the white-blond-haired man, and the woman said. The last man was completely spaced out, staring at the ceiling, his head tilted all the way back. His black hair spread across the red of his sweater in a firework pattern.
“Follow me,” Krysta said, already starting to walk away.
This was generally considered to be a bad thing for waitresses and hostesses to do, but she had a feeling that they wouldn’t be tipping well anyway, so she stopped caring.
Alica laced her fingers through Ando’s as, with his other hand, he grabbed Xanto by the back of his neck and steered him after Johnny Dodge. The younger twin appeared not to noticed that his neck was in a vice grip and moved as though he was not being led around like a disobedient child. Still, his gaze - and his attention - was focused elsewhere.
“This okay?” the hostess asked, gesturing toward a booth.
“This is wonderful, Krysta,” Johnny Dodge said, aiming a winning smile in her direction.
That he had noted her name was surprising to her, but she let it slide. “Your waitress will be with you in a minute.” She slipped away before the group could attempt making conversation.
“Okay, so here’s the thing, cockbags,” Johnny Dodge said conspiratorially, leaning his head down so Alica and Ando were forced to to the same. Xanto was off in his own world still. “We need to get another gig set up. With the recognition we got at our last show, we should be able to make a profit on our next one. People like us.”
“Book the Majestic,” Ando said. “They were friendly to us last time.”
“That’s what I was thinking.” JD glanced at Xanto. “Someone’s gonna have to relay this information to him once he comes back.”
“What did you give him, anyway?” Ando asked.
“Eh...” He lowered his voice further. “LSD. He asked for it, so don’t get pissed at me.”
“Who the f**k do you know that sells that sh**?” Ando was having difficulty keeping his voice down; his protective older-brother mindset was kicking in.
“Kayno. He deals anything and everything. He got X a good price for it, too.”
“What kind of dose was it?” Alica hissed after a quick survey of the surrounding tables.
“Really really small. He should be fine in a couple of hours. He took it like four hours ago.”
Ando sighed in disgust. “He didn’t shoot it, did he?”
“No, he didn’t. It was on a Tic-Tac.”
Despite the seriousness of the situation, Alica couldn’t hold back a laugh. “That was sheer genius.”
“Blame the master, not me. All of this was his idea.”
“Don’t give him any more of that.”
“Andy, look. He’s twenty-two years old. He can make his own choices. This big-brother thing you have going on? It’s old. He’s outgrown it - maybe you should, too. Worry about yourself. He has more right than you do to decide what he should and shouldn’t do.”
“He’s an idiot.”
“He’s an adult. Knock it off, you f**king cockbag.”
“He’s destroying his life.”
“He’s doing what he wants. The only person he’s hurting is himself. Let him.”
A muscle in Ando’s cheek twitched. He knew Johnny was right, but he couldn’t help being angry.
“Ando. If this bothers you that much, you should just talk to him about it. Maybe you can convince him to start behaving.”
“I guess. It’s not that I can really lecture him, either. I mean, I’ve done stupid sh** before, so it would be pretty hypocritical of me. Still, he’s on an acid trip right now. How fucked-up is that?”
“A little, but deal with it. In the meantime...” Johnny Dodge looked up over the walls of the booth and around. “Where the devil is that bag waitress?” He brushed his hair back over his ear. “She's taking forever.”
“I see what you did there, subtly inserting that homo gesture into an otherwise innocuous statement,” Ando said.
“Someone is in danger of being kicked, very very hard. There was no homo anywhere near me.”
Alica leaned across Ando, right into a passing waitress. “Excuse me, Judy,” she said, noting the woman’s nametag, “might you have any idea where our waitress is?”
“She should be with you in just a moment,” Judy answered, looking quite displeased with the human trash addressing her.
The brunette offered up a winning smile. “Thank you so much. We really appreciate it.”
After a cursory glance at the booth’s other occupants, Judy scurried away, praying that the girl who had just been clinging to her had washed her hands.
