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Post by Mister Buch on Feb 23, 2011 15:37:36 GMT 1
Thanks, Ayesha.
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Post by Battlechantress on Feb 24, 2011 1:36:55 GMT 1
I'd go on about my job today and how it made trying to care about today's entry difficult, but you wouldn't want to hear about it.
23 February 2011
River faced the lumbering horde from the east, not yet aware of what was coming from the south. Cleverer's nose burned from the sulfur in the air and her eyes watered. "What do I do now?" she wondered aloud. They were outnumbered, unarmed and worst of all unprepared.
Just then, the shadow of a bird appeared on the ground in front of her. The Sandman saw it too and paused, his bag mere inches from the Chili Thief's head. He growled at the parakeet's shadow, a long guttural sound that made Cleverer's hair stand on the back of her neck.
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Post by Mister Buch on Feb 24, 2011 13:45:30 GMT 1
BC - I also want to know what happenned at work!
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Post by Battlechantress on Feb 24, 2011 22:00:23 GMT 1
You asked for it (skip ahead if you want to keep thinking happy thoughts)....
I ended yesterday's shift with a patient who was dying, whose last conscious words to me were her thanking me for taking good care of her over and over before she began calling out for her mother. There's a bit more to that story, but I really don't want to think about it any more than I have to.
Today went a bit differently, only because I had the day off. When I went to the city earlier, I put the dogs in the kitchen because it was raining and let's face it: Annie is a bit of a diva who hates to get wet. I won't have to worry about her taking off and rolling in cow pies (unlike Mischief). When I put her outside to set the kitchen up for them, she had a look on her face as the rain fell gently on her that clearly said, "How DARE you let me get wet! Look at me! I'm a princess! A princess cannot be seen to suffer like this!" Mind you, she was hardly sitting in a downpour. I thought I had the kitchen gates up nice and secure, but alas this was not to be. I came home to find both dogs in the living room and the house was nicely trashed. Clothes were strewn from the bedroom to the computer room. The bedroom trash barrel had been knocked over and rummaged through. Annie had knocked the weather radio off of the end table (thankfully, it was unplugged since I saw her trying to chew on the wiring once before). Both seem to have peed on the carpet, so I will be cleaning that up after I get done writing this. The liner that Annie was supposed to pee on in the kitchen was officially shredded and strewn throughout three rooms instead. Joysticks for the Wii were in the little diva's doggy bed, and the remote control for the DVD player was underneath the coffee table. My only consolation upon seeing all of the destruction is that at least I had the good sense to put the parrot in her cage before I left, because I know damn well she would have found a way to contribute to the canines' delinquency.
On second thought, she was probably cheering Annie on as only a parrot can. Never mind.
Onward with today's entry. I think I am finally finishing up the Red River storyline (which I meant to end last month).
24 February 2011
River's eyes widened when she saw the first snowflakes fall. Even before she learned that she was little more than a tithe to Old Man Winter, she never liked the season that he lived in. Her quest for a certain sundae in the wrong time of year now forgotten, she watched the first wave of the snow-wargs come down from the darkening skies and onto the flat, parched plains around her. The increasing chill had already turned her hands purple, and she knew her feet fared little better even without being able to see them. Nowhere left to run.
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Post by Mister Buch on Feb 24, 2011 23:27:54 GMT 1
Well I'm glad you had the day off after yesterday's shift, Battle. That's a good job you do.
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And here's the latest adventure.
25th February
The dame walked into my office like it was raining outside and she had no umbrella. Maybe it was and she didn't, I don't know. That's the way I walk into the office these days, too: all slouched and huddled and pissed-off-looking. Hell, that's just how I walk.
She had the kind of legs that I couldn't particularly comment on. No offence to her. Generally speaking, if I have nothing to say about you, that's good for you. She was purdy enough to be called a 'dame', at least.
Anyway, where was I?
'It's raining!' she said.
Wait.
