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Post by Rikku on Nov 3, 2008 23:35:02 GMT -5
I'm sort of flattered. I feel all influence-y. xD
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Post by Kathleen on Nov 4, 2008 0:10:20 GMT -5
xD ..that's awesome. I really love that last line. And the beginning bit about the word 'dark'. Highly amusing, yes. Thank you. :3 I'm glad you liked that - both of those things, actually. xD I'm sort of flattered. I feel all influence-y. xD Yes, quite influence-y. xD It makes Irony my favourite character, though. She needs to meet Mynah. They might have fun together. ^_^ |
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Post by Kathleen on Nov 4, 2008 0:35:42 GMT -5
End of day three. I have a little over elven thousand words. ^_^ I am quite happy with it, though. It's good, I think. I wrote some cool stuff today. And some not so cool stuff. It all evens out. Nice to see I'm following the outline I set for myself. Well, to a certain degree, anyway. I stretched some stuff out, because I was beginning to get a little worried I'd finish the story before fifty thousand words. And some of my characters have taken off. Which is always wonderful. Also, after a slight struggle, I think I've pretty much found most of the music I'll be listening to. Ummm. One more excerpt. And then I promise I'll restrain myself from posting anything else for a couple of days. xD But he wasn’t going to get paid for hanging out with a sarcastic teenage werewolf and a pyromancer with no eyebrows. Okay, so it's really short. I just like it muchly, because it pretty much sums up the whole crowd. =D |
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Post by Kathleen on Nov 4, 2008 23:40:51 GMT -5
Whee. I love, love, love writing this. :3 And, thanks to my sister, I now have a new character. xD Well, two, actually. Both basically just modified. But.. I just couldn't help myself. :3
The next morning it was quite cheerful and sunny. The birds were out and everything, chirping away merrily and ridiculously. Kanza had a pounding headache that led him to believe there had been little actual beans in his ‘coffee’ the night before, and a considerable lot of something quite a bit stronger. It made it extremely difficult getting dressed. Thursdays are always a pain, anyway, and this one had a bad start. Sunny days just didn’t work out for Kanza usually. Grey and gloomy were a lot better, in his opinion. They had cool synonyms. And they were great for slinking around and looking mysterious and heroic. He liked to think of himself as a vengeful, protecting spectre. A figment of Midward’s imagination.
Now that would make a good title: Midward’s Imagination. Wonderful.
The walk to school was dreadfully annoying. Corazon was still asleep when Kanza left, something that made him vaguely suspicious, though he hid it. He wasn’t going to worry. The day was bad enough, what with it being sunny and all, without him deciding to start worrying.
The sun glinted off car windows and spiralled in beautiful patterns on the sidewalk. The whole world seemed cheerier today. There were no puddles; the sidewalks were warm and dry and brown leaves scuttled along them, urged by a pleasant wind. They crunched under Kanza’s vengeful shoes. They looked a little put-out afterwards, drifting off in a million tiny bits. You could hear them whispering to their other leaf-friends, “Well, he’s in a bad mood today.”
Kanza strode along looking for all the world like an angry hornet. He was even wearing yellow and black: Yellow t-shirt with a lot of frothy lace at the collar and gold buttons, pressed black pants and boots shined to a polish. Why he was wearing boots was beyond anyone’s guess; it was Kanza. He liked to stand out. Tennis shoes didn’t make as big of a bang as real honest-to-goodness leather boots. Even if they were a dreadfully dull shade. You couldn’t get hot-pink boots without being laughed at. And even if no-one dared laugh at Kanza (admiring looks were more in when it came to him), it would have ruined his reputation. You just didn’t do it.
There was a lady at the corner in high heels and a silk suit. She was hailing a taxi from the mass congregating in front of the shiny business offices. Kanza waved politely to her in a slightly distracted manner, failing to notice the woman’s hat, which was pink. With feathers. It was an interesting accessory, though, sadly, not plot-relevant.
