(( Just out of curiosity, are you saving these? I'd like to see the previous month's work but of course the board is.... hungry. ))
((I personally do not save them. To plug my site, greenjournal.net, I set people up with mod privlages to their own section of a forum in the "Writer's Haven" section to dump all their writing into one place, and they have total control of that section. No one else can post in that section, only they can.
Also, I personally feel the author is just letting their work be borrowed here in this space, and I would feel odd about copying it down for myself. The challenge primes the pump, so to speak, and people can hoose to use greenjournal.net, or other means, to record and store their works. ))
Arc #345863 - When The Bough Breaks
"Curse you Perry the Plata...wait, is that Love Handel?" - Dr. Heinz Doofenshmirtz, Phineas and Ferb
/em challenges Pez to finish writing up his report on his trip out to California
Comrade Smersh, KGB Special Section 8 50 Inv/Fire, Fire/Rad, BS/WP, SD/SS, AR/EM
Other 50s: Plant/Thorn, Bots/Traps, DB/SR, MA/Regen, Rad/Dark - All on Virtue.
-Don't just rebel, build a better world, comrade!
[ QUOTE ]
/em challenges Pez to finish writing up his report on his trip out to California
[/ QUOTE ]
With any luck, Sunday night. But just for that, I'm not post it unless you enter the challenge Smersh. So if I never post it, it's your fault.
Arc #345863 - When The Bough Breaks
"Curse you Perry the Plata...wait, is that Love Handel?" - Dr. Heinz Doofenshmirtz, Phineas and Ferb
((*grins and opens Word*))
((Remarkably, Moira/White Sands does not have a theme song (suggestions are welcome). Instead, I'm giving you one of my many alter-egos, Victor Morgan, AKA Victory X, and Shinedown - .45. I must include a disclaimer as this story includes painful aspects of military life, and may cause discomfort to some people. I apologize in advance.))
Send away for a priceless gift
One not subtle, one not on the list
"I do."
"I do."
Her smile was radiant, outshining even the brilliant white of her gown. Victor leaned down and kissed Moira's lips gently, and a resounding cry went up from the assembled airmen. The marriage of their favorite commanders had been anticipated with something akin to impatience, and both squadrons had turned out en masse for the event. The newlyweds turned and smiled, a few photos were taken, and the crowd filed out while the two completed the legal paperwork cementing their union. A few minutes later, the couple burst out of the doors of the base chapel, and were immediately showered with the only thing appropriate for a pair of Intelligence Officers: pounds of 1/8th inch cross-cut classified shred, fresh out of the shredder.
Send away for a perfect world
One not simply so absurd
"Who was it, sweetheart?"
The look on Victor's face was enough of an answer to Moira, who had seen the same expression on so many of her airmen. "No," she whispered. Then, louder, "No! We.. we just.. they can't...not so soon! Our honeymoon isn't even over!!" Even as she railed against the injustice of the timing of the government, her mind was stepping back from the emotions and acknowledging that not even she could come before the duty of a soldier, or an airman.
"Moira, I've been recalled. I have to go. You know this...."
She sobbed and threw her arms around him, holding him so tight it was as though she thought she could keep him from going there, to that foreign land of broken dreams, if she just hung on hard enough.
In these times of doing what you're told
You keep these feelings, no one knows
The uniformed man at the door held an envelope in one white-gloved hand. Moira Morgan's eyes moved slowly up from the envelope to the man's grim expression. With shaking hands, she took the envelope and opened it, drawing out a familiar letter. How many times had she written letters like this? Too many. Far too many.
"We regret to inform you that Lt. Col. Victor Morgan..."
Moira's face slowly crumpled, and she shut the door in the face of the young Captain.
What ever happened to the young man's heart
Swallowed by pain, as he slowly fell apart
"They will never come get you, yes? You are dead." A laughing, bearded man thrust a copy of Victor's file in his face. The only words he saw were KILLED IN ACTION.
"No! Dammit no!" He lunged towards the man, or tried to. His broken body wouldn't obey his commands. He had no memory of how he'd been pulled from the wreckage of the plane, or brought here to this place. He stared at the man with rage-filled eyes.
"We will be using you, yes? You are now, what you call... a lab rat? Or, you may choose the cowards way out. We would expect nothing better from such as you." The man laid a weapon at Victor's feet and stood back. Victor grabbed it and tried to aim it at the man, gasping in pain and helplessness when he couldn't even lift the weapon. The man laughed at Victor's weak attempts at defiance, and left the room.
And I'm staring down the barrel of a 45,
Swimming through the ashes of another life
No real reason to accept the way things have changed
Staring down the barrel of a 45
Time passed. Deep in Dark Astoria, a man made his home. He was neither alive nor dead, existing as a shell of a man filled only with memories of pain and rage, loss and sorrow. Years after his escape from his tormentors, he began searching for Moira. She had moved on, of course she had. It wasn't her fault. She had no reason to believe anything other than what they'd told her. He followed her to Paragon City, proud of her accomplishments, waiting for the right time to reveal himself.
Send a message to the unborn child
Keep your eyes open for a while
When he heard that his beloved Moira was in the hospital with a difficult pregnancy, the lives of her and her child threatened by the child's uncontrolled bone growth, he could hide no longer. He created a serum to help supress the mutation of the daughter. With trepidation he went to the hospital to deliver a miracle. He woke her, spoke to her, and then met her fiance, Thomas. She agreed to use the serum, which worked, with an unexpected side effect. Her daughter became aware.
In a box high up on the shelf, left for you, no one else
There's a piece of a puzzle known as life
Wrapped in guilt, sealed up tight
Two weeks later, the evening after Victor had delivered a second dose of the serum, Moira was in a coma. The doctors couldn't explain it, and neither could Victor. He was certain it wasn't his doing. Wasn't he?
What ever happened to the young man's heart
Swallowed by pain, as he slowly fell apart
Moira was taken for an emergency cesarean after her daughter's vitals became dangerously low. Victor stayed on the roof of the hospital, anguished that he could have inadvertently brought harm to the woman he loved, and the daughter she bore. He fought back the thoughts of "She should have been mine!" and hovered on the edge of despair. Moira remained in a coma.
And I'm staring down the barrel of a 45,
Swimming through the ashes of another life
No real reason to accept the way things have changed
Staring down the barrel of a 45
Two weeks later, Victor was perched on the roof of the hospital as normal. He had a peculiar feeling of being watched, and turned to see a figure standing nearby in a costume very similar to his. At that moment, GyreFalcon landed on the roof. Victor turned to greet him, when suddenly the figure leapt foward with a tazer and attempted to stun the larger man into submission. A short battle ensued, ending when the stranger sucessfully stunned GyreFalcon, who spasmed and slashed Victor's chest. The stranger, a woman, easily threw the limp form of GyreFalcon over her shoulder and leapt away. By the time the rest of the Talons of Freedom had arrived, Victor's blood mixed freely with Gyre's. The initial reports were of a figure in a vaguely 5th Column style uniform, a description that matched Victor. Despite his protests, the Talons weren't ready to trust this newly involved person in Moira's life. Some even suspected he intentionally put her in a coma. To make matters worse, the entire situation revolved around the disappearance of Moira from the hospital!
Everyone's pointing their fingers
Always condemning me
And nobody knows what I believe
I believe
Victor knew he had to help get the missing Talons back. But what could he do? He wasn't even sure if he was dead or alive. He didn't know what he'd be able to accomplish. He retreated back to Dark Astoria and brooded, dwelling on his mistakes, agonizing over the pain he caused others. For a time, all he felt was inner torment, and the cold weight of the gun in his hand.