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Post by lieden on Feb 25, 2011 8:50:36 GMT 1
Thanks guys, glad you liked the picture. Buch, I can send you a larger version for a proper wallpaper, if you want. And, well, I'm still behind, but I'm not giving up. I'll make sure to catch up before the end of the month. For now, more dialogues! The first one is from a crazy dream I had last weekend. Really, don't ask about the character names. 19/02 'I was under the impression this was a simple job!' 'It was meant to be a simple job. You think I was expecting a friggin' corvette guarding the place?' 'Your foresight is bone-shattering.' 'No, that's your driving. - Damn it! watch that tree!' The skycar took a sharp dive under an outlying branch and raised a whirlwind of leaves and twigs. Meercat and the Wose howled simultaneously: the one out of sheer exhilaration, the other in horror. The corvette swept over them and the Meercat brought their vehicle back up behind it. 'Pew, pew!' she said, and fired at it rabidly. 20/02 'You think the world is coming to an end?' 'No. Some people like to think the world is coming to an end. Maybe it's easier that way, of course; go down on your knees and pray for salvation -- a simple thing to do. To get out, fight, plan for a better tomorrow -- not so simple.' 'I'm not so sure. Things are getting worse. In the past...' 'You don't miss the past. Not as it was. You miss the past as you think it might have been. And it hasn't. It's been filthy, ignorant, unfair. You want to get nostalgic? Get nostalgic about the future -- and do something to make it happen.' 21/02 'Oi, mother. It hurts.' 'Holy Snake! Why did I bear such a stupid son?' 'It's the revolution, mother. It's for the good of the people.' 'And since when did you start caring about the good of the people? "Burn, burn, axe and fire?" Who taught you these words? Ugh! I ought to give you a beating, but others did that first.' 'You saw it, mother! They beat us, we ought to retaliate!' 'You only ought to be strong. You will go out there and stand against them. Then you must win them over, bring them to your side, or it will all be for nothing.'
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Post by Mister Buch on Feb 25, 2011 13:51:56 GMT 1
'Meercat and the Wose' would be a good title for some kind of quirky comedy Very good work, both of those. About that wallpaper - yes that'd be very nice! Cheers. If it doesn't appear on my profile, my email is chrisnbuchanan@gmail.com .
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Post by Mister Buch on Feb 25, 2011 14:01:30 GMT 1
And now the latest blockbuster Kidding I needed somewhere to use that clip. 26th FebruaryGarry had worked-out his 'immediately dumping the woman who cheated on me' speech years ago, and personalised it for his wife in January. They both knew one of them would cheat this year. Now it's happening, he's passed the end of the speech, she's nodded a lot and looked sad. But he just feels frustrated, lost, like an amateur actor who everyone's too polite to tell him he's rubbish. He's just talking now. About anything. Specifics. To make her feel it, to make her fucking... 'And all you had to s– WILL YOU FUCKING CRY!' She does. Still nothing.
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Post by Battlechantress on Feb 25, 2011 23:28:03 GMT 1
In light of Annie's continuing efforts to get into, gnaw on and/or destroy everything in the house, a friend of mine sent me this: I Has a Sweet Potato (it's a bit long) I'm rather glad I forgot to buy potatoes the last time I went grocery shopping now. I obviously can't plan a decent ending for shit, but I only have three more entries to do and I plan to use those to tie up the other storyline. I'm taking next month off to prepare for Script Frenzy in April. 25 February 2011The snow-wargs circled River until they realized that she wasn't about to fight. They stopped charging and stopped to sniff the air. She felt the cold seep through her skin and into her limbs, onward to her brain. Time crawled around her as her vision slowly dimmed until all that she saw was Old Man Winter himself. She tried to speak but the muscles in her face were numb. Her heart tried to beat faster to keep warm, even though it was a futile effort. "I can make this stop," he told her. Only one request. "Let them go."
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Post by Battlechantress on Feb 26, 2011 17:29:25 GMT 1
I have not had caffeine yet, so the next paragraph might wander a bit.
Mischief is behaving (most of the time) and doesn't usually go on the carpet (I'm not entirely sure why he did that the other day since he hasn't done that in years). I try reading Annie's body language to get her outside before she goes, but sometimes I miss it. I do fear that she's going to be the one with separation anxiety disorder and am rather glad that she has Mischief around on the days that I have to go into work. She does get treats when she goes outside and I bought several Nylabones to help with her teething (which she enjoys. I just wish the other dog would stop trying to hide them in and out of the house for fun).
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Post by Battlechantress on Feb 27, 2011 4:13:42 GMT 1
I brought the puppy to the friend's house where I found her last month. They have a few dogs of their own of various sizes, and while I figured she might get cause some mischief, I had no idea that by the end of this afternoon she really would:
* eat a hole in their bag of cat food * get half of her body into their bag of dog food before I could pull her out * steal a slice of pizza from one of the kids' plates * get into a bag of sweet potatoes (yes, really. No, I didn't even know that they had any. I swear she read "I Has a Sweet Potato" over my shoulder yesterday!) * work on opening the bucket of Milk Bones (and, after she was given one, look indignant and ask, "Hello? That's all I'm getting?!") * get into their trash at least three times * find the jar of Nutella and try to lick it open (how she even knew it was there, I don't even want to know) * run off with their dogs' toys
And we were only there for three hours! It got to the point where I put my head in my hands after she tried opening the bucket of Milk Bones and asked "Do I even want to know what she's doing now?" whenever I heard a sound that was probably coming from her direction. She got along great with the other dogs, and she didn't get very "bitey" with the kids (she's been better about redirection from body parts for the last three days. Not great, but definitely better). She also avoided having any accidents there. She just... gave them a very good idea of what Life With Annie is all about in a fairly short amount of time. Now she's passed out at my feet and is probably done for the evening.