Kanza stepped up beside her, causing the woman to turn around, frown a little, then ignore him as a taxi pulled up just then. Kanza hit the walk button, and sat back on his heels to await the long line of cars that streamed past.
His phone rang at exactly the same time as someone behind him said,
“You know, it’s much more fun to just run across. All those tyres squealing.” Kanza jumped and dropped the cell phone he’d fished out of his pocket. It was an undignified move, again. He seemed to be making them more and more often these days. Occupational hazard.
“Gah,” he spluttered, staring at Irony. The werewolf girl was resplendent in pink jeans, a plaid kilt with an ornate belt that looked to be made out of copper, and a green t-shirt. It said, Jonathan Coulton Pwns You! Across it in brilliant yellow letters.
“Like it?” Irony asked, noticing his stare. She twirled round on the sidewalk for him, and Kanza was vaguely surprised to hear an absence of shrieking horns and crashing noises. He’d expected several car accidents by now. Indeed, there was one man who dropped his coffee on his lap, and one young-ish girl driving herself to uni who happened to look up and keep looking up and accidentally drove into the curb. He didn’t see either. But all in all, most things were fine. Except for one bird that dropped dead from sheer sensory-overload.
“This is who we’re walking with?” someone interrupted, and Kanza tore his gaze away from the kilt, which he now noticed had red poodles sewn all over it, and looked up. And up. And up a little more. Brian Phillips was very tall. He was also skinny as a rail and twice as fragile-looking as glass. He looked like he might blow over if you breathed too hard. He had very pale skin to match Irony’s, and dark, dark eyes.
“Nice to meet you, I’m Brain,” continued Brian cheerfully. Irony stopped spinning and shoved her hair out of her eyes in one quick movement.
“Oh, yeah, this is my brother, Brian,” she said cheerfully. “He’s weird. Brian, meet…er…”
“Brain,” Brian corrected carefully, at the same time as Kanza supplied bitterly,
“Kanza.”
“I know your name, Prince Charming,” Irony snapped, shooting Kanza a freezing look. “And your name is not Brain, for the last time, Brian!”
Brian looked hurt. “There’re three other Brians in my class already,” he explained morosely to Kanza. “I just switched a couple letters around. They call me a geek, but it’s worth it.”
Kanza was floored. Literally. He was considering sitting down right there on the pavement and putting his head in his hands. Either that, or turn around and march straight home. This day was turning out to be worse than he’d thought. Just to prove that things can always get worse, though, it was exactly then that the crosswalk turned green and cheerfully mimed a stick-figure striding across the street. Kanza gave Irony and Brian—Brain—a weary look, shouldered his backpack firmly, and marched in all his boots and lacy yellow shirt finery across the street. Irony followed closely behind, humming a tune under her breath and swinging a lime-green messenger bag. Brain raced after the lot of them, long limbs flying out in all directions. He looked like a small hurricane. Brain running was a sight indeed to behold. It was astonishing how me managed to run at all; by the look of things, he should have tripped and fallen in several different directions long ago. As it was, he only just seemed to be holding it together.
The passengers of the cars waiting at the stoplight gaped. A very prissy man had his mouth open, his jaw lightly grazing the steering wheel. An elderly lady was muttering under her breath, “Kids these days.”
“Mind telling me just exactly what you’re doing here?” Kanza snapped, gaining the other sidewalk and continuing to stride along just as fast as his boots would allow. Heads in cars all along the street turned in his direction. He ignored them. He was in a nice Kanza-mood; one of those ones even the gods tend to flee from.
“We just moved here,” Irony said cheerfully, keeping pace easily. Her legs seemed to be extendable; they just kept on coming, longer, longer, longer…hit the sidewalk and pull the rest of her along. She was sporting an excessive collection of silver earrings and a sort of bangle tied into her very long hair, which was loose and in serious danger of tripping her. The electric blue stripes stood out prominently.