And I'm staring down the barrel of a 45,
Swimming through the ashes of another life
No real reason to accept the way things have changed
Staring down the barrel of a 45
Okay, I'm biased, since she's my girl and we live together and all, but regardless.....good stuff.
A winter's day
In a deep and dark December;
I am alone,
Gazing from my window to the streets below
On a freshly fallen silent shroud of snow.
I am a rock,
I am an island.
It was the worst kind of winter day, damp and windy, but with snow threatening but refusing to fall. The cold was bitter, and Elena shivered as the cold pierced straight through her shabby clothes and snow seeped into her shoes. The cold didnt bother her cybernetics much, but where the metal was connected to her skin ached so badly she was almost crying. Common sense told her to get out of the cold, to find someplace warm to spend the night, but she remained shivering in the doorway, watching the windows of the building across the street.
Christmas at the Eagle residence was always an extravagant affair; it was Ritas favorite holiday and she spared no expense when it came to decorating. As Elena watched, Jessica and Caytlin were taking turns placing ornaments of real glass and of hand-carved wood onto a beautiful freshly-cut spruce. Elena frowned, remembering when she had been in that rotation as well.
She caught sight of Rita and Terry carefully unpacking the other decorations, with Rita handing the stockings to her husband to hang at the fireplace. She drew one out and held it up; Elenas eyes widened as she recognized the cross-stitched pattern of hers. Without meaning to, she took a step towards the house, half wondering if it would be possible
But Rita laid it aside and pulled Caytlins out instead. The half-formed hope died before it could become full-fledged emotion.
There was no place for her here anymore. She turned away.
I've built walls,
A fortress deep and mighty,
That none may penetrate.
I have no need of friendship; friendship causes pain.
It's laughter and it's loving I disdain.
I am a rock,
I am an island.
No matter how bitter the weather was, people were still out doing their shopping for the various celebrations and parties. No one paid the least bit of attention to someone as scruffy and insignificant as Elena (except for a few wary sales clerks), and she liked it just fine that way. She walked through the crowds like a ghost, observing silently the holiday rush as shoppers, determined not to wait to the last minute to buy gifts, rushed here and there. They fought with each other for items that there were plenty of, spending money in quantities Elena could barely imagine to buy items that were unbelievably useless and extravagant. She shook her head and kept walking.
The last Christmas had been different. She and Blaze and the others their age had spent all year trying to save enough change to at least fill stockings with candy for the holiday, but they all (except Blaze) had been pleasantly surprised when a pair of Warriors had showed up with presents from Santa for the kids
She shied away from the rest of the memory. Those days were over and done with, and werent coming back.
Don't talk of love,
Well, I've heard the word before.
It's sleeping in my memory.
I won't disturb the slumber of feelings that have died.
If I never loved I never would have cried.
I am a rock,
I am an island.
She leaned against the railing at the boardwalk, looking out over the ocean. It was STILL hard to believe that both Blaze and Caytlin had betrayed her. Nothing cuts quite so deep as betrayal by a loved one, and while she was numb now, the wounds were still there. If she could have cared, she would have been seething to see her sister pretending to be so meek and obedient, calmly trimming the tree while the family didnt suspect a thing.
Im never letting anyone get close ever again, she told the ocean. Waves moved in and out, unconcerned with her insignificant human views. She looked down at her metal hands, thinking of that satisfied smirk that had been on her sisters face and imagining walking into her parents house and strangling the brat. Im never trusting anyone again. Ever.
I have my books
And my poetry to protect me;
I am shielded in my armor,
Hiding in my room, safe within my womb.
I touch no one and no one touches me.
I am a rock,
I am an island.
Im leaving. I dont want to be here anymore.
The words seemed to hang in the air, until a puff of wind blew the steam of her breath away. She wasnt sure where the idea had come from, but it sounded so right. She wanted to get away from this place, where every single thing she had cared about had either been destroyed or forgotten her.
Someplace where she could be herself, on her own. Somewhere where she would have nothing to fall back on but herself and would need no one. She looked up at the stars. Another city wouldnt be far enough away, and besides, she had no money to get there. But if there were a way to reach another world
And a rock feels no pain;
And an island never cries.
"I Am A Rock", Simon and Garfunkel
((This is not Hope's current theme, but this WAS her theme when I first made her, and it fits so well with her story. Hope first appeared in our Paragon on the 22nd of December.))
((I write about Kelp too much... and I'm gearing up for CoV... so, I thought to myself, who's theme should I write about? And then it hit me that I'd never introduced this character in a situation where Kelp wasn't involved before. And he needs that.))
"C'mon, lady. All we want is the cash, and you'll get your kid back, safe an' everything." The gunman, face obscured by a skull mask, held his pistol to the head of a five year old boy who remained utterly silent out of fear.
The woman standing across from the two of them in the dark alleyway froze. Normally, she would of likely paid the man... however, she had no money. And if she mentioned that, he would probably kill them both.
Something passed overhead, a flicker of shadow in the night. The gunman noticed, and looked nervous for a moment. He tightened his finger slightly on the trigger, and the child began to cry.
A hand reached out from the shadows, and grabbed the gunman's arm, twisting it in a way it didn't want to be twisted, and making it pop sickeningly. The hand, a black glove, burst into flames, scorching the flesh of the gunman's hand, and making him drop the gun. Another arm came from the shadows, and grabbed him by the neck, then the full figure emerged, a tall man with long, dark hair, clad in a red and black costume. He crushed the gunman's neck in his hands, and threw him to the ground. The skull mask slid off the gunman's face as a foot came down on his chest.
The man in red and black spoke, eyes sparking with fire for a moment. "Using a child to get to his mother is one of those things I'm afraid I can't stand." His foot pressed down hard, cracking several ribs in the gunman's ribcage while he emitted a yelp of pain.
The gunman gasped, begging that this man be like the other heroes and send him to the prison hospital to recover.
"I'm not a hero," the man in red and black said. "I just don't like you."
With a loud slam and a crunching noise, the gunman was embedded in the wall of the alleyway, blood running down to the pavement. The costumed man turned to face the woman and her child, who was clinging to her in fear. She stuttered out a thanks, and asked what the man's name was.
"I'd be the Poison Eel. And don't thank me. You shouldn't be raising a child on this island. I should of let him die so you'd of learned that lesson." He started to walk off, and the child began to cry again. Eel paused and looked at the scorched gun on the ground. He picked it up and tossed it to the mother. "If you don't leave, at least adapt."
Darkness swept up and over Poison Eel, and in a second, he was gone. The woman hugged her child close, finding that even in a land as chaotic and dark as the Rogue Isles there was a bit of light, even in villains a bit of kindness.
Poison Eel, archnemesis of Kelp Plankton, tool of the Tahnakshian magi, villain. Theme: Behind Blue Eyes.
Animation major and old-school CoHer.
Art, Animation, and Stuff:
DA Tumblr Vimeo Youtube
Bon Jovi - Good Guys don't always wear white
You say you don't like my kind
I fit a picture in your mind
No it don't matter what I say
I hear ya bitchin' when I walk away
I'll never be what ya want me ta be
You tell me I'm wrong but I disagree
I ain't got no apology
The Necrodragon browsed the mystical artifacts in the store, carefully going from one section of the store to another. He brushed by two more heroes, one a female in high tech armor looking bored and another mystic with a heroically golden aura. His hearing, better than a human's, caught the woman's comment to her partner.