I'd better get today's entry over with before I move the horses to the barn for the night.
26 February 2011
"Do you have anything else to say?" Old Man Winter asked.
River was too cold to even shrug. She simply stared blankly towards the east. Whatever he planned to do to her, she hoped it was quick.
She saw a club raised above her head and felt the world around her grow colder still. She was unaware of the club's movement, reliving her wasted life in her mind as she was. There were no final moments of enlightenment, no flashes of brilliant insight that she would never be able to share with the world. Her world simply went... dark.
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Post by lieden on Feb 27, 2011 13:42:10 GMT 1
(Hey, no-one noticed I misspelled 'Meerkat' in the other entry!) Catching up, again... 22/02 I went to the square the day after, looking for signs of what had happened, but found nothing. No chunks of broken pavement, not even a whiff of tear gas. That was supposed to be good, law and order restored and all that. The same old music was booming about again, girls swayed their hips to it. They tried to look happy but their smiles stuck to their faces like peeling plaster. They would come up to you and goad you to expose every bit of yourself (every bit that isn't yourself) for that one moment of publicity, or to consume, amoeba-style, everything you can find. 23/02 What a miserable revolutionary I am! I missed the bulk of the protests at noon, because I wasn't on strike. After my shift, I headed downtown, for the sole reason that I always do, as it is on my way home. I did invest myself with a sort of rebellious air; but by the time I got there, the air was thick with tear gas. I choked and coughed and made my way to the main square where a scant few people remained. It was quiet; there were no more hostilities. I took a photo of a line of riot police and we glared at each other accordingly. Another bunch of them was underway in a horny-violent mood -- these are really horrible people. I spat at their heels as they passed, but hasted away because I could no longer breathe. And that, was the meagre sum of my participation. Quite sad, really. 24/02 It's raining. A hard, rich night rain just like at my home planet. I am home, I realise: I'm perched on the branch outside my old window and I'm staring at the human shadow sitting opposite to me. She's speaking to me, but it's with my father's voice, a voice coming from my own guts. I don't want to hear it, because she's speaking truths that, if I admit them, will make everything collapse. 'You're dead!' I shout, to make her go away. She reaches out to me and I feel her fingers on the right side of my face. It stings, a pain that spreads to my ear and throat. She leans in and pries open my mouth - she clamps her lips on it - and the rain is falling hard on us, flooding our mouths - but it's not water. I'm choking on her blood. 25/02 The word for 'Rock' used to be the same as the one for 'Ice'. Perhaps it was part of the old language, gone and forgotten, lingering only in the names of mountains and rivers, and that of the sea, which are all older than the names given to them. Up on top of the Rock (whose name is 'Ice'), I can look at the city, whose name is also old, but not as old as that of the mountains surrounding it (the rivers are all covered with concrete, nowhere to be seen). It's hard to find beauty in it: it's a modern thing, very vulgar one might say, but something in the sparkling roofs and the evenness of grey tries to speak to me and make me look at it in a more favourable way.
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Post by Mister Buch on Feb 27, 2011 18:55:25 GMT 1
Well those were extremely impressive, Lieden. Espescially the last one.
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Post by Battlechantress on Feb 28, 2011 5:46:10 GMT 1
Going back to the story idea I threw words at earlier in the month....
27 February 2011
Melissa Derusaven had been a 24th century poet that the local government had made an example of when they finally captured her after a year of living underground. Her only crime was saying that she sympathized with a small group of nuns who had given their lives to fight slavery. Compared to the anti-government guerillas on Besami-7, it was a very minor infraction, but she paid for it dearly over and over.
Arp had told me that such people could never be rehabilitated, but I chose to believe otherwise. I had to. She was my sister, after all.
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Post by Battlechantress on Feb 28, 2011 23:04:58 GMT 1
...And now I can rest my brain for Script Frenzy. (Not like I was working hard on this month's entries or anything.)
28 February 2011
I don't know why I looked down at the floor when I did. When I looked up, Mel was standing between me and the mercs and they were convulsing in front of her. When they died, she stuffed their bodies into empty storage containers as though she were picking up bits of trash. "You murdered them! Why?"
"It wasn't murder," Mel told me cheerfully. "It was 'personnel extraction!'"
Arp hissed on secure comms, "Leah, we can't keep her here. She's going to kill us next and not even know it."
"Mel?" I asked. "Know who I am?"
She stared.
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