He doesn't like sun much. I really do wonder why. |
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Post by Rikku on Nov 5, 2008 0:08:42 GMT -5
Ee. Irony is love. <3 As is Brain. And comments about boots and reputations and suchlike.
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Post by Kathleen on Nov 5, 2008 0:40:20 GMT -5
Ee. Irony is love. <3 As is Brain. And comments about boots and reputations and suchlike. Thank you. :3 I'm awfully fond of Irony, myself. ^_^ And my sister gets most of the credit for Brain. xD She was the one who suggested his name. And he was so awesome he replaced Irony's cutout cardboard brother. :3 Boots are always love. I've always wanted some. Reputations should be shiny, as well. =D |
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Post by Kathleen on Nov 5, 2008 2:14:41 GMT -5
Fifteen thousand. I did it. ^_^ *is immensely pleased with herself* Due to my sister reading over my shoulder and laughing hysterically, no doubt. Great motivator. =D Hmm. It's 11:12. 15,072 words. Done day four.
School was a drag. With iron spikes. Or a mace, being hauled backwards through the dirt. Possibly by a very hairy warrior in a kilt with a broadsword.
It caught every step of the way. If high school hadn’t been mandatory, it would have been purgatory. No joke.
High school with Irony and Brain, however, was torture. Pure torture. Kanza liked to go through life with style. With flair and elegance, trailing a nine-foot reputation behind him. Irony came after, calmly treading it into the dirt. In one day, she was the focal point of the whole school. Besides the fact that she was a werewolf (which was epic in itself), no-one had ever met anyone stranger. Irony topped even the weirdest worst of the school. She was a step above and below everyone. She didn’t fit into a class; no, she was far too unique for that. She was just Irony. And there was plenty of irony about it, though if you’d ever said that to her face, you might want to seriously consider moving to Under Midward a few days later. Not that she went around sporting her wolfishness, or really biting people, either. She just had a habit of smiling at you, with those very dangerous looking teeth.
She followed Kanza around everywhere, like some kind of annoying fly. Buzz, buzz, buzz…he smiled at everyone and introduced her, and stood by with a tight little grin and a very blank expression while she completely shredded his reputation.
There was a lot of Jonathan Coulton going around that morning, as well. In math class, there was a resounding chorus of, “Ikea! Just some oak and some pine and a handful of Norsemen...”
By ten o’clock, Kanza found himself humming very quietly, “And there’s a creepy doll, it’s got a ruined eye…” he was ever so slightly horrified.
Brain was perhaps worse, in his own odd way. He was not just a geek, he was a Geek, with a capital g. And he explained it to everyone he met, very earnestly. He also made very weird jokes that couldn’t be explained except perhaps by a rocket scientist. And there didn’t seem to be many at hand, only clusters of completely bewildered students blinking and nodding in a kind of odd acceptance, then staring after Brain as he walked off along the hallways, humming to himself, completely agape with awe.
The day seemed to go on forever, and ever, and by the time lunch rolled around, Kanza was almost glad, for once. Usually lunch was the opportunity to be gazed at by a mulititude of students, and hear his name whispered over and over in conversations usually containing the words “Amazing” and “Demon”. It was quite gratifying, but also somewhat boring. He tried to avoid it when at all possible, but simply ignoring the fact that it was lunch, and finding something else to do. Such as arranging his clothes in the bathroom mirror, or composing a new piano piece. The former actually required nearly as much work as the latter, his clothes being comparable to a piano piece, in all actuality. There was finesse to them. Only he could truly understand it.
This lunch, however, was a different matter entirely. Kanza stood stolidly in the lunch-line, looking strict and heroic as he moved forward to take a packaged salad and several containers of jell-o. he wasn’t really paying attention, as was fairly obvious by the odd collection amassing itself on his tray. It now included two containers of milk, and coffee creamer.
Irony was right behind him, chattering away. She really was an awfully talkative person. Sarcastic, dark, and completely deranged.
