Trilly's Nano-Thing-Attempt (Trilly is Done!!)

[Trilly (18426 words)]

H'okay. Why not take a whack at this novel thing? Sounds like fun. ^____^

Werewolves are not as unusual as I thought. Oh, well.

We all know that crazy "They Fight Crime!" thread on Off Topic, right? Well, even if you don't, you might find it interesting to note that the entire plotline for my novel that I've been formulating for the last week is based off a single line from from a random-word generator:

He's an alcoholic werewolf with a passion for fast cars.

...

The flame-throwing nun will probably make an appearance, though. ^__- And I've been trying to incorporate some other fun stuff as well. I have four main characters decided on currently, with simple head sketches in the works, and I'll probably make a high-handed and somewhat pathetic attempt at a believable villain sometime soon. So I'm kinda-sorta on my way. Yays!

I'll put up profiles when I get those pictures finished, but here's a "brief" opening that I'll be building onto.

SPOILER: Click to show

Okay. Here's the basic idea. This is just planning, and subject to change. <br><br>

My main character's name is Emmet (inspired by Back to the Future, but with no real connection), and he's a werewolf. An alcoholic werewolf.
The setting is in an earth-like parallel universe, in approximately 1920 or thereabouts. It's somewhat steampunk, with technology that may seem out of place at times. This world, however, is facing some fairly significant changes in society when the story begins. A substance created with the world's technology begins causing rather disturbing changes within the country's populace. Namely, exposure to this substance can cause two possible results: death, or, in very rare cases, mutation.

Emmet was a fairly well-known automobile racer until he was exposed during a particularly messy crash. The papers and his adoring fans alike all wrote him off as dead, but he was rushed to the hospital and saved in the last minute. Far from receiving a parade from the people who once cheered him on when he was finally discharged from the hospital, Emmet instead found that his Lycanthropy mutation had caused people to distrust him, and that he had lost his racing job as a result. While werewolves were tentatively tolerated, no one really wanted to support a "non-human" on the race track.
I'll post more when I actually figure out what'll happen.

(Edit)
And here's the cast...

SPOILER: Click to show

[Rikku]

*perks up* Trilly writing? Trilly novel? *glances at basic idea* ... Brilliant. =D

(This'd probably be better in the NaNo board, incidentally.)

[Trilly (18426 words)]

Yes, I realize it is on the wrong board. >> I'm waiting for a mod-ly person to come and fix my error.

But I can has pictures! *gleeful*

[Rikku]

*coos over pictures*

NaKaranth? Ooh. I predict explosions in the future, with a mild chance of traffic jams spanning multiple cities.

[Trilly (18426 words)]

We can only hope. ^^

...And my thread got moved! Thanks Carrie!

[Zylaa]

That sounds like a fun idea, and those are awesome drawings!

[Trilly (18426 words)]

I kinda let this thing die, didn't I?

With three days left before November, I'm finally going to put together some character information. Talk about cutting it close.

SPOILER: Click to show

Emmet Jackson

While not being a champion of any sort, Emmet was definitely one of the up-and-coming stars on the car racing track, until his accident. During a fairly minor race, he lost control of his vehicle, crashed, and nearly died. He was rushed to the hospital and shortly made a full recovery, which stunned everyone who heard about it. Later, it got out that his survival wasn't a miracle, but rather that he was no longer "human" in the fullest sense of the word, and he now had a greater capacity for healing.

Somehow during the rash, Emmet had become a werewolf, and he has not the slightest idea how.

Non-humans, although becoming increasingly common, are tolerated but not trusted by society. At any rate, a werewolf car racer would not be all that popular with the public, so Emmet lost his job. All but broke, Emmet rents an apartment in a cheap part of town, takes up drinking, and reflects upon how miserable he is.

He is convinced that he has now been forgotten, and has no idea that he is being followed.

Danielle Blackburn

Danielle is Emmet's only real "friend", if she could even be called that. She's the most sharp-tongued, bad-tempered individual he's ever had the misfortune to meet, and what makes it worse is that he actually needs her. A bona fide witch, Danielle has been brewing potions, setting runes, and working like crazy to find a way to cure Emmet's Lycanthropy, which so far has yielded very disappointing results. She makes Emmet pay through the teeth for her help, but their relationship has gradually evolved to become more open than focussed solely on business. Danielle may come across as insensitive because she believes in telling people what they need to hear, rather than what the want to hear.

NaKaranth

The proverbial thorn in Emmet's side, NaKaranth appeared out of the blue one day chock-full of crazy and ill-advised ideas. Although he is obviously intelligent, possibly even to the point of brilliance, he can be responsible one moment and extremely childish the next.

NaKaranth wants to find out what's causing Earth's population to mutate, and it's quite possible he'll succeed, given that he doesn't seem to respect the same boundaries as most people (eg. right to privacy, rights of ownership). Also, he has the advantage of having Emmet on his side (if, of course, he can get Emmet on his side).

Amanda "Mandy" Dennings

Mandy is a small-time chef from a bakery near Emmet's street. He walks by there every other day, and she always smiles and waves at him. She also offers him cookies, which he never accepts, and they've never even really had an actual conversation. Still, she's probably the only person who's actually nice to him, and he has a bit of a crush on her. Emmet wants to avoid bringing her into his life while he's a werewolf, however, so he's doing his best not to form any real attachments.

[Trilly (18426 words)]

November 2nd
I've just passed the nine page mark on my story, which successfully brings me to chapter 2. ^__^ I managed to get over 4000 words during the last day and a half. I hit some rough spots earlier, since I had a three hour dance practice yesterday and read over what I wrote yesterday only to decide I hated it, and I slogged through an extremely boring beginning sequence with only the main character.

Happily, though, things started picking up when I finally brought another character in. ^^ Danielle is so fun to write.

I'm also probably going to have a lot of fun in the next chapter. This is actually my favourite series of events that I have planned. What I will say is this: it involves zealous nuns, fire, breaking and entering, and I finally get to give some solid information on the 3 W's of non-humans (Witches, Walkers, Werewolves).

So yeah.

November 4th

I can has a flamethrowing nun. ^^; I feel sullied and unclean.

I wrote 3000 words yesterday, successfully making up for the terrible effort I gave on the first day.

Things are going to start picking up pretty soon, though. The nun bit was really fun to write, but I mostly just added her as a bit of an initial attention-grabber to prevent the story from being too boring and mopey. I'll be able to establish a better plot soon, and actually get a bit of the actual story started.