As Alica settled back into her seat, closing her eyes and resting her head on Ando’s shoulder, she heard a voice ask, “What’ll it be to drink?” When, after a moment, no one answered, she made the first move. “I’ll have a root beer.”
“Wonderful,” Ando said. “Who are you talking to?”
Alica opened her eyes. Ando was looking at her with a slightly concerned expression on his face, Johnny Dodge looked to be intensely interested, and the waitress - most curious of all - bore a striking resemblance to Alica’s older sister, Kiela. Also, the waitress was not dressed as Coney Island waitresses usually are, but in a long black dress and a black velvet collar around her throat.
These were the clothes that Kiela had died in. Alica was seeing and hearing a ghost.
Suddenly, Alica was caught in the classic struggle of all those who see ghosts - to tell or not to tell? Technically, anything she saw could be marked up to a bad trip or residual drugs still in her system or simply finally going completely crazy. Still there was that niggling little possibility that she wasn’t crazy, that she really was seeing Kiela’s ghost. None of this explained why, though, she was either hallucinating her sister back in front of her or why her sister was actually back.
She opted to not tell for the moment. “I’m talking to you. I was warning you so you wouldn’t be surprised.”
“You order a root beer every time.”
“Exactly.”
Kiela remained standing by the booth for the duration of their meal - finally their waitress came and their food followed. Alica glanced up every so often to see if Kiela was still there, now silently regarding them with the detached gaze of a scientist observing lab rats, never once attempting to make contact. The younger woman didn’t look up long enough to ever catch the eye of her ghostly sister - she just had a feeling that something bad would come of it.
Xanto had come back down by the time they left, breathing heavily and also refusing to look up. He just took fries from Johnny Dodge’s plate and stared determinedly at the table.
Alica had no idea what, after six years of spiritual silence, her sister’s appearance meant or why she’d chosen to appear in the middle of a Coney Island, but as the quartet left and Kiela followed silently, she had a bad feeling in the pit of her stomach.
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Post by Mama D.N. and new baby Jareth. on Oct 10, 2009 23:13:52 GMT -5
Elsewhere, Naknna bin Rahkha al Emmou seated himself in a military cell. In his arms, clutched to his bosom, a tiny baby nuzzled and blinked away sand from its eyes.
‘Sandda is no place for a baby,’ the Hebrew spy, Marshyel Moye, whispered behind him. Beside him his shikse gel—the young Princess of the West—sat glaring into the darkness, her eyes slitted tight and her knees pressed to her chest with despondent hunger.
‘My travels brought me here,’ Naknna said somberly. ‘He was born in this dungeon, two days before you came. Right over there he came forth, where you are sitting.’ The baby sneezed and nestled his slippery cold nose into Naknna’s breast.
‘So then you are female, nu?’ The Princess and Hebrew moved away from the spatters of dry blood—apparently they’d thought it to be dust—on the stone perch.
‘No. I was born male.’ Naknna unwrapped his pectoral veil and slipped his cloak over the baby’s head. In the darkness, the tiny infant latched his mouth to a heat-roughened nipple there and sucked...gently, appreciative of the night.
‘Nothing you do will get you set free of this place...,’ Marshyel said sourly.
Naknna fixed a veiled eye on Marshyel, whose mossy glare met his face with suspicion.
‘I was not imprisoned here,’ he murmured slowly. ‘I am a guest of the Sandda general. He implored much less base quarters for me to sleep in...but my deeds do not merit worship as my family once did.’ Below his chin, the baby’s hands gently patted and kneaded.
‘Why do you wear that veil,’ Marshyel dared, ‘and what deeds have you done?’
‘Naught you could tell from an action imparted by a noble or a king,’ came the answer. ‘And men do not wear their battle scars proudly in front of a lady...nor do I wear my scars proudly at all.’
‘Battle scars are honorable, don’t you think?’ the Princess asked. ‘I should like to see them if you have fought nobly for our kingdom in your youth.’