“You know, people here are so friendly. Well, people all over in Midward, actually. I noticed that when we moved in last week. Two weeks, I mean, it’s been really. The apartment’s crap of course, but cool nonetheless. And there’s so many interesting people! You wouldn’t believe how boring Albany is; no even remotely normal sentient beings to speak of. The cheesecakes aren’t half-bad, though, except when they talk. That’s a little weird.”
“Why are you following me around everywhere?” Kanza asked under his breath, inching forward and staring very hard at the bobbing ponytail of the girl in front of him. She had nice hair. But it was nothing compared to Irony’s. Irony had…well, fantastic hair.
“Following you? Don’t kid yourself, Prince Charming.” She was scornful again. She switched moods awfully fast. She swung her hair over her shoulder, her bracelets clinking against the metal of the lunch counter. A couple of senior boys gaped openly, and the lady at the checkout register looked as if she was unsure exactly what to make of this anomaly. Irony began to fish around in her wallet. Several things fell out, clattering to the counter. “I’m sticking to you because you know this place, and I’m pretty bad with directions. North, south, west, type ones, I mean. And expect me to know if you walk around saying that.”
A long glare. Kanza revised his idea of the day. It was now officially the worst one he could imagine ever having. He couldn’t think of anything that could possibly make it worse, except perhaps those fashion-magazine-cover girls glancing from him to Irony, and back again, their faces blanker than bacon. Which is pretty blank, as blank things go.
“Ah, money.” Irony triumphantly waved a five-dollar bill at the lunch lady, who took it a little dazedly, her eyes travelling up and down the length of Irony, obviously trying to decide whether or not her vision needed checking. Irony gave her a cheerful smile, and clanked and rattled away. She seemed to have added some sparkly bits to her belt; they clattered, metal-against-metal. Kanza admired them in a sort of bitter, jealous way. She was seriously cramping his style. Actually, stealing would have been a better description. But it didn’t sound as cool.
Kanza was only slightly amazed to find the odd collection of food-related items that seemed to have congregated on his lunch tray. He decided to just the leave the lot, and slunk out of line rather incogrously, much to the lunch lady’s grousing dismay.
“Oi, you,” she called after him, her plump face going into typical lunch-lady type frown. Kanza turned halfway across the vast expanse of tables and gave her a perfectly innocent look, following up by a charming smile.
“So sorry, I just forgot my bag,” he excused himself. The lunch lady’s face melted. She opened her mouth to offer condolences, but was interrupted by the next person in line, who complained, loud enough for everyone to hear,
“Why does he get away with everything?”
It was a rhetorical question, and was answered only by Kanza’s supremely innocent look, and a couple of approving nods from teachers clustered in corners as he passed.
He glanced around. He seemed to have temporarily lost Irony. Seizing his opportunity, he turned sharply for the doors, and darted outside. He paused in the empty corridor, across from the bulletin board to which were tacked notices for the student play, and leaned against the wall for a moment, feeling rather proud of himself. Finally, a moment alone.
“How do you do that?” Irony appeared at his elbow. She was holding a plastic bottle of juice. Kanza stared at her. This girl defied the laws of physics. As well as a few other ones. She looked the breaking-and-entering type. In fact, Irony had a few dirty tricks up her sleeve that she was quite keen to play. But not at the moment. Right now, she was primarily interested, it seemed, in generally astonishing the entire population of Midward. If in less than a day she’d managed to conquer the whole high school, she was well on her way to world domination. All she needed was a couple more victories. It looked like it was going to be pretty easy.
“Hmm. Do you know Mr Edwards?” Irony was holding up a piece of paper and squinting at it with narrowed violet eyes.
“History teacher,” Kanza sighed, giving up. “He likes me.”
“Everyone does.” Irony looked scornful. “I’ve been noticing; the whole school worships you, demon boy.”