[Trilly (18426 words)]

November 11

Today I hit the halfway point! ^^ And more fun things are going to start happening soon!

Reasons for Happiness:
-Emmet has stopped being emo.
-Emmet has turned into a werewolf for the first time in the story.
-Emmet has finally talked to Mandy in a not-flashback scene.
-Emmet finally has a bit of an idea who the villains are!

Reason for Unhappiness:
-Emmet has just figured out who the villains probably are, has turned into a werewolf, and will probably be emo again very soon.

----

Nov.26-EDIT: The Prologue, destroyer of worlds. I tried to make it interesting, but it doesn't have the feel I was trying to get. Still, it does kind of give a bit more dimension to the rest of the story, so it's actually kind of important. When I originally posted part one, I honestly doubted I'd want to post the entire story, so I skipped it. Probably shouldn't have, in reflection

SPOILER: Click to show

Prologue

The world is a riot of colours streaking by. It seems almost surreal to travel so effortlessly at this speed, to realize just how natural it now seemed to me. The wheel in my hands and that single lock of hair that gets in my eyes no matter how often I brush it away seem pale and artificial in contrast to the sight of pavement and stadium stands blending into each other.

My breathing sounds harsh and obtrusively loud to my ears, so loud that it almost overpowers the roar of my engines and the sounds of the crowd as they call out the names of their favourite racers. The wind roars in my ears, and my eyes are so dry they burn, despite the protection offered by my goggles. But I don’t care.

I’m only ever truly happy when I’m driving.

It happened suddenly, so suddenly I never really figured out what was wrong. I only know that one second I had been flying across the track, the blurring colours laid out in perfect streaks around me, and the next... maybe I hit a rough spot, or one of my car’s mechanical workings failed. I can only guess. The world spun, the streaks of colour were no longer smooth and straight, but began to fluctuate alarmingly. I felt sick to my stomach, and stepped on the brakes.

I may have thought I flew before, but this was in a more literal sense. I was told later I flipped off the track, but there was little I understood as this was taking place. I knew I was going to die even before I finally came to a stop, because it all hurt more than I even thought was possible. I don’t remember any details about what actually happened; just that pain.

When the world stopped spinning, I was barely conscious. I wish I hadn’t been--if I’d been knocked out or even killed, I wouldn’t have been lying on the ground next to the wreckage of my car, left wondering if the wetness matting my hair and running down my face was really blood, or just gas from the busted fuel tank. I tried to move my legs, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t raise my arm to brush that darned strand of hair out of my eyes. I couldn’t even move my finger.

Some people are rushing towards me. They are wearing white coats, and they look like they’re carrying boxes of some kind. When they find me, one of them crouches down next to me and gives one quick glance over my damaged state.

“Not anything much we can do for this one. Even if he survives, he’ll be paralyzed.”

I couldn’t move my head to get a better view of his companion, but I think he may have chuckled. He tossed something, which the other man caught.

A small flashlight shone in my eyes.

“Well, I’ll be darned.” The crouching man said with disbelief. “Looks like we should get him to the hospital as quickly as possible.”

I didn’t understand what was happening, but at the time nothing made sense at all, so that wasn’t surprising.

I had no way of knowing what I would become in a few hours’ time.

Here izza first chapter. I don't like it very much, but... I like the prologue even less, so here you go. Also, not italics, since I'm lazy.

SPOILER: Click to show

Chapter One: One Year Later

At one time, my life had been laid out elegantly in front of me. I had a job doing what I loved, the promise of making a great deal of money, a chance at fame, my own car... people had liked me. And in many cases I had liked them back. To varying degrees. There had been people who did things for me so I wouldn’t have to bother myself with unwanted tasks, who smoothed the path ahead of me until it practically glowed with polish. I was as happy as I was capable of being, but it was more of a calm contentedness than any actual happiness. The knowledge that if I wanted, I could have let myself be at complete peace with the world.

Strange just how much can change in a year. Or even just eleven months and nine days.

I was far from being at peace with the world today. One of these days, hopefully very soon, I will wage war on that bloody hellish train that simply must clank by my apartment every morning at 6:30, with all its bells and sirens blaring so loudly that they make the entire building shake. I haven’t had an uninterrupted sleep since I moved to the cheap Northside district.

I awoke to those discordant tones at the same time this morning, and as usual, sat up quickly without pausing to reflect on the height of the roof. I slammed my head against the ceiling, deepening the already rather sizable dent dent in the plaster, and as I clutched my aching head, I had to ask myself why I had moved the bed to be right underneath the lowest part of the sloped roof. Maybe I should relocate the bed before I cracked my skull open. Or better yet, find a different cheap apartment room to rent, preferably one that wasn’t in a building’s attic.

But to get a new apartment, I’d need a handy amount of money, which I did not have. To get money for the new room, I’d need to get a job, another thing I didn’t have, or particularly want, for that matter. Even if I did want a job, I wasn’t positive I could even find someone willing--or crazy--enough to hire me.

But it was true: I was starting to run dangerously low on cash. The small stockpile of money from my former job as a car racer was almost gone now, and sooner or later I’d need to get a job, whether I wanted one or not.

I ducked my head cautiously and stumbled out of bed, not raising it again until I was sure the roof was high enough to accommodate me and stretched, working the kinks out of my muscles until I felt loose enough to convince even my own pessimistic brain that I was still alive. I staggered to the bathroom, wondering why my head was pounding so abysmally in my ears. Surely it wouldn’t feel like that after a small whack with a chunk of plaster...

Oh, right. I must’ve been drinking again last night. It would at least explain why I had gone to sleep fully clothed, and why I was having difficulty remembering exactly what I had done yesterday.

I performed the necessary tasks in the tiny bathroom that connected to my room. All things considered, I was lucky to have gotten a place with running water, if only for mornings like this, when it was nice to have access to a sink that you could fill to the brim with icy water and dunk your entire head in. I liked to think of this as the ultimate hangover cure.

I lifted my dripping head from the sink and scrubbed my face with a towel, and when I was satisfied that it was dry I moved onto my hair, rubbing it viciously until it stuck out at all angles. As I was doing this, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror, but I looked away before I could see any details. I sucked in a breath, frustrated that after an entire year I still couldn’t seem to sum up the courage to look at myself in a mirror. Did I really think that if I ignored the problem, it would go away?