"Tch, another one..." she spoke under her breath, not hiding her scorn.
He straightened up from looking at the items and stared at the woman. "Excuse me?"
She blinked a moment at being heard and then scowled and crossed her arms over her chest defensively. "You heard me. You and all you 'Darkity dark's think your all so big bad and tough, but all you are is sad pathetic excuses for heroes and heroines."
The Necrodragon tilted his head a bit. "I am who I am. I make no excuses for my appearance. Nor do I try and hide who I am," he countered. "I find it terribly sad that you and heroes like you would make a judgment based solely on how one looks without looking at actions or personality."
Just because I don't look like you, talk like you, think like you.
Judge and jury, a hangman's noose;
I see them in your eyes...
The heroine laughed "I'M sad? I take the term 'hero' to heart, Darkity Dark," she said jabbing a finger at him. "Heroes like me, to use your term, do our best to act as beacons to this city and everyone in it. You and the other lord darkity darks? You sulk around in your shadows and pretend to be heroes. Heck, Most of you don't even bother arresting do you? Just out and out kill them, right? Just to prove how 'dark' and 'bad' you are? THAT'S what's sad."
Good guys don't always wear white
Good Guys don't always wear white
You judge a man who don't stand in line
Just because he ain't on your side
Do you know the man who wears those shoes?
If you cut me don't I bleed like you?
Ya know I do
"You have already made your judgments about 'my kind', hero. Trying to convince you of ANYTHING that does not agree with your little philosophy or the sun soaked picture in your head would be pointless as it would be rejected for not meeting that picture's standards. So I will say this. You show your arrogance and your overinflated sense of how great you and those like you are by saying what you did. You deride what 'my kind', as you put it, are to make yourself and those like you feel even better about yourself. Your ego refuses to let anything that calls into question your methods or beliefs to be even thought of as legitimate." The Necrodragon stood and stared at the heroine as her partner joined her, watching the exchange silently.
I don't know whatcha been told
Can't buy guts with a pot 'o gold
A rich man's poor if he got no soul
Rich man, poor man, beggar man, king
All that [censored] don't mean a thing
Do you know which one's behind those eyes?
We all wear our disguises...
Don't we
The Necrodragon continued. "Just because I look as I do, I must hide in the shadows and fill my head and speech with overinflated angst just to prove to others how 'dark' I am?" He stepped forward into the heroine's personal space and went eye to eye with her. "Little human, I don't care what you say or how you say it. I know who I am and all your comments truly do is point out just how sad and narrow you own vision is. The fact that you believe what you have said about us 'darkity darks' further shows others just how narrow-minded you really are."
She growled "How dare you! You Darkity darks, anyone who's got half a brain wouldn't trust you lot as far as they could throw you. Your just one step up from villains."
Good guys don't always wear white
Good Guys don't always wear white
Hey baby...whose side you on?
You think you got it all figured out,
Where we belong
Forget all about your dark from light
Day from night,
Wrong from right...
"We don't fit your vision of a hero and so you take steps to correct us even being associated with the term. Dubbing us 'Darkity darks' is one such way to Mock and separate what YOU think heroes are." The Necrodragon was getting tired of this little human. "Who are YOU to decide what is and isn't? Who are YOU to decide, little human? We all have our flaws and our weaknesses and our strengths. Judging anyone by anything other than what and who they are only shows YOUR ignorance and stupidity."
Good guys don't always wear white
Good Guys don't always wear white
Don't always wear (repeated)
Don't always wear... White
The Necrodragon turned away to resume his browsing only to be pulled back around. A fist wrapped in energy slammed into his stomach and one to the side of his jaw sending him crashing into the display cases. He looked up into the heroine's angry and hateful eyes and got back to his feet. Her partner had drifted off, wanting nothing to do with any of this. He looked into the heroine's eyes. His voice was even and calm with a touch of scorn.
"Yes, you're a real beacon to others...a real hero. You weaken the real heroes by claiming to be one." He turned away and dropped suitable payment on the counter next to the cashier to pay for the damage and swept out of the store. He had people to save.
Please check this for The Cape sponsered event called Heroic Harmonies. This and the writing challenge were independantly conceived but they seem to merge together in one striking move that must be a sign of deities above.
If you want your writing to be used in this event, please let them know, either here in this thread when you post, or over in that thread. Thank you.
Arc #345863 - When The Bough Breaks
"Curse you Perry the Plata...wait, is that Love Handel?" - Dr. Heinz Doofenshmirtz, Phineas and Ferb
*BEEPBEEPBEEP*
*crackle of static*
"Engine 25, District 5, stand by for a business fire alarm, 1505 Kings Parkway, Kings Row."
As doors to the antiquated, yet wellkept stationhouse flared open, the chains of rattling garage door openers sounding an almost musical background to the sudden burst of the dispatch from the firehouse speakers, a crew of four men, everyday men in an everyday role, exploded from chairs, desks, even the shower as they ran to the patiently waiting fire apparatus. Legs slid effortlessly into bunker boots, arms deftly into coats, faces gingerly into flashover hoods and facepieces. Yet another run on an already busy day for Engine 25 and in standard form, Captain Joe Gage reached to the console sprawled out before him, taking the microphone of his radio even as a hand cinched the last strap of his airpack harness.
"Dammit Jimmy, turn that down."
Jimmy 'Buckethead' Dunn. A twenty year veteran of the Paragon City Fire Department, a fire equipment operator, a two pack a day smoker, and an absolute heartstruck lover of Aretha Franklin. As he scowled, fired up the massive diesel and pulled it onto the pad in front of the station, a thumb flicked outward, catching the volume knob on the antiquated cassette deck that sat on the dashboard. It quickly silenced the First Lady of Soul as she sang on the battered machine and instantly put a long, drawn frown on his face. He never asked much from his captain, and gave all he had. But he had to have Aretha Franklin when 'Big Two-Five' was thundering down the road. Anything less would simply be unacceptable.
Quiet enough to keep the Godmother of Soul from blasting across the emergency airwaves of Paragon City, Captain Gage keyed his microphone, even as the fire apparatus began its turn toward the west and the just now setting sun. It glowed a dangerous crimson in the skies, serving to illuminate the already rising column of deadly black smoke on the horizon. Flicking a glance to Buckethead and the firefighters on the back, a small smile touched the corners of his mouth, disengaging the button on the microphone for a split second to mutter, "We got one..."
"Engine Two-Five to main, we have visible smoke to the west. Open up the assignment." The mouthpiece rattled harshly against the dashboard as it fell from his hand, discarded like rubbish as Buckethead began to smile, a hand already reaching for the silent tape player. And as Big Two-Five, the pride of District 5, tore a swath down the roadway, closing rapidly upon the raging inferno in the distance, Aretha Franklin once again began to sing...
Rescue me...
And take me in your arms
Rescue me...
I want your tender charms
'Cause I'm lonely and I'm blue
I need you and your love, too
C'mon and rescue me...