‘Yes, perhaps they would be noble, as I have fought nobly many times, but in their make, mine are not honorable,’ Naknna sibilated, ‘and neither are they battle scars.’
The Princess’ hand flew to her lips. Marshyel removed his yarmulkeh and twisted it anxiously in his fingers.
‘Ober yetzt?’ he dared. ‘You are not a noble person?’
‘I have done many things in the name of mitzvoth,’ Naknna murmured. ‘But also I have done things in jihad, influenced to my choices by the madness of a mortal man.’
The baby began to cry agitatedly, pressing his sand-bruised feet to his mother’s sleek, supple belly.
‘Hush, now, David,’ Naknna whispered. ‘Hush. You are David bin Rahkha al Emmou. You must choose wisely what you do in this place...as in every other.’
‘A fine thing to say.’ A black-veiled man strode to the doors. With him stood the General, clad in Sandda militant dress. ‘General,’ he said boldly. ‘Which do you keep these three in for, espionage, subversion or amusement?’
‘None,’ the General answered, his blind eye glinting eerily like bone.
‘Then release them. You have no quarrel with the al Emmou nobles, nor with the royal corps.’ The black-veil frowned, a wisp of snowy hair showing through his chador. ‘As a son of Dammou I demand them freed.’
‘Son? Of Dammou?’ Naknna shot up from the stone perch. David clung to his arms and pulled the cloak from his head to look as well. One honey nipple peeped between his fingers, and he tugged his mother’s pectoral veil together.
‘Yes,’ the black-veil answered. His left shoulder glinted with a hammer-guard...below the guard he clearly did not bear a natural limb. Through the slit in the bin Dammou's hijab, Naknna could see an ebony eye, as well as a pupil drowning in sanguine color.
‘Khrana bin Rukih al Dammou?’ he asked cautiously, knowing this black-veiled gentleman if indeed it was he.
‘And Naknna bin Rahkha al Emmou.’ The black-veil bowed. ‘A pleasure to meet you in health.’
‘And you,’ Naknna murmured deceptively. ‘This is David.’ He chose not to mention to Khrana that David was of his womb, a pureblood of the al Emmou caste.
‘David bin Rahkha al Emmou.’ Khrana seemed pleased, reaching through the doors with a sand-strafed right arm. David reared forward in Naknna’s arms and shook Khrana’s hand warmly with his tiny ones.
‘You are hungry, no? We will take you to the square and eat.’
‘They come with us,’ Naknna said dangerously, ‘and under the same treatment you offer me.’
The General nodded soberly. ‘Naknna. You will not sleep here tonight.’
‘I will sleep wherever I may,’ Naknna whispered. ‘You seem insistent this late afternoon...I would know why.’
‘Nightrealm—It is gone.’
Naknna’s body stiffened. David silently bowed.
‘...They are dead?’ Naknna hissed.
‘It exploded over the Ice South. Wherever they are, they are in Pludda territory now. Pludda and Sandda are warring...I would not wager on your safety if you go there.’
‘I cannot journey to the Green North. It is not safe for me anymore...Mother Tamis will welcome me no longer.’ Naknna bowed low and kissed the ground. David followed suit.
‘Rise. You will remain here.’ The General lifted his hand.
Naknna rose to his feet. Knowing not of the gesture, still Moye and the Princess bowed as well, prostrate.
‘And you both as well,’ the General said, evidently complacent. He held the keys to Naknna through the doors, but Naknna refused them with a shake of his head.
‘David,’ Naknna whispered, ‘open the doors...but gently, I ask you.’
The lock vanished from the doors, as did the chains, and the doors slowly creaked open.
‘My thanks to you, friend,’ Moye murmured. The Princess agreed with a soft nod of her head. Both followed Naknna as he stepped somberly out of the room.
Naknna slowed his pace to match the two spies, and murmured slowly, soft as a scorpion’s hiss:
‘I will leave this place at midnight. Be sure you two follow me, if you wish to keep your lives.’
Daring nothing, the Hebrew and Princess nodded.
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