Cautiously, I glanced up at my reflection. I thought my face looked almost the same as it had a year ago, apart from the fact that it was thinner, and probably paler from not seeing the sun a whole lot. My hair, frizzy from the towel and slightly darkened by the water, was long and still pretty much the same reddish-tan shade it had always been. It was my eyes I didn’t like seeing, their bizarre pale orange colour so different from the way they had been before the accident. It was because of these stupid eyes that I hated leaving my apartment. That I couldn’t walk through a crowd without people instinctively shying away from me. That I no longer had my racecar or my job, and was living in this seedy little place. That my head ached abominably.

Unfortunately, It was also because I had those eyes that I was still alive.

***

I zoned out for awhile in front of the mirror. I may have actually fallen asleep again, but the sounds of a domestic disagreement from downstairs roused me, and I headed off towards the kitchen in hopes of finding something not too spoiled to eat. On my way there, I passed the door, and noticed with some surprise that there was an envelope lying underneath the mail slot. I hadn’t gotten any mail since I had moved here.

I picked up the envelope and looked it over dubiously as I continued walking. There was a small design of a circle of gears on the top right corner-- a logo that I immediately recognized. However, I seriously doubted that the owners of that logo would be at all interested in talking to me, so it was probably just someone’s idea of a prank. I dropped the letter onto the kitchen counter with a shrug. I could read it later if I felt like it. In the mean time, the need for food was more pressing. I opened a random cupboard and dug through the piles of empty bottles and boxes until I found an open box of cereal that felt a little heavy and made promising noises when shaken. I popped open the top flaps and began munching on handfuls of the stale bits of cereal, mentally deciding that, despite the current shortage of funds, some money would definitely be going towards the almost nonexistent food budget. No one could survive off dry cereal forever.

I sat down at the table listlessly and let my eyes roam over what had become of my life. A tiny, run-down apartment space with only three small rooms, garnished in a horrible orange striped wallpaper that would have looked unbearable even before it was ripped and peeling, a few pieces of furniture, a refrigerator that shut down more often than not...

But there was something positive in my life. Stuck on the dented old refrigerator with a magnet was a plain sheet of paper that read simply: Meet Danielle at the Old Smoke at 8 o’clock tonight.

Was it possible that Danielle had finally come through? That things would finally change? I felt my heart skip a beat with excitement, although it may have even been more than excitement. It may have even developed into a fervor, a kind of obsession after awhile. At the same time, I knew I should be more careful to control my feelings; I had already been disappointed so many times before, and I very well could be again today.

But I had the feeling that, if I had nothing at all to be positive about or to look forward to, I’d probably go mad. I may even seem a bit crazy right now to some, but this is nothing compared to what I could be. Anyways, if Danielle was successful this time, I wouldn’t have to worry about the sorry state of my life any more. It’d be just like it used to be, and I wouldn’t have to worry about this apartment, poverty, or anything at all.

I opened the fridge and pulled out a bottle of something, without even bothering to look at the label. I picked up the bottle opener from where I had presumably left it on the table the night before, and cracked the lid off with a practiced flick of the wrist.

I took a swig, sat down, and decided to wait for 8:00. It wasn’t like there was anything better to do.

***

I must have eventually dozed off again after doing a few mundane things around the apartment, because by the time I actually checked my pocketwatch, it was already a good twenty minutes after 8:00. This was very bad. If there was one thing I had learned early on, it was that Danielle had a very bad temper, if provoked, and she hated to be kept waiting.

I leapt up and ran, pausing only to grab my overcoat as I headed out the door. I almost forgot to lock it behind me, but despite the fact I don’t have anything worth stealing, I always keep the door locked. It’s a force of habit that seems to develop on its own when you live in some of the not-so-nice parts of town. Paranoia is an extremely useful thing to have these days.

I ran down the three flights of stairs, past the little “office” where my landlady worked and practically lived. As I passed her chin snapped up when she spotted me. She came right up to her doorway and, with her frizzy grey hair already stuck in its curlers, hollered after me. “No running in the darn halls, Emmet Jackson!”

“I’m in a hurry!” I shouted behind me. There was no way she could catch me, even if she was interested.

“If you break something, its cost is being tacked onto your rent!”

Ouch. Just what I needed. One more expense to add on to everything else.

I almost ran into another tenant as I turned a corner, but skittered out of the way and hit a wall. Still, it was better to hit the wall than run over some random guy, disable him for life, and get sued for more than I have. I especially didn’t want to annoy this person, whom it was very difficult not to recognize. Not for who he was, but rather what he was.

“Sorry,” I muttered quickly as I straightened and brushed quickly past. This guy was like me-- a Changeling, but a different kind. It may be hypocritical of me to be like this, but Walkers scare me. They seem a bit... slower than normal people, and their skin is unnaturally pale with grey undertones. Also, for some reason Walkers don’t heal the same way humans do; it’s almost like their bodies lose the ability to repair themselves. As a result, most Walkers have open wounds covering their bodies, and they look like corpses. That’s how they earned the full name “The Walking Dead”. Hypocritical or not, Walkers are very disturbing.

It always makes me uncomfortable to admit this to myself, because I’m really not much better than a Walker. Actually, some may even call me worse.

But the worst part of this whole messed-up problem is that I’m afraid that people may be right to be afraid of Changelings. God knows I didn’t trust myself around normal people, and I am a Changeling.

And I’d give anything not to be one anymore.

It was mid-Autumn, and the air was cold, so I was thankful that I’d thought to bring my jacket. Even if I was going to run all the way to the Old Smoke Inn, I’d probably appreciate having more than just body heat to keep me going. I was also glad that it was dark out, because it meant that what few people were on the street were all either running late on some errand and were too busy to bother me, drunk, or just couldn’t see the orange colour of my eyes. So needless to say, no one slowed me down. Which was a rare blessing.

I passed by the bakery, and caught myself looking for a familiar face until I fiercely reminded myself that the bakery would be closed, and that I had no business looking for someone I had spent the last several months convincing myself to ignore. I kept running.

When I finally reached the door to the Old Smoke Inn, it was well after 8:30 and I was gasping for breath. I opened the heavy door and entered, then immediately began coughing as my lungs filled with the heavy fumes from customers’ cigarettes. They didn’t call this place the Old Smoke for nothing. Out of the many unsavory habits I had picked up, I was glad to say that smoking was most certainly not one of them. I couldn’t stand the cloying scent of burning tobacco.