Brakes pinched thick steel rotors with a protesting squeal and a whoosh of released air as Engine Two-Five came to a halt before the spread out facility. Flame and smoke vomited in sickly greenish-black gouts from windows already shattered by the intense heat within. Words didn't need to be spoken at this moment in time. The crew knew their roles, knew their duties, and leapt from the truck to attack their responsibilities with a feral tenacity. Hoselines advanced to the doorway, axes were taken up in gloved hands, and Buckethead, in all his glory, pulled a half bent camel non-filter from his pocket as he pulled the levers to open up water flow from the engine's massive pump. It lit from the lighter in his free hand as the other twisted the throttle knob to increase the pressure. The outstretched hoselines bucked against the sudden charging of water, snapping kinks into gentle curves, folds into rigid yellow lines of 1 3/4 inch fire suppression fury. And the scene was set, even as Jimmy 'Buckethead' Dunn poked his jowled face from behind his pump panel, the cigarette already hanging a teetering column of ash from its tip. "CAP! Watch yer <BLEEP> in there! It's gonna be ugly!" And Aretha, voice like an angel and apple of Jimmy Dunn's eye, continued to sing as Captain Gage and the others slipped into the opaque maw of hell on earth.
C'mon baby and rescue me...
C'mon baby and rescue me...
It wasn't soon after, though time does seem to disappear when you're in that set of circumstances. I personally don't know for sure, but I was there when Captain Gage went down. Of course we couldn't see three foot in front of us with the smoke. Whatever was there, I DO know, it could've killed us all. And it would have, had Cap not physically pushed us out a window. All of our SCBA had failed. Corroded and melted from the soup of chemicals in that damned building. But Cap stayed behind, made sure we got out.
One thing I'll never forget, though... As I scrambled out away from the building, tearing off my bunker gear as it rotted into nothingness before my very eyes, was looking up just in time to see the explosion. Looking up to see Cap's face in the window, his facepiece already gone, his face contorted in pain, just before the blast threw him from the window.
I thought we lost him...
But he made it. 18 long months in the hospital, but he made it. Something about how the chemicals mixed, his exposure, no one really knows for sure. The papers call him the Maltese Knight now, with what all happened to him. When he stops by the station, we just call him Captain.
And Buckethead?
He hasn't listened to Aretha Franklin since.
As told by:
Bobby Simmons
Firefighter, Engine 25
Oddly enough, I do have a story for this.
Here.
It's part of Karmic Bingo, and somehow or other, Paradise By The Dashboard Light wove itself into it. Except, it's no longer about sex.
"You got to do what you can..."
For extra credit, can you figure out where I tossed it back and forth to Roy?
PERC Supporter
La Pucelle (BS/SR)
Miseria Bella (Sonic/Dark)
Wrangler Annie (SS/Elec)
Coldsmoke (Ice/Dark)
Saber Maid (BS/Regen)
and others...
Have I no control, is my soul not mine?
Am I not just man, destiny defined?
Never to be ruled nor held to heel.
Not heaven or hell just the land between.
She looked out the window at the Refinery, sighing. Across the street, a group of Clockwork piled junk together in an untidy heap. One young hero ran up, recklessly attacking the mob of Clockwork. Chandra braced herself to assist him...but his companions followed rapidly, their attacks distracting the Clockwork from the more reckless hero. The battle was over in moments, the junk pile was scattered across the ground, joined by the pieces of half-demolished Clockwork. She could see bits of cars, old stereo equipment, fragments of broken or destroyed computers littering the ground.
Am I not man, does my heart not bleed?
No Lord, no God, no hate, no pity, no pain, just ME.
Comprehend and countermand.
Synchronous guidance. I choose my way.
Never to be ruled nor held to heel.
Not heaven or hell just the land between.
and am I not man?
Chandra Parker-Storm shook her head and turned her chair away from the window, thinking back on their operations last night. They had recruited a new member for the Technocratic Union, a young man whom she had met in Gemini Park. He had seemed intelligent, and dedicated enough to find a way for an un-augmented human to register as a superhero, even to holding his own against the paranormal criminals plaguing Paragon City. The boy was lacking in experience, but that would come with time. Still...Chandra had missed some of the easy camaraderie she and her husband had built with the other members of the new Union. Last night had been more formal, a reminder of previous missions they had undertaken back home. It was so very different here in Paragon City...
So why do I love when I still feel pain?
When does it end, when is my work done?
Why am I lone and why do I feel
that I carry a sword through a battle field?
So why do I love when I still feel pain?
When does it end, when is my work done?
Why do I fight and why do I feel
that I carry a sword, that I carry a sword?
Alexander Pavlidis had questioned her honor. That rankled still, even though she knew he had no way of knowing her, nothing but what little Laurie Pennington might have told him about the woman registered as Agent Storm. Nothing that would tell him that Chandra Parker-Storm had held to her oaths while all but a handful of her former allies had branded her a traitor for seeking peace in the face of greater threats, that she and her cabal had remembered that they were sworn to protect the Masses while the others had bickered and jockeyed for power.
She and hers had been proven right in the end. Too late to do any good, too late to stop what had come. Too late to do anything more than die with the others, uselessly, or to run, and pray that she could find somewhere that they could help, somewhere that the Betrayer could not follow them to. If she had stayed, if she had been able to convince the others to trust...But this was a well-travelled path of thought, one she had considered far too many times since she and John had arrived in Paragon City.
Like the path to heaven or the road to hell
our choice is our own consequences bind.
We are the kings of wisdom, the fools as well.
We are the gods to many, we are humble men.
They had proven themselves to Alexander, had passed his tests of honor and combat prowess. He had surrendered himself to their custody, and they had remanded him to the Hero Corps specialists. Chandra hoped she would be able to speak with him again. He reminded her a great deal of herself, placed in a situation his honor would not allow him to stay in, but unable to find a way out without breaking oaths. She made a mental note to check with Hero Corps and determine where he was being held. It might do some good for the both of them to speak with an ally of similar mindset. And she did want to be very certain that he was not being mistreated by the Paragon City officials.
A wry chuckle escaped her. Not that she expected them to do so. It seemed counter to every principle this city had been built on, but there were always the ones who hid themselves in the shadows of bureaucracy. It was so different here. For the first time in her life, she did not have to hide her abilities. The supernatural was accepted here, and worked side by side with the technological to protect the Masses from threats they could not themselves fight. It was what she and John had hoped to see happen in their own world, what too many centuries of distrust and outright war had prevented.
We who build great works just to break them down.
We who make our rules so we never fail.
So why do I love when I still feel pain?
When does it end, when is my work done?
Why am I lone and why do I feel
that I carry a sword through a battle field?
So why do I love when I still feel pain?
When does it end, when is my work done?
Why do I fight and why do I feel
that I carry a sword, that I carry a sword?
Thoughtfully, Chandra removed the small pin with the word "Negotiator" on it from her suit collar and held it in her hand. She pulled the new badge Laurie had given her when she had reported Alexander's surrender, and looked at the writing on it. "Redeemer", it said. Slipping the old badge into her pocket, she pinned the new one in place and stood up. The Technocratic Union as she had known it was gone, along with everything else she had known from her home.
Agent Storm walked out of the office building, giving one last glance at the scattered remains of Clockworks across the street. Agent Parker followed behind her, speaking quietly into his cell phone as he picked up their next assignment. He had called the members of the new Technocratic Union together, a Union of like-minded heroes who would try to make Paragon City a better and safer place...without the mistakes they had made in the past. Agent Storm touched the badge on her lapel and smiled faintly. "Redeemer"...perhaps they could redeem each other, in the course of their duties to the Masses. They had a duty, and it was time to get back to work.
(The song is "Joy", by VNV Nation. Agent Storm has several theme songs, but the stories around most of the rest are a bit more in depth than I want to put in a public forum just quite yet. I cheated a bit and combined August and September together, since I didn't have a chance to write one in August. Obviously, the badge in question would be Redeemer. *grins* Oh, and the Cape is welcome to play with this for Heroic Harmonies.)