Kanza’s day brightened ever so slightly. Figuratively, anyway. His type of bright day would be nice and chilly with clouds and a light rain.
“I’m likeable,” he agreed. Irony rolled her eyes heavenwards.
“Hopeless,” she muttered. “Absolutely hopeless. You know that, don’t you, pretty boy?” She directed the last at Kanza, along with her trademark glare.
Kanza tried without success to wipe the smug look off his face.
“It’s the demon-hunting,” he suggested. “People around here like that. Our government’s doing all it can to eradicate them. It’s getting to be a mess. An epidemic.” He was getting into his stride now, the Demon-Hunting Speech he’d rehearsed many times after he’d first heard it, delivered not quite so eloquently by a man Kanza had met the first time he’d ever been out on the streets in search of demons.
The man had been very gruff and matter-of-fact about it; not your typical hero.
“Them’s spreadin’ like the plague; it’s all we can do to keep ’em somewhat under control. It’s not a job of much honour, boy. You want recognition, you go stick your hat on a politician’s seat. It’s them’s that gets all the cheers and clappin’ when the time comes. Us, we’re just stuck out on the street, half of us not even gettin’ paid, doing what we think’s right.”
He’d been wrong in a couple quite important points, Kanza thought (namely the ‘recognition’ one), but overall it was a nice speech, and he’d taken some parts and honed them down, sharpened them up, rounded them out.
“We’re the city’s protectors. It’s us that does all the dirty work; we are the city.” He paused for breath. His arms were slightly lifted. He looked the picture of an angel defending his city. Irony was staring at him, eyebrows raised, looking amused and somewhat startled.
It was at that very remarkable and notable moment that the floor shook with a tremendous force, and the wall behind him split down the centre like a cracked eggshell. It was all very nice and neat. The screams that followed were not.
Kanza turned, very, very slowly. It was quite silent still out in the hallway, though no doubt the lunchroom was a mess of panic and confusion. There were just the two of them out there.
Irony was leaning forward ever so slightly, her mouth hanging slightly open. Her juice bottle slowly slipped out of her hand and fell to the floor, where it rolled a couple feet and then stopped, the liquid sloshing inside.
There was dead silence for a second. Both Kanza and Irony were frozen, staring at the wall. The crack was really very large. Little puffs of concrete floated out of it, dusting Kanza’s boots. There was a sign hanging out of the crack. It was very odd, considering.
“‘Press button, receive bacon?’” Irony asked. She sounded nonplussed.
“I rather think that means ‘dry your hands’,” Kanza observed. Then, “Run?”
Irony blinked.
“Good idea, pretty boy.”
The doors to the cafeteria burst open.
It's basically the start of all the action, so yeah. I'm looking forward to it. ^_^ |
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Post by Rikku on Nov 5, 2008 13:44:19 GMT -5
*is laughing too hard to say how cool this is, but does the thumbs up anyway*
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Post by Kathleen on Nov 6, 2008 0:47:58 GMT -5
I has made someone laugh? Amazing! =D
Ehm. In other words, I forced myself through (what I really, really hope is) the hardest part of this whole thing. Or one of the hardest parts. The whole scene was a total drag. Forced writing for two thousand words. ;__;
Also I'm vaguely worried, because Aloize hasn't shown up yet (well, met Kanza, really.. she's here plenty), and meanwhile Kanza and Irony are getting awfully close. And that really wasn't supposed to happen. Not like this. Mmm. I suppose I can't complain; they are awfully clever together. =D
However I am hopeful things will be easier now. For a while, anyway. Before I tangle myself up in the depths of an unplanned ending. >.>; (I'm hoping for a bolt of inspiration before I'm actually stuck writing it.. *crosses fingers*)
End of day five: 17,019 words. Ick.
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Post by Kathleen on Nov 7, 2008 0:19:42 GMT -5
I am happy with this part. Even though I'm nowhere near done tonight. It was funness itself to write. =D One of my only awesome-interludes, too. Dang. I should make more. Only that wouldn't really progress the plot. And Kanza would feel ignored. Poor Kanza.