But I’d have to put up with it.

No one looked up when I entered. One benefit of disreputable places like this was that they saw all kinds of people every day, including Changelings, and as a result, people really didn’t care who thought their life was crap and wanted to drown their sorrows. They were either numbed to it, or just too drunk themselves to care.

The room was large and in disarray, with a variety of chairs, tables, and barstools set up at random, dusty light fixtures hanging from the ceiling, and the sticky feel of spilled... something coating the wood floor. Although the entire scene was a murky haze through all the smoke, after a quick glance around, I had no trouble spotting Danielle.

She was sitting quietly at a table near the back of the room, holding a hefty mug of ale and surveying the room with an expression of utmost displeasure on her face. No one seemed willing to get too near her, including a pair of rowdy brawlers who seemed quite happy to decimate the rest of the room and leave her be, and I knew exactly why.

Walkers may be scary, but Danielle Blackburn is terrifying.

The worst part is, she doesn’t even go out of her way to intimidate people. She just... does. She wears long, old fashioned dresses in dusty colours, and I think she has a collection of scary ornamental hats, with a different one for every day of the week, and a few more for special occasions. For a woman, even a young one, she is tall, and also very pale. She has long, straight black hair that she sometimes strings beads into, and a thin face with high cheekbones. If she wasn’t so terrifying, in fact, I may have even thought her beautiful.

She spotted me, and glared. I took a deep breath, coughed on the smoke again, and summoned up the nerve to go up to her and sit down.

“You’re late.”

Her dark brown eyes bore into my skull.

I drummed my fingers on the pitted table nervously. “I was busy.”

“You were drinking, Emmet. Again.”

I shifted uncomfortably. “Sorry.”

She hissed exasperatedly. “You’re being stupid, Emmet. If you’d just stop moping about how terrible your life is now and actually did something about it, you wouldn’t be so miserable. You need to pull yourself together and make the best of what you have.”

“If this works, then I won’t have to worry about my life anymore, so why are you telling me all this?” I asked.

“I’m telling you this, because I have no real reason to believe that it’s going to work this time any more than it did last time. Or the time before. Or the time before that,” Danielle explained slowly, as if to a child. “Sooner or later, you’re going to have to face the fact that I may not be able to cure you.”

“I have faith in you,” I said. “You’ll get it eventually.”

Danielle laughed harshly. “Witchcraft doesn’t run off of faith any more than that foolish science does. There are rules that must be followed in both practices, rules which cannot be broken no matter how much one is paid. And to hear you talking about faith is a joke, Emmet Jackson. You haven’t had a drop of faith since you became a werewolf.”

I glanced around quickly, but I don’t think anyone overheard her. “Nevertheless,” I said with deliberate slowness, “it may work this time. What I do with my life is no concern of yours. I do pay you for your work.”

“I suppose you do,” she said in an expressionless voice. “Speaking of which....” She held out her hand.

I handed her a crumpled bill, which she pocketed in her floor-length green dress coat. After she had put her money away, she reached into a cloth bag at her feet and brought out a small bottle of a greenish-brown liquid. There were several bright yellow spell runes painted on the glass.

This was the most unappetizing-looking one she had come up with yet.

“You don’t have to drink it if you don’t want to,” Danielle said evenly. “I could give you a refund, if you’d rather not.”

For her, that was an amazingly generous offer.

I shook my head, and took the bottle. “I really don’t want to be a werewolf anymore,” I muttered. “I just want to be human again.”

Her mouth twisted. “What makes you think you’re any less than human now? Are you a completely different creature now than you were before?”

“Danielle. I am a monster.”

“And the ones who tell you this are human. If you are a monster to them, are they the monsters to you? Everyone alive is stupid, Emmet. Get used to it.”

I drank the mixture.

Several minutes passed, and neither of us said anything.

“Are my eyes still orange?” I asked eventually.

She nodded wordlessly, the asked, “Do you feel anything?”

I shook my head, disappointment flooding my mind. “No... wait.” My arms were itching like mad. I pushed back my sleeves, and was confronted by the reddest, angriest-looking rash I’d ever seen.

“It looks almost like an allergic reaction,” Danielle said dispassionately as she examined my arms. “I’m afraid this combination didn’t work either.”

“Well, I never would’ve guessed,” I said sarcastically, biting my tongue as I fought the urge to scratch the rash.

She looked at me. “I apologize for your discomfort.”

I shook my head dismissively as I gritted my teeth. “It’s not your fault.”

“It’s not yours, either,” she said, reaching once again into her bag. This time, she pulled out a small jar and began unscrewing the lid.

I drew back. “I’m not in the mood for any more magicking tonight.”

“This is not an experimental draught haphazardly created in an attempt to cure Lycanthropy,” she said, rolling her eyes, “and it is most assuredly not magic. I bought it at the grocery store.”

I reluctantly extended my arms again, and allowed her to spread the cream on the ever-reddening rash. It didn’t take all the irritation away, but it took the edge off it and made it bearable.

“Thanks.” I muttered.

She replaced the lid, not looking at me. “You will be pleased to know that I will not charge you extra for the cream,” she said briskly.

“Very generous of you,” I replied, allowing only the barest touches of sarcasm to enter my voice. Even if she ever made a nice gesture, she’d always do or say something to ruin it.

“I’ll be off, then,” she said. “I will be here again at 8:00 on this day next week. I will have a new potion, if you wish. There are several other combinations of ingredients I could try.”

“Yeah, sure.”

Danielle donned her coat and hat--which was a dark green monstrosity topped with black roses and a dark veil-- and picked up her bag.

“I bid you good evening,” she said formally, and left.

I sighed, and buried my face in my hands. So much for being human this week.

I tried my best to be positive about finding a cure, I really did. I was lucky to have met Danielle, since witches are notoriously untrustworthy and difficult to find. Despite this, I did trust Danielle. She may be cold, distant, and outwardly frightening, but she was willing to at least try to help me, and I appreciated that. It had crossed my mind at one time or another that she could be giving me the wrong potions just so that I’d keep paying her, but I don’t think she’d do something that underhanded. I really hoped not.

I looked up, and noticed an object at Danielle’s place on the table. She’d forgotten to pack up something?