@SithRose and @Sith Rose
Permanent resident of Virtue
"Mommy, I need Cthulhu. He keeps the bad dreams away."
((Ok, first timer on the writting challenge. 
This is a story about one of my alts, Twilight Zoe. Some folks might remember a story a did a while back called, Twilight in Paragon, it's about how Zoe's parents died during the Rikti war. The parts of this story in italics are copied and pasted from that story as flashbacks. The theme song for Zoe, in case some folks don't recoginize it, is Ode to my Family by the Cranberries. Enjoy. ))
Understand the things I say
Dont turn away from me
Cause I spent half my life out there
You wouldnt disagree
Dyou see me, dyou see
Do you like me, do you like me standing there
Dyou notice, dyou know
Do you see me, do you see me
Does anyone care
The small sixteen year old girl stood atop the roof a red brick building looking out over the area of Paragon City that was known as Skyway City. She serveyed her surroundings, her former home.
Great patches of the sky were blocked from view by the multitude of highways that etched across the neighborhood. Buildings huddled under them, cars moved across them, and the lonely wondered the streets hiding in their shadows.
This was the place they had died. This was the place their lives had changed forever. This was where her parents had made their last stand against the invading hordes bent on distruction.
Zoe crossed the street, toward one particular building directly in front of her. She was no longer the six year old girl inside that building anxiously waiting for her parents to return. Now she was Twilight Zoe. Now she was a hero...just like them.
It looked about that same. The brick facade, the faded grey steps leading to the entrance. The green and white awning. She looked up the face of the building and could see the window that once was her home. The room where she last saw her family. Her mind travled back in time, as if it were only yesterday...
Arika smiled at her daughter as Zoe looked up at her, fear in her eyes. The small purple skinned child leapt up and raced to her mother, clinging to her legs desperately. Her small spaded tail whipping back and forth in anxiety. Arika stroked her shoulder length hair.
"It's Ok dear, daddy and I are patrolling the block, nothing will get past us." She turned to look at Samantha.
"Sam, any word on who or what they are, it's hard to follow the comms out there." She asked.
Sam shook her head, "Nothing specific yet, but from what folks are saying, they sound alien."
Unhappiness, wheres when I was young
And we didnt give a damn
cause we were raised
To see life as a fun and take it if we can
My mother, my mother she hold me
Did she hold me, when I was out there
My father, my father, he liked me
Ol he liked me, does anyone care
She walked across the street after deftly leaping to the ground below her. She walked up to the building and entered. It was now worn down and ratty. It smelled of mildew. She ascended the stairs until she reached the floor she had once shared with her family.
The hall was dark, only sporadic flickering lights pulsing before her. She moved with the grace of a trained warrior to the apartment that had once played with dolls in. Dolls, she could remember dolls, just barely...
She stood before the door. She reached out with her lavander hand and touched it. A lavander hand so like her mother's. She remembered her mother's lavander hands holding the brush she used to pull through Zoe's hair while they sat in the living room talking about what it would be like when she was older.
She held her hand on the face of the grimey wooden door and remembered the night her parents had discussed what was to come next...
She looked up into his eyes, "Deac, I want her to be safe. I want to help out the other people in need. I can't turn my attention to others when I'm worried about Zoe."
"Ok, so what do you suggest? It doesn't sound like any part of the city is safer than any other, where do you think she'll be safe....oh wait..."
"Deac, honestly hon, it's perfectly safe, I mostly grew up there." She cut him off. "They are like family to me. I'd never send her somewhere I thought there was even a remote chance she could be in danger."
Deacon looked into her eyes, "Babe, it's another dimension! Don't you think that's a bit extreme?"
Arika shook her head, "Not in the slightest. It's another dimension not currently being invaded by gross wrinkled pink aliens blowing up the city." She countered.
Deacon nodded, "Agreed, but...it's just...she'll be so far away...and I couldn't get to her I needed to." He whispered the last part.
Arika hugged him tightly, "I know, but trust me, I will be able to get her back once this is all over. She can stay with Zuriel's tribe, they will look after her like they looked after me."
Deacon closed his eyes and breathed heavily, "Ok." He whispered, "Get her to safety, then we take back our city so we can bring her back." He clinched his teeth.
Understand what Ive become
It wasnt my design
And people everywhere think
Something better than I am
But I miss you, I miss
cause I liked it, I liked it
When I was out there
Dyou know this, dyou know
You did not find me, you did not find
Does anyone care
Zoe Barnes pushed the door open, motes of dust scurried across the scrapped wooden floor. She stepped into the apartment. This had been home. This was where family had happened. Then it was gone. Pink fleshy aliens had taken it away. A small six year old girl had been ripped out of this world, this apartment, this future, this family, and taken to a place of purpetual twilight. A place of love and surrogate family, but still a place of twilight. A place that wasn't this place.
She walked across the floor, eyes casting about the empty rooms. Her brain, trained by the Unari as a warrior, plotted possible escape routes if attacked while in here. She shook her head, this was not a hunt. This was what was home. She couldn't help being the young woman she had become, but she longed for the young woman she was supposed to be.
She remembered her mother leaving her in the village with Zurial's tribe. She would be safe there from the invaders. Zurial would take care of her until her mother could return for her, once the danger had passed in their world. Her father had promised they would move heaven and earth to make sure she would be home as quickly as possible.
She watched her mother disappear in a wink. A wink that was her power. A wink that opened a door to another dimension, their dimension, their home. She watched her mother wink out of her life and began the wait for her return.
Midnight Traveler focused her mind on the hero and prepared to open a portal, pulling her to safety. The Deacon, up on the hill, had paused long enough to look down and see the raiding party moving on the survivors. He had grabbed three other melee heroes and they were racing down the hill to help protect them. He caught sight of Arika preparing to pull the fire controlling hero out of harms way. He shouted as he raced forward, "Arika....behind you!!"
Arika thought she heard Deacon's voice, but was so intent on saving this hero, she couldn't focus on what he said. As she could feel the portal beginning to open she felt a warm wave pass over her shoulder and down into her stomach. It was relaxing as the warmth spread out, but when her eyes quickly looked down she saw a large silver blade coming from her stomach and protruding out from her, the edges glowing a sickly green.
Unhappiness was when I was young
And we didnt give a damn
cause we were raised
To see life as fun and take it if we can
My mother, my mother she hold me
Did she hold me, when I was out there
My father, my father, he liked me
Ol he liked me, does anyone care
Does anyone care
Zoe walked back to the room that had once been hers. The barrien emptiness of it overwhelmed her. She dropped to her knees and began sobbing. Her hands covered her face as wetness played across her fingers. This was not the way of the warrior....but she was not a warrior...she was a sixteen year old girl.
"Mommy...." she sobbed, wishing that in some way it was possible for that mere word to cause her to materialize before her. She had waited so long in that place for them to come back for her.
Even though she had discovered she had the same teleporting powers her mother had, and eventually found her own way home, she was still waiting for them to come for her.
"Daddy..." she sobbed again, yearning to feel his warm hands as he picked her up and placed her on his shoulders.
She had gotten the full story from Antonio Nash at the GIFT office, she knew in her mind that they had died defending the city agaisnt the Rikti. She knew they had saved so many during their fight...but they had not saved her...she was still that six year old girl waiting for them to wink back.