In Southside, it was raining molten lead. And there were a couple spontaneously-combusted buildings, too.
Ned Parker leaned against the rope keeping most people from falling off the pier straight into the Pacific Ocean. He was leaning quite far over. He was watching the fifty-foot tall pillar of flame that was rising up from beyond the harbour front with wide eyes.
“Do you think it’s true, then, Henry? What they’re sayin’ about the demon?” he asked breathlessly, looking to the ginger-haired man sitting cross-legged on the ground beside him.
The cross-legged man blinked slowly. He was wearing suspenders and no belt. And a blue dress shirt with sunflowers on it. He looked a little grey. All-over, skin tone grey. This was understandable, considering the fact that he was a zombie.
He raised and lowered one shoulder, rotating it a bit. He smoothed his beard. Then he nodded, also very, very slowly.
“Yeah…I reckon they might be, after all, Ned.” Henry Longstock was not slow; at least, not in the conventional sense of the word. He was slow, just not slow. He did everything slowly. He believed in taking his time. It came from being a zombie. Henry had thousands of years behind and ahead of him. he could afford to take his time. He was taking his time to think this one over.
A drop of something hit the water behind Ned. It sizzled and crackled and a couple fish died. Not that Ned knew that; the fish were very quiet about their dying thing.
“Hmm. Seems ridiculous, if you ask me. We’ve never had a problem with demons before.” He looked at his shoes, which were very shiny. There was a very long silence.
“There’s always a first time,” Henry reminded him. Henry was meditating. He did it ten times a day. It worked wonders. It was totally worth it to be fired. No-one had ever understood the genius of Henry Longstock at that awful desk job. Of course, it was unlikey that anyone in the soup kitchen would understand Henry’s genius, either, but that was just an occupational hazard. And some genius-recognisers do hang around soup kitchens. Really.
Ned grunted. Ned was a grunting sort of person. He fidgeted a little, and almost fell over backwards into the water.
“You think they’ll bother us nonhumans? Not like we ever bothered ’em.”
“One can never tell, Ned,” Henry said patiently, after another long pause.
“All the same,” Ned said uncomfortably, “we’d best be prepared. Mebbe I’d better get my coat. I like my coat. I don’t want it ruined by no darn demon.”
Ned wasn’t the most eloquent person in the word. He was rather frank. But not a Frank. Certainly not. He was an Englishman, born and bred, in 1720. Well, actually, technically he was a vampire now. But an English vampire.
“Maybe you should, Ned,” Henry agreed. (After about two minutes in which a few more fish became battered cod and Ned looked at his shoes). “I’ve seen a good many demon wars come and go, and this is how many of them started. Of course, there’s always a hero who saves the day,” he added thoughtfully. “Well, usually. Most of the time. Quite often. Sometimes. Rarely.”
There was silence except for the soft plopping of melting lead hitting the pacific ocean. Then Ned said,
“Yeah. I think I’d better get my coat.”
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Post by Rikku on Nov 7, 2008 0:24:31 GMT -5
xD I particularly like the phrasing at the end there. It just ... works.
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Post by Kathleen on Nov 7, 2008 0:35:24 GMT -5
xD I particularly like the phrasing at the end there. It just ... works. My thanks. xD It would appear I got something right. =D |
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Post by Kathleen on Nov 8, 2008 1:04:47 GMT -5
Word count: 19,303. .. difficulties. >.>; I was aiming for twenty thousand, but this works. ^_^ Especially since I was plowing straight through a very dangerous sort of roadblock. The kind that makes one very seriously consider deleting eighteen thousand words. *cough* Thanks to some people for helping me out with it. :3 (I think you know who you are). I'll be able to catch up to twenty-five at least tomorrow I think. I need motivation. Excerpts give me motivation. Just seeing what poor quality junk I've written. =D
“Are there any lights in here, or do werewolves like living in the dark?” he asked, raising one eyebrow sardonically. Irony turned around to give him one of her famous dark looks.