I picked it up, and grinned to myself when I saw what it was. It was the jar of anti-itch cream.

Apparently, she had “forgotten” it.

[Trilly (18426 words)]

My characters did something I most decidedly did not plan on. The plot is skewing off in a direction completely different from what I had planned. It's not such a bad thing, since I like the new events better, but it was surprising.

I just got to this one point in the story where I realized that a character might react in a slightly different way than I had originally planned, and BANG, everything changed. The next few pages after that have some dialogue I'm really pleased with, and the plot seems to be going in a good direction. It'll still lead to the inevitable climax, just make the getting there more interesting. For the characters dynamic-wise, and for me, who'll have to write it.

So yeah, completely useless ramble, but I just thought it was neat. The characters really do run the show, after all. ^^

[Tam]

More! More! =D

[Trilly (18426 words)]

^^; I'm seriously a bit nervous about posting this part. It's the part that has Sister Patience the nun in it. Yes, it's that bad.

Well, it's Tamia's fault. She asked for it.

SPOILER: Click to show

Chapter Two: Patience

After all this time, I was beginning to become extremely predictable.

After Danielle left, I had fully intended to leave the smelly tavern, but I hadn’t planned as far ahead as to what I’d do. If the potion had been successful, and I’d been human again, I might’ve done… something. I never really got around to deciding what. I’d always had vague fantasies of going back to the agents who fired me and throwing it in their faces, or getting new agents and a new car, or maybe even finally going up and talking to the girl who worked in the bakery on my street….

But it hadn’t worked, so I was still just a miserable alcoholic werewolf, who on top of financial problems and a list of bad habits as long as his leg, now had an itchy rash covering both arms and $25 less cash than he’d had when he come in. The only thing I really felt I could cling to was the knowledge that, next week, Danielle would be back with another potion for me to test. Another far-flung, desperate attempt, which would most likely lead to another disappointment.

I was also beginning to wonder just how much disappointment I could take. Although I believed that Danielle was doing her utmost to help me, I had to admit that she was probably right. There was only so much she could do.

Which meant I would have to find other solutions, or consider options I had discarded before. What else could I try?

I ordered a large tankard of ale as I wondered. I hadn’t planned on ordering anything, but Danielle’s had looked quite good, and it helped me think. Truthfully, if I wanted the safest possible solution for my problem, it would probably be to keep on doing what I was doing. I didn’t particularly trust magical hocus-pocus, but witchcraft has been around for hundreds of years, and its practitioners are extremely meticulous. Everything they do, they treat with absolute seriousness, so I feel minimally imperiled whenever I drink another of Danielle’s potions.

Still, there may be other options out there—options considerably more risky than anything I had tried so far. Maybe I should look into them.

I took a deep drink from my glass, and let my eyes roam over the rest of the bar. Most of the patrons were human, but I spotted at least three Walkers nursing drinks on separate tables throughout the room. The one nearest to my table caught my eye mainly because, unlike most people there, he wasn’t sitting alone. He looked happy, which looked glaringly out of place in this morbid, dingy setting.

He was sitting across the table from a thin, freckled girl with light brown hair: a human. He had just said something, and she was laughing. They were holding hands.

She certainly didn’t seem to care that her drinking companion looked like his funeral had been held several weeks previously.

I felt my stomach tighten, first with a pleasant surprise that it looked like it wasn’t impossible for a human and a Changeling to accept each other, then with jealousy. As strange-looking as Walkers are, they’d never be classified as “dangerous”. If anything, they were some of the safest people you could possibly be around, because when their bodies slow down, their minds seem to as well. They still think like humans; they are just a bit slower. They are actually very calm, restful people, who only say something if they are absolutely sure it needs to be said.

Werewolves, on the other hand…

We’re pretty much complete opposites of Walkers. We look mostly human, but we’re very dangerous.

It may be possible for a Walker and a human to get along, care about each other, and even fall in love. It may even be possible for them to get married, and have a happy life together. But I honestly can’t see any happy future for a human and werewolf couple. They may try, but sooner or later, I know it would end badly.

I tore my eyes away from the happy couple, feeling no need to depress myself further. Although they were harder to pick out, I could also spot several other Werewolves in the bar. These cheaper establishments were always full of them, drowning their sorrows and trying their best to blend in. Ironically, the easiest ones to spot are always the ones who try to hide their orange eyes behind sunglasses. Absolutely anyone you see wearing sunglasses these days is most likely a Werewolf.

I no longer bothered pretending to be something else. For the meantime, I was a Werewolf. But God willing, I’d be human again soon.

That was when the heavy inn door flew off its hinges with a resounding crash.

***

Every pair of eyes in the bar looked up with a start, just in time to see a motley assortment of people come rushing in.

I was actually grateful that the door was open and the cold air was causing the smoke fumes to dissipate, but the fact that a crowd of people, varying from beggars in rags to men in suits and ties had just forcefully entered one of the most disreputable places in town did not bode well. There are unspoken rules of association, usually. The rich stick with the rich, and the poor stick with the poor. If they all unite in a common goal... well, they were probably very very passionate about something. Most likely this something was controversial. And illegal.

I fought all my instincts that screamed at me to run, and slowly stood up. The newcomers were circulating quickly throughout the room. If I wanted to escape involvement in whatever spectacle they were planning, I’d have to get to the back exit before they could block it off. And I’d have to look passably inconspicuous as I did.

Before I could even so much as step away from the table, an old woman in a nun’s habit entered the building, stepping regally past stunned onlookers as she made her way to the center on the room. She lifted the hem of her robe elegantly, so as not to let it touch the filthy floor,

There was something disturbingly surreal about this entire thing. Worse, it looked like I was going to have a very difficult time getting out of the inn without being spotted. Everyone had gone still as soon as the nun had made her appearance.

The nun reached the middle of the room and, smiling benignly, beckoned to two younger men nearby. They willingly assisted her as she clambered up on the table. Once she had regained her balance, she straightened and cleared her throat authoritatively.

“Today is the day that this house will be judged! God wills it!” she cried in a surprisingly strong voice for the shriveled little person she was.

Great. I had assumed they’d be nuts, but I hadn’t thought they’d be religious nuts. Today was my unlucky day.

“Get off the table, lady!” a less mentally gifted drunk than the rest called out. “God wills me to be able to finish my drink in peace!”

“Yeah, who are you to come in here shouting? And you broke the door!”