"Yes," Mystic Dawn sighed, "there, there it is. I see..." His voice trailed off as a harsh bluish white ball of energy slammed into his back. His body arched for a moment as the bolt burst through his chest, singeing his robes and vaporizing his organs. As quickly as it happened his body fell forward, onto the burning bowl of herbs and blood, sending it skittering off to the side. The swirling fumes flashed briefly as Deacon caught a glimpse of Arika's Shadow Realm.
He could see the twilight sky and the small white sun off in the distance, winking like an overly bright star. He almost thought he could see a village in the distance and shadowed figures with a blue tent to their skin walking around. The entire vision winked out with a blast of magical energy as the spell disappaited and lost structure.
Deacon screamed out into the night, "NO!!!"
His scream was short lived as three energy blasts from aliens concealed around him and Mystic Dawn, slammed into his own body from different angles. Vaporizing his spinal column, liver, and kidney, as they passed through him. Deacon fell to the ground before the last breath had even left his body.
After the sobs had finally stopped, Zoe dropped her hands to her side. She looked around the room again, her vision blurred from her tears. She weakly rose to her feet. The closet door before her was standing slightly ajar. She walked toward it.
It had been her closet. It had been full of pretty dresses, bright colored shoes, warm winter coats, but now it was just another empty room. She noticed a crumpled piece of paper sitting the dusty corner. She reached out and plucked it from the gloom, not certain why.
She opened it slowly and smoothed it out. A shocked wimper escaped her mouth. She stood alone in an empty room, of an empty apartment, in a run down building, of a forgotten section of the city, and started at a small piece of white paper with three stick figures drawn crudely on it. The figures baring the names, "Mommy", "Daddy", "Zoe" written with black crayon across the top.
She clutched the paper to her chest, smiling at the ceiling as tears streamed down her face and whispered, "Thanks Mom and Dad, I got it."
((Okay, this used to be Ely's theme tune before the spirits inhabiting her were removed, so this post is obviously set aways in the past when she was still relatively inexperienced at the whole hero lark. The song is Calling All Angels by Jane Siberry with K D Lang. And I wouldn't mind, if you think this merits it, being a part of that Heroic Harmonies event thingy. Hope you enjoy it.))
Santa Maria, Santa Teresa, Santa Anna, Santa Susannah
The feeling of pain was surprisingly little.
Santa Cecilia, Santa Copelia, Santa Domenica, Mary Angelica
It was odd that the washing feeling of nausea was far more intense, that the feeling that she'd trip and fall seemed more real and more urgent than the fact that bright red liquid seeped from her stomach.
Frater Achad, Frater Pietro, Julianus, Petronilla
On reflection, it was quite typical. Her attempts to look normal, to remain usual and unremarkable and not stick out in a crowd had payed off all too well.
Santa, Santos, Miroslaw, Vladimir
and all the rest
And so she'd been jumped by a group of about seven Hellions on her way home. When she'd faught, the Company disorienting and confusing them so that they stared in disbelief or fell asleep where they stood, their leader... obviously a courageous man to try and rob a lone young woman with no more than six other heavily armed thugs at his disposal... had thrust a knife into her stomach and fled.
Now, blood marking her progress on the floor, she stumbled along the wall of the blind alley she'd been pulled into. In her attempt to not be noticed, she'd not been wearing her costume so her medical teleport beacon wasn't to hand. She'd have to make it to the hospital on foot.
a man is placed upon the steps, a baby cries
and high above the church bells start to ring
and as the heaviness, oh the heaviness of the body settles in
somewhere you can hear a mother sing
Her stomach lurched as she unexpectedly came to the end of the alleyway and slipped sideways, the support of the wall lost. She sprawled on the pavement, hands outstretched to support her losing strength. Her cheek struck the gritty, cold surface of the twilight streets chilling her skin. Her eyes squeezed closed in pain, hands pushing against the concrete beneath her.
Hands gripped her shoulders and she was abruptly turned over. Standing around her, looking more solid than she'd ever seen them, were Chaplain Hardy, Ginge and Nobby. Three of the apparitions she carried with her at all times, soldiers of the line lost on the battlefronts of two world wars.
"C'mon, Charlie..." Goaded Ginge, his voice coming to her easily as opposed to the suppressed whisper that usually came to her. "Can't lie around here all day, eh?"
The three spirits bent, grasping at her arms and legs. She was hoisted bodily back into a standing position, the dead soldiers righting her patiently. Ginge lifted Charlotte's arm and placed it around his shoulders, while Nobby did the same on the other side of her. Grateful of the support, she sagged as they began to walk her slowly through the streets towards the hospital.
then it's one foot then the other as you step out onto the road
how much weight? How much weight?
then it's how long and how far?
and how many times before it's too late?
She moaned in pain, dark blood welling at her abdomen as she took shaky steps along the street. Her trousers, before charcoal grey, were now a deep and wet black from her wound. While Ginge and Nobby chattered inanely to try and keep her spirits up, the Chaplain paced by them, his face grim.
It took Charlotte a long time to realise that she wasn't, in fact, walking the streets of Paragon at all, but walking down a corridor of shadowy figures.
calling all angels
The suburban streets had gone, replaced by the Company's afterlife, the strange prenumbra Grey World.
calling all angels
The fifty or so men of the Company lined her route watching her painfully slow progress as she walked the flat landscape towards her destination. Her teeth grit together as she moved, the long gash across her stomach feeling as if it would split apart and then she'd be torn in two.
walk me through this one
don't leave me alone
And so she clung desperately to Nobby, letting her charges drag her across the flat landscape towards the figure of Captain Latimer, the de facto commanding officer of the ghostly brigade.
calling all angels
The Company watched as one man as she reached the Captain, and he smiled grimly.
"Time to rest now, miss Kennedy."
calling all angels
Her heart froze in her chest and tears stung her cheeks.
"What?" She croaked. "I'm not..."
She blinked as Nobby and Ginge relinquished their hold on her, seemingly exhausted by the effort of carrying her. They looked whispy and transparent, fading from view.
She pitched forward, falling towards the grey, indistinct floor...
... and with a soft "pop" she emerged into a bright whiteness.
The harsh reality of antiseptic tiling on the floor jerked her back to some sort of sembelance of awareness. There was an orderly in a white jacket yelling something, and people in nurse's uniforms were scurrying this way and the other.
we're cryin' and we're hurtin'
and we're not sure how this goes.
Relieved, Charlotte closed her eyes and rested. The staff of Chiron Medical, however, ran to the latest emergency admission.
The Elysienne; Magical controller
Silent Sickle; Natural scrapper
And many more.
Aenigma Rebis: "Actually, Ely's more like Jean Grey. Only... smart."
((Wyld has more songs for moments in time rather than a theme song, so we're going back to the Rikti War and a little town in the country. The song is Outer Space by Freezepop, feel free to play it on The Cape ))
alone in the moonlight
heading for nowhere
gone is the solar glare
don't follow me here tonight
Jamie slipped out the bedroom window, being as quiet as possible to not wake her twin sleeping a few feet away. The soldiers had gone to bed, and she had waited for this moment. Crawling up the hill, the creaking of the old windmills and the hum of the new wind collectors were the only sounds. Below the ridge an army spread out, there to protect the Falls from aliens people said. Tanks and guns and fascinating electronics...she wanted to know more. There was nothing like it in this little town, and she'd spent every day in the camp asking questions, learning, and they were leaving in the morning.
run away, far away, run away, fly away
Ms. Gina had glared at her for asking about guns at school, Mr. Waltham had a talk with her parents that they didn't know she had heard. Your kids aren't normal, and on top of all this alien nonsense, we don't need them poking around where someone might notice. I suggest you keep them in line. She tightened her grip on her backpack and moved down the hill.
needing to find my place
something just feels wrong
knowing I dont belong
escaping to outer space
"H-hey, Captain Tristam..." Jae stood awkwardly in the light on the small lantern, the army captain looking up from some paperwork.