“Try the wall, demon boy,” she suggested, and her tone wasn’t very polite. She turned back the kettle, at the same moment someone appeared around the doorway from the livingroom.
“Irony? Ire, is that you?” Kanza turned quickly to see the newcomer. A tall man stood, squinting and blinking a little, as though he had been in a dark room and just stepped out into bright sunlight. He also looked slightly lost; his checkered flannel shirt and ratty old jeans contributed to this, as did the spectacles perched haphazardly on his nose, and the ink stains on his bony hands. He looked like a stereotypical bestselling fantasy writer. The kind that stay locked up in a dim office for five hours a day, surviving on coffee and marshmallows, and when forced to venture out of their den, blink rather a lot and look lost and mix up people’s names.
Arnold Phillips was not a fantasy writer. And if he was, he most certainly would not have been a bestseller. He was, in fact, an accountant. Which was actually just as bad, if not worse.
“Dad!” It was surprising the change in Irony. Kanza had expected a sarcastic remark, maybe a flippant look. To his utter shock, she darted across the room to enfold her somewhat bemused father in a tight hug.
“See, I told you she’d be home soon. She was just looking out for the human.” Brain wandered into the kitchen, looking, as usual, more than a little lost and out of place. His hair was sticking straight up and there was ash on his face; it looked a little as though he’d put his finger in an electric socket and then fallen over into the fireplace. “Nasty fire, wasn’t that? I don’t think it was an accident,” he added conversationally, proving that Brain could be surprisingly intuitive while at the same time annoying the hell out of anyone he happened to be around. He was Brain. It went without saying.
“Accident? Fire?” Arnold looked a little lost. “What fire? Brian, what’s all this?” he blinked a couple of times. “Aren’t you two supposed to still be in school. Oh, I’m Mr Phillips, by the way,” he added, suddenly seeming to remember Kanza and switching tracks remarkably fast. He stuck out a hand and smiled cheerily while a somewhat-disturbed Kanza shook it.
“Nice to meet you. I’m Kanza Fey. I…er, go to school with Irony.” He had trouble saying the words; they came out a little forced and sounded remarkably like he was choking. Mr. Phillips didn’t seem to notice, he just nodded, looking happy.
“Ah, I see. Making friends already? But you didn’t tell me about the fire. What happened? Did one of the pyromancers have an accident again?” He directed the last at his daughter, turning to frown at her. Irony shook her head, making her hair bob up and down.
“Nope. School kinda…”
“Collapsed,” Brain supplied helpfully. He ran a hand through his hair. Needless to say, it didn’t help neaten it.
“Blew up,” Kanza corrected. He wished the kitchen’s windows had a view of something other than a graffiti-covered wall, most of which he couldn’t make out from the distance and in the poor light.
He could just make out the words, “Grubs r poor hill” and was trying to figure out what that could possibly mean. It actually said something along the lines of, “Grab ur POO here!” but, perhaps luckily, he didn’t know that.
..not my favourite scene in the world. I think I messed it up rather badly. *ponders* Ah well. |
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Post by Abra on Nov 8, 2008 17:25:45 GMT -5
Would you mind if I stole your little character quiz bit? :3 Naturally credit will go to you (and Omni) XD
It'd be really helpful for me to keep tabs on who likes what.
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Post by Kathleen on Nov 10, 2008 0:57:56 GMT -5
Would you mind if I stole your little character quiz bit? :3 Naturally credit will go to you (and Omni) XD It'd be really helpful for me to keep tabs on who likes what. Feel free. I basically stole it (with credit). xD Anywho. 21k. I finally cleared the whole stumbling block. The next part should be veritable hot chocolate and marshmallows. :3 .. I'm sure that didn't make sense. =D My last sentence because I'm rather fond of it: |
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