The nun held up a hand for silence. “An interesting question, my good man, one which you may find has an unexpected answer.” She cleared her throat again.

“My name is Sister Patience!” she cried. “I am an instrument of our Lord, who has set about giving me the task of cleansing the wicked of this world. For too long we’ve built mechanical things that do honest work while we grow weak and sinful. By burning fuels and creating machines to take us to the heavens, like those heretical airships, we have drawn demons into this world!”

I could sense where this was going. I needed to get out of here.

“You know of that which I speak!” she said accusingly, and I could see her powder blue eyes dart around behind her tiny silver spectacles as she visually made note of every Changeling in the room.

“You don’t know anything about it!” a female voice cried out, and I recognized the speaker as the thin girl I had seen earlier; the one who’d been holding the smiling Walkers’ hand. “They aren’t any more evil than everyone else! Doesn’t the Bible say that God loves all people equally?”

Sister Patience’s supporters made outraged noises, but they silenced when she once again held up a hand and smiled thinly.

“These... Changelings, these demons are not people like you or I, my dear,” she said slowly, looking over the Walker who had his arm wrapped protectively around the girl’s shoulders. “I’m sure that if you repent, our Holy Father will forgive you for consorting with demonkind.”

“I don’t need to be forgiven for loving someone!” the girl shouted. “He’s not a demon, he’s--”

“I’m afraid he’s tainted you, you poor child,” Sister Patience soothed. “Don’t worry. You will be free of his evil influence soon.”

She began addressing the crowd of stunned onlookers once again.

“As you can see, there are already those who have been lured in by the demons, and now sympathize with them. We must not hate them, however, as they can still be saved from their foolishness and brought back into the light. Truly, it is our fault that Heaven has seen fit to punish us with these twisted creatures. We should heed the signs and stop trying to equal God, or these Changelings will continue to plague us.

“As for those demons who would remain to poison our minds and drive us further from the path of righteousness...”

A man handed the nun a large object swathed in heavy grey cloth. With a nod of thanks, the little nun began unwrapping the shroud in frantic, almost gleeful motion. When she had finished, she slung the object onto her back.

Oh God, no.

“...They shall be cleansed of their sins through fire!”

It was a flamethrower. The nun had a flamethrower.

Pandemonium erupted.

No one knew whether she was serious about this or not, but no one really wanted to draw enough attention to themselves to find out. Apart from the girl with the Walker boyfriend, no one had made a show of speaking out against the Sister, which suggested that they were all either too terrified to do anything, or worse, that they agreed with her.

And this was a nun, for crying out loud. There was no way she’d just come into a random inn and burn the place down.

I couldn’t help but notice how disturbingly calm she seemed to be as she expertly fiddled with the flamethrower. She’d clearly had practice.

Several brawls had broken out between Sister Patience’s followers and people who had just wanted a quiet night at the bar, with minimal burning and dying. Apparently, in at least one case the brawl was won by the inn’s customers, because the main doorway was now unguarded, and people had begun leaving in droves, running as quickly as possible.

I’d seen enough. It was about time I tried to get out as well. Unfortunately, I was on the opposite side of the room from the door, which meant that hordes of screaming customers, religious nuts, and Sister Patience herself armed with a flamethrower stood between me and the relative safety of the outside streets. I’d have to start another brawl, this one over the small back door that led out of the bar and into the inn itself. I didn’t know if there was a door that would take me outside that way, never having been quite desperate enough to actually stay in the inn for a night, but I had a far better chance of getting out that way than I did the main exit.

Just then, Sister Patience seemed to have miraculously managed to put the flamethrower in working order.

“Behold the power of the Lord!” she cried triumphantly, and shot a blazing stream of fire at the drinks counter.

The entire room dove for cover as the counter and half the surrounding area exploded. Sister Patience, who appeared to have not planned ahead as far as what would happen when the explosion occurred, hurriedly dropped back to the floor and hid under the table.

Taking advantage of the confusion, I raced around the wreckage of the bar, dodging chunks of falling plaster as the ceiling buckled. The first guard at the door didn’t see me coming, and I managed to kick his knees out from under him and knock him on the back of the head with someone’s empty bottle before he could react. The second guard I wasn’t so lucky with. He punched me across the jaw, and I fell over a downed table and landed painfully on my back. I growled, my muscles tensing as I shifted into a crouch and sprang at my attacker.

He really didn’t stand a chance. I planted both arms against his chest and pushed viciously, and he flew into a wall and lay there, unmoving.

The scene around me seemed to have taken on an even more hazy quality than it had possessed when filled with cigarette smoke. Although there were still riots breaking out all over the room, and flames crawling up the walls and across the floor, all I could hear was a faint buzzing noise and the sound of my own heavy breathing. I realized what was happening and immediately took several breaths in an attempt to calm myself. I had let myself get angry when that stupid human had knocked me down, which had been an extremely idiotic thing to do. The last thing I needed was to turn into a werewolf in this enclosed space and end up killing everyone who couldn’t get out in time.

Calm down, calm down, I mentally ordered as I pushed the back exit open and clenched my fist fiercely, trying to fight down the urge to lose myself in fury. It really didn’t take much to make me angry now that I was a werewolf, but I had to try and fight that. If I didn’t, I knew for sure I’d end up killing someone by mistake.

I heard vague shouts behind me, and I saw some of the Sister’s followers begin rushing towards me, probably intending mostly to get this exit barricaded again, but I knew that if they spotted me and noticed I was a werewolf, they’d be only too happy to leave the door and chase me instead.

I looked for too long, and accidently made eye contact with one of the men. He immediately began shouting eagerly at the others, pointing towards me.

Not good.

I slammed the door closed and locked the deadbolt, although it was small and would barely slow them down at all, and had just straightened up and taken a few strides when I crashed into someone who had come up silently behind me. I fell over backwards for the second time that evening, and landed flat on my back.

“Watch it. Some people are trying to run for their lives, here,” I snapped, pulling myself into a sitting position. My entire body ached even with that small effort.

The other person bent over, until his face was almost even with mine. He was a few years younger than me and very slender, with short dark brown hair almost completely obscured by a large bandanna wrapped around his head-- a fashion popular mainly with airship jockeys, Gypsies, and sky pirates. He could have been any one of the three, or all of them, or none at all.

“Not much good running, if you don’t know where you’re running to,” he said cheerfully, grinning at me. His eyes were an impossible shade of green.