"Why hello Ms. Smith, what are you doing out at this hour?"
"What's it like in Paragon?"
"Eh? Well...its busy, you meet all sorts of people, all sorts of heroes too.."
"People like me?"
"People like...? Oh! Well I can't say as I have met anyone quite like you, but yeah, people can do all sorts of things, make ice out of thin air, fly, call storms...why do you ask?"
"I..."
run away
"I don't want to stay..."
far away
"I'm legally an adult..."
run away
"Can I come with you?"
fly away
He set his pen down and looked at the barely 18 girl. A pyrokinetic, a powerful one, he had seen what she could do, plus a natural for working with technology. She'd watched twice and could disassemble and reassemble an M16 better than half his crew. He'd also seen how the close-knit community treated her, shunned her as a freak.
"Ms. Jamie...as a military officer I can't transport civilians whether they are of age or not-" Jamie's heart sank, but he shook his head. "but as a soldier of this unit, I can tell you that the transport crew won't check the supply crates, and its a pressurized bay." Jamie flung her arms around him, tears welling in her eyes. "Thank you..." He detached her gently, the situation very awkward.
unafraid
every mile you fade
The transport truck was anything but comfortable, but she watched through a crack as home faded away in the dawn, wondering what her parents would say when they found out, wondering how her sister would react, they'd never been apart before.
there are no delays
She was woken from a light sleep by the crate being loaded into a plane. She'd seen them before, but never been in one. Panic creeped up in her and a small voice in her head said "you could back out now". She closed her eyes and shook her head no.
I wont look back, I wont look back, I wont look back, I wont look back
run away, far away
run away, fly away
The cargo plane took off from the airfield, the runway just barely long enough. the feeling of unknown pressure was nearly terrifying, she waited for something to explode or shake apart, but the roar of the engines only reached a peak and suddenly the pressure was gone. She popped the latch she'd rigged on the inside of the crate, standing up and looking around in the hold.
its oh so quiet here
caught in the milkyway
bound by the cosmic ray
i could just disappear
No one seemed to notice she was here, the plane seemed empty of passengers except for her. A door opened and she jumped. James Tristam chuckled at her standing in the hold. "I'm not even gonna ask how you manged to get out. Would you like a more comfortable seat?" Holding his hand out, he waited for her to walk over, and escorted her onto the flight deck.
time will slow
no more earth below
The view was like nothing she'd ever seen. An expanse of sky ahead, the ground so far below them that fields looked like tiny stamps. Communications, radar, controls, the machine itself was overwhelming. She sat heavily into a seat. "Nervous?" the pilot grinned at her.
another day to go
"No...no this is awesome!"
I wont look back, I wont look back, I wont look back, I wont look back
run away, far away
run away, fly away
The flight passed in excited fascination of everything for her, the crew seemed genuinely amused by her questions and wonder. Time passed too quickly for Jamie, and all too soon, they touched down on the runway at Paragon International.
"Last stop, Paragon City, everyone off." the pilot joked as Jamie deboarded. Standing on the tarmac, Jae's mouth hung open at the sight of the city before her, the War Walls rising up in the distance. "It's huge!" The captain chuckled and guided her through the hangers to a jeep. "Richardson will take you to the bus terminal in the airport. Take Route 12 down to City Hall, register as a hero, they'll get you taken care of." Jamie blinked at him "But I'm not a hero." He ruffled her hair and pushed her into the jeep. "I'd say you are, now get going before you get us both in trouble." She nodded and waved as the jeep headed across the airfield.
alone in the moonlight
heading for nowhere
gone is the solar glare
Jamie stared at the brand new liscense as she rode the tram line. 'Wyld Fyre - Registered Hero". The whole day seemed so unreal. Right now, she should be at home washing the dishes.
don't follow me here tonight
Right now Katie was probably wondering why she left without telling her.
don't follow me here tonight
But right now she was getting off the tram in Paragon City, and walking up the front stairs of a huge building, where a room was waiting for her, and people wanted to see her powers.
don't follow me here tonight
She almost turned to look west, but paused, staring at the doors of Heroes, Inc. instead. "No, I won't look back."
((Spoiler alert: The story is based off a Rikti mission in the early 40s. Not a story arc mission, though.))
Just like swim practice, Caytlin whispered to herself. You cant hesitate when the gun goes off. You gotta go.
It wasnt so easy to convince herself of that. She was still very small for her age (and, to tell the truth, starting to worry that shed never get taller), and those guys behind the fence were all really tall and muscled and yelling stuff about ripping buildings down and killing things. She shivered as one of them glanced at her with glowing green eyes.
She bit her lip, awkwardly hefting the heavy sword with both hands. She had to know what had happened to her motherand that meant becoming a hero. And THAT meant she had to do this.
She took a deep breath, and took the plunge.
If I could tell the world just one thing
It would be that we're all okay
And not to worry 'cause worry is wasteful
And useless in times like these
(Fourteen months later
)
Quest smiled as she felt the familiar rush of
well, whatever she was traveling through. She knew a lot of heroes who complained of portal sickness every time they took the plunge, but to her it was always exhilarating. She grinned to herself, wondering how long it would take her to earn the Portal Jockey badge shed seen some of the other heroes sportingshe wanted that one badly.
Then she stepped out into Dark Astoria. Or at least, this worlds version of it; the graves were there but the architecture was different. Reflexively she glanced back to make sure the glowing orange box was still there; after her first portal trip had nearly trapped herself, her classmates, and their chaperones in the Praetorian dimension, she always made sure her link home was stable.
Looking around carefully, she spotted the Rikti she was after
but also the familiar robes of the Circle of Thorns. Were they on her side or against her, here?
I know not what you are, but you shall be a useful sacrifice, Im sure.
Quest blinked at the speaker, one of the bigger winged demons. He was talking to the Rikti he was fighting, but that answered her question pretty well.
I won't be made useless
I won't be idle with despair
I will gather myself around my faith
For light does the darkness most fear
The behemoth roared with laughter as she moved out from behind the rock. What is this? A resistance cell? Children playing at being heroes? Hah!
She simply smiled. Shed learned an interesting thing about the Circle of Thorns a very long time agothey were very powerful, but had little defense against solid weapons, especially the bladed ones she and Mike fored. Most of the Rikti werent much better. She squinted through the mist at the one in front of her. Armored, of course
probably one of the mentalists. Hed have to go down first; if he broke through her concentration she could get hurt very badly very quickly.
My hands are small, I know
But they're not yours, they are my own
But they're not yours, they are my own
And I am never broken
A few minutes later, picking through the graveyard to the gleaming white machines, she saw something she hadnt been expecting: a human. A normal, average human, backed against a gravestone by two Thorns. Quest didnt know what they had planned, but the woman was obviously terrified. I dont think so, Quest muttered.
A minute later, the dazed slave stared at the two Thorns, both knocked flat by the teens sword. Ohmygod
you
youre a hero!
Quest blinked but nodded. Yeah. Questing Eagle. I came here to stop the Rikti.
The woman seized on her words. You came here? As in, from somewhere else?
Um. Yeah. Im not from this world.
Theres a path to another world? Let me find my children, and if you let us, well go! Her eyes begged Quest for help.