0“I don’t care where I’m going,” I growled as I stood up. “I just need to get out of here as quickly as possible. If you know about an exit--”

“--You mean a door? Sorry, The only one that leads to the outside is in there.” He gestured towards the door, which rattled on its hinges. Someone was trying very hard to get through. “But... if you aren’t picky, there are other ways to get outside.”

“Oh really?” I asked sarcastically, not in the mood to play games. “How?”

He looked at me critically. It may sound stupid, but I felt almost like I was being tested by this stranger. I hadn’t yet encountered anyone who would taunt a werewolf, but he was coming extremely close, and I was getting annoyed. If he wasn’t careful, he might soon be missing both arms.

He sighed, and pointed at the staircase when I crossed my arms and didn’t say anything else. “There’s a window on the landing up those stairs, and if you climb through it you’ll be on the roof. The space is fairly wide, but...” he looked at me critically, “you may have a bit of a squeeze getting through. Do you take out many light fixtures with your head?”

“No light fixtures, just annoying kids like you,” I retorted, heading up the stairs, taking them two at a time.

Behind me, I heard the sound of wood splintering and voices coming through the doorway. Briefly I wondered if they’d go after the green-eyed youth, but I decided that they probably wouldn’t. He was human, after all.

***
It had been a tight squeeze through the window, and I confirmed a fact that I had long suspected.

I am terrible with heights.

I had been overwhelmed with vertigo the second I had stepped out onto the roof. The shingles beneath my feet felt unsteady and fragile, like they could snap and send me plummeting down in an instant. I tried to ignore this feeling, and kept my eyes focussed straight ahead as I cautiously made my way to the other side of the building.

I dreaded having to climb down, but rejoiced when I found a rickety old fire escape staircase that, for whatever reason, hadn’t been taken down when they’d boarded up the doorway. Finally something had gone passably right.

I stumbled down the staircase, my legs weak with relief as I finally reached the ground. It had been a pretty bad evening for me, but I was alive.

That was something, at least.

I began my slow walk home, while flames continued to burn through the Old Smoke’s windows.

[Rikku]

Made.

Of.

Win.

[Trilly (18426 words)]

D'awwww... ^__^ *blushes* Thank you!

I can't say the quality of writing was very good in this part, but it was seriously one of the most enjoyable to work on. Many opportunities for action to get the story started, and some surrealism. And fire. Lots of fire. XD

[Trilly (18426 words)]

Part Three. Meh, it's kind of funny and cute, but not very much body to it. I still like it quite a bit, though.

And guess what? I actually fixed the italics in this one! I thought it kind of needed them.

SPOILER: Click to show

Chapter Three: Something New

I woke up to the sound of the steam engine again the next morning, and once again bashed my head against the roof as I sat up. Grumbling some choice curses under my breath, I rubbed my head ruefully and reminded myself again to either move the bed or get up and get an apartment with reasonably high ceilings.

I flopped back down on the bed, losing the motivation to get up. There wasn’t any real point to getting up early anyways. I was still stiff and tired from the night at the Old Smoke, and it wasn’t like I’d be doing anything important today. Chances are if I did actually get up, change out of the clothes I had slept in and into something cleaner, I’d be asleep again before I could even find something halfway edible to eat. So why should I even bother? For just once, I’d sleep in a bit.

I curled up under the covers again and waited for sleep to come.

It must have been running late, because I lay awake for a long time.

I turned over and laced my fingers behind my head, staring up at the ceiling. I still felt tired, or maybe it was something else-- a deep weariness that seeped all the way down to my bones. I felt like I hadn’t slept in a year. If it hadn’t seemed impossible for me to go back to sleep, I might’ve brushed it off as plain old exhaustion from my crazy life, but the fact that I couldn’t suggested that it was something wrong with me, and couldn’t be blamed on some form of outside influence.

Well, I guess I hadn’t exactly done a lot to take care of myself in the last year. I lived in a shabby little part of town, probably overdid the alcohol, drank mysterious potions given to me by a witch, and I didn’t have a life worth living. I wasn’t utterly miserable; I’d taught myself not to be, not to expect anything good to happen. To fantasize maybe, but never to actually believe in it.

But while I wasn’t miserable or depressed, there wasn’t any happiness in my life. It was plain and boring, a dull neutral. Grey. I didn’t have anything to look forward to, but I didn’t have anything to dread, either, because almost every day was the same. Maybe that was my problem. I was just a ghost, a cheap shell of a real person.

I also didn’t like lying awake because, in the absence of some senseless task to do, I began to worry. I worried about what would happen when my money ran out. I wasn’t an idiot, I know that I was headed nowhere but down. When I’d first lost my job, I had had a fair amount of money with me, and I’d made sure to rent the cheapest living space I could find in an attempt to make it stretch for as long as possible. A good plan maybe, but even the little expenses that seem paltry at first add up after awhile, and not even an entire year later, I was in this situation.

Maybe it was time for me to find a way to earn some money. The last thing I wanted was to go broke and end up on the street, unable to even think of affording a cure, if I ever found one.

I sat up slowly this time, not even daring to let my neck straighten for fear of hitting my head again. Once I was out from under the roof’s low incline, I repeated my morning ritual of stretching. Even there, where the roof was the highest, I could still easily touch the ceiling with more than just the tips of my fingers.

I changed out of yesterday’s clothes and pulled on a new shirt and pants before going into the bathroom for the regular morning rituals. One going-over with a brush and a customary head-dunk later, I probably looked better than I had all month. I’d need to be, if I was going to brave the outside world and try to find a job that even I might be eligible for.

Hi, my name is Emmet Jackson. I have no real work experience, but I used to be a professional car racer who was adored by all until I crashed my car and turned into a werewolf for an inexplicable reason. Then everyone hated me.

My favourite food is anything that’s not moldy, and my skills include driving, escaping from insane religious fanatics, and I have a really mean punch. I think you should hire me because I’m dirt poor and may kill you if you don’t.

Yeah. I may hit a few snags in the employer-employee relationship department.

I passed by the door as I headed for the kitchen, noticing that there were no new letters for me by the door. If it had been a prank, the joker may have given up.

I gripped a rubber band in my mouth as I continued walking, and proceeded to re-tie my hair into some semblance of order. I had always liked to let it grow fairly long, but it was far greater in length now than it had ever been before, as a direct result of not cutting it in a year. If I wanted to look a bit more orderly, I could always just get it cropped short...

But it felt too much like a part of me to do away with like that. I was used to it, and I even kind of liked it. It was different, but in a good way.

I saw something very surprising when I entered the kitchen.

My kitchen, living room, and dining room are essentially all crammed together into one, all purpose room. I have a small table and two chairs set up in the kitchen itself, as they were already in the room when I rented it, and behind a low half-wall there is what would be a sitting area, if it was actually furnished with something other than a wobbly stool and a moth-eaten couch the previous owner had practically paid me to take.

Because of this arrangement, I could see something in the sitting room was most definitely out of place. Last I had checked, there had certainly not been someone sleeping on the couch. But there was now.

I stalked up to the couch, gripped the intruder my the shoulder, and shook him roughly. “Wake up!” I snapped. “You have some serious explaining to do.”

He groaned, and blinked green eyes blearily at me. It was the slender youth I had encountered at the Old Smoke the previous night. How he had managed to follow me and break into my apartment only to go to sleep was a story I was ready to hear.

“What’re you doing here?” he asked groggily, rubbing his eyes.

“I live here! I should be asking what you’re doing here.”

He laid his head back down and closed his eyes. “What time is it?”

I yanked out my pocketwatch, torn between anger, disbelief, and maybe even a little curiosity. “Seven thirty. Time to get up. Now.”

He covered his head with his arms. “Yell at me when it’s ten, okay? I’m going back to sleep--”

“No, you’re not!” I shouted. “You’re going to wake up and tell me how you got in here, or so help me I’ll dump a bucket of cold water on your head!”

“You didn’t lock up. It was easy to get in.” He cast me a disparaging look, if that was even possible to do through half-closed eyes. “For someone so paranoid, you sure are careless.”

“I always lock the door.”

“Not the window.”

“You’re telling me you climbed a building in the dead of night and crawled through a window into the apartment of a known werewolf just so you could sleep on his couch?” I asked incredulously. “How desperate were you?”

“Well, I needed to stay somewhere. I had been staying at the Old Smoke for awhile, but I left for the very simple reason that it was on fire,” he said, waving a finger in the air for emphasis. “And I did save your life, so you owe me. I figured that saving your skin was at least worth one night on your lousy couch.”

“You figured.”

“I did,” he smirked. “Are you really going to turn all wolf-y and eat me?”

I perched on the edge of the stool with a sigh, rubbing the bridge of my nose with annoyance and a bit of frustration. Just what I needed, another complication.

“What are you?” I asked.

His smile faltered for the briefest fraction of a second before he regained it, but I had been looking for that sort of reaction, and spotted it. “Don’t you mean who are you?” he asked suspiciously.

“Nope. I mean what are you? Not human, that’s for sure.”

He sat up, wide awake now. “What else would I be, then, if you’re so sure?” he challenged.

I grimaced. “See, that’s where it gets strange. I’ve been going over the Three W’s in my head, and I can’t seem to find one that fits--”

“Three W’s?”

“You haven’t even heard of the Three W’s?” I asked with disbelief. “Everybody knows them.”

“Just tell me,” he said exasperatedly. “I’m not exactly in the loop.”

I shrugged. “Sure. Whatever.” I cleared my throat. “Should I start by telling you what you’re not?”

“I’m sure it’ll be very informative,” he commented drily.

“Okay,” I began, “The Three W’s are a system of classifying and keeping track of Non-humans. There are three different types of Non-Humans: Witches, Walkers, and Werewolves. Although technically witches don’t count, because they’re born with their differences. You probably aren’t a witch, though, since you only look a bit like a girl.”

He glared. “Just keep going, and don’t bother trying to be clever about your insults.”

I snickered. “Anyways, witches are most often female, and the only instances where it would be possible for a man to have magical powers are if that man has a chromosomal disorder of some kind. Witches have been around for hundreds and hundreds of years, and the people that practice witchcraft now are all direct descendants of the original practitioners. Scientists today believe that the potential for magic is carried in the Y chromosome, so that may explain why women seem to have the ability while most--if not all--men don’t.”

“So... you don’t think I’m a witch.”

I shook my head. “I’ve managed to rule out both types of Changelings, as well. You’re not covered in gaping wounds or speaking in slow sentences, so you’re not a Walker. And there’s absolutely no way you’re a werewolf, since you don’t have orange eyes and you seem to lack a certain threatening demeanor that we pride ourselves in...

“And that’s all the W’s. You don’t fit anywhere,” I finished.

He fiddled with the ties on his headscarf and picked a bit of stuffing out of the couch. “So does this mean you’ll accept I’m human, or will you just scrounge around until you can come up with another word that begins with a W just to prove me wrong?”

I shrugged. “Probably something like that.”

“Why are you so convinced that I’m not human?” He asked, real curiosity in his eyes.

“That’s easy. You’re not afraid of me,” I said. “From what I’ve seen, pretty much the only person who trusts a Non-Human is another Non-Human. Also... you’re weird.”

“And you actually think that these two things automatically mean I’m not human?”

“Yes. I trust my instincts. You have to be a Changeling, but you’re also something new. A different type, that just hasn’t been investigated yet.”

He looked at me expressionlessly for several seconds, then a grin split across his face and he leapt off the couch. “You’re sharp. I didn’t think you would be.” He trotted past the half wall and into the kitchen, waving at me. Apparently, he had forgotten he was supposed to be tired. “This may be fun.”

I caught my breath. “You mean I was right?”

He poked his head around the half wall. “Right? Oh no, you were completely wrong. I’m not a Changeling.”

“And I’m supposed to believe you’re not lying because...?”

He sighed. “Look, I’m really sorry to disappoint you, but I’m honestly not a Changeling. Since you’re smarter than you look, though--”

“Hey!”

“--I can... toss you a... femur?”

I rolled my eyes. “The expression is ‘throw you a bone’, not ‘toss you a femur’. How you even get the two mixed--”

“...I’m not human,” he said smugly, then ducked back into the kitchen. “Figure that one out, if you can.”

I sat on the stool, not knowing what to think. Life had been so simple, so recently. Get a job, live like a normal person. Now it felt like the earth had just tilted on its axis. Nothing made sense.

“Who are you?” I heard myself asking.

“My name’s NaKaranth,” he called cheerfully from the kitchen. “And don’t you have anything to eat in this place?”