Oh, why not. Its not like there arent a few thousand other dimensional refugees there. A couple more cant hurt. She smiled at the woman. Sure. Go down that path there to the red box, and through that. You might run into a little trouble from the guards on the other side, but tell them I told you to go and theyll treat you okay. If theres any trouble, just hang on and Ill clear things up when I get back.
Poverty stole your golden shoes
But it didn't steal your laughter
And heartache came to visit me
But I knew it wasn't ever after
She HAD meant to just come to this world, sneak around, and disable the Riktis devices, like shed done in the last couple shed been sent to. But something about that woman and this world drove her to explore every inch of the walled-off area. She found a good half dozen people, some who begged for time to get their families, some who simply nodded in shock and made their way to safety. She picked her way through carefully; the Rikti and Behemoth Lords were so close and fighting so fiercely that she often had to deal with more than one group at a time. But she was cautious, and got nothing worse than a handful of cuts (none dangerous), a bit of singed hair, and a torn cape.
We'll fight, not out of spite
For someone must stand up for what's right
'Cause where there's a man who has no voice
There ours shall go singing
Screams. Quest had been doing one last fly-around, to go back and disable the machine shed had to skip and to look for survivors, but she whipped around at the sound and darted through the air towards it. The great demon shed been so careful not to arouse had noticed the refugees fleeing under his nose and was taking to the air after them. Given that his wingspan rivaled that of a small plane, the terrified refugees were panicking. Quest scowled. She had no chance alone, but they were going to die if she didnt act. Rising sharply, she positioned herself carefully. She hesitated for a minute, then unclipped one of the little canisters from her belt, peering at the Kora berries within. She didnt like wasting the precious fruit she and Mike had collected together, but she needed it. She tilted her head and poured the berries into her mouth, barely taking the time to chew before she swallowed.
She took a deep breath and dove for Baphomet at full speed, slamming into him and cutting him deeply. He started healing almost instantly, but the fact that shed cut him drew his focus to her. Devour your soul! it roared, lunging for her. She danced back, swinging at his arms and hands, ducking past him to score his legs. Slowly, slowly, she was whittling him down. He roared in agitation swinging at her with a blade of pure flame that was longer and wider than she was. Somehow she managed to avoid his slashes.
She couldnt stay lucky forever, though. One instant she was in under his guard, swinging her sword at his unprotected stomach, and the next hed leapt backwards and swung that blade of fire at her. She was just a fraction of a second too slow, and she was suddenly bathed in an inferno so painful she couldnt even scream. Her med bracelet beeped in protest and activated before she could even pass out from the pain.
She staggered out of the bay, which got her a sympathetic look from the nurse who had hurried to make sure she was okay. Reassuring the nurse that yes, she was fine, she darted downstairs and out to Portal Corps again. However, when she got there, she was informed that since shed done her jobclosing down the Rikti portalthe world had been shut off as soon as she returned. She couldnt go back.
My hands are small I know
But they're not yours, they are my own
But they're not yours, they are my own
And I am never broken
In the end only kindness matters
In the end only kindness matters
Several refugees made it back through the portal before you closed it. They are receiving care and aid.
Quest grinned as Angus McQueens dry voice thanked her for the mission completion over the comm. Just knowing that made the whole ordeal worth it. Thanks for letting me know, Angus. I dont suppose youve got another, do you?
My hands are small I know
But they're not yours, they are my own
But they're not yours, they are my own
And I am never broken
We are never broken
Song: "Hands", Jewel
((Unfairly enough, I based the character on the song. Mundian to Bach Ke aka "Beware of the Boys" by Panjabi MC. iTunes has the music video, if you want to hear a legal, free version. So.. Short and sweet.))
"Do you Bhangra?"
Hemangini Rai sinuously swayed her body, keeping her kohl-darkened eyelids fixed on her partner. He gulped, and said, "Hey, I'm up for anything you want ma'am!"
An offer worth considering, She pressed her hand against his chin, to get a better look at his profile. The flashing dance floor, a tap, her mehndi caught in the light, and the music moved to a slower beat.
"Bhangra is dance, my friend," she said distantly smiling warmth. "It gets later, so I bid you good night."
-----
Coat check, and she had her duffel. Ladies' room up front wasn't busy, and largely those readying to go in. Blocking off a washbasin with her larger things, the bow and quiver, the rest of the bag, she started to braid her hair to the reflection. It wouldn't be practical to keep it down.
She froze a moment as another kicked her bow, in addition knocking some more of her things to the carpet. Picking up the bow and putting it back with an wry grin, the nearly fully spandex-clad figure, said, "Oops. I didn't mean anything by that! Let me help!"
Hemangini smiled at her. "It's all right. I see you're further along than I am."
"Yep!" She wore yellow, with large bulky gloves and flared boots. Nearly seven feet tall, with an athletic figure. Her mask wasn't on, so a friendly open face. Blue eyes and blonde hair.
"My superhero name is Lucky Ducky! Are you new to Paragon City! I haven't seen you around before!" They shook hands.
"I'm Hemangini Rai," she said. Hemangini coiled the left braid over her ear, pinning it in place.
"That can't be your superhero name! It's sounds so complicated!"
"I am not sure such is necessary for me," she said. "I am a foreigner here, and would not presume to hold some title so soon."
"Whatdya mean? All you have to do is tell them at the superhero desk. And, if no-one else has it, you've got it!"
She finished her other braid. Should she explain her feelings? Her father's hope she would find a better life in the states, her mother's wish she marry suitably and settle. At least her friends from home understood. In Punjab, perhaps she would, even to a stranger in the washroom. Defying and working to find a real place in the world.
"Hey!" Ducky said picking up the scattered remnants of Hemangini's purse. "Your Superhero ID card doesn't say Herman-jinni on it!"
"What?" She grabbed it, blinked to be sure she had read correctly: Preetee Kaur. Preetee Kaur? She remembered her young brothers' enthusiasm at City Hall; she let them fill out the forms didn't she?
Preetee Kaur, bemused, said, "I guess you're right." She shrugged, shouldered the bow, pressing the remaining items into a compact pack, and pocketing them.
Lucky said, "Well, now you're ready to go too! Canya help with some missions of mine? A friend of mine told me about these clockwork machines...!"
Nodding and smiling, Preetee followed. Heading out to find her mettle on the streets of Paragon City.
((All apologies to Sith_Rose; VNV Nation's my pick as well *hangs head in shame* "Genesis". Mamushi has a few, but she's not very helpful in narrowing 'em down. The Cape -- feel free to use/play.))
Sayuri Gin stared up at the flat blue eyes and repeated her stammered question. Youre Mamushi?
Yes. The aforementioned woman eyed the young girl curiously, arms crossed over her chest as she leaned against the light pole. Mamushi had been directed to wait for the waifish excuse for a hero by one of her contacts. Hed mentioned something about mentoring, but had cut himself off quickly when hed caught her expression. She understood now glorified babysitting. This girl didnt look old enough to fantasize about boys, and she was running around attempting to save people? Mamushi let her distaste show in the carefully set features of her face, eyes flicking away from the girl to stare blankly away.
I expected . . . Sayuri twisted her hands together nervously, glancing down at her feet. Her voice had started strong, but had quickly trailed off into a whisper. Mamushi looked back at her, one eyebrow lifted.
She gave the girl a moment, then commented, What? Someone Japanese? Sayuri bobbed her head in reply, daring to lift her brown eyes to meet the blue ones. Mamushi snorted and shifted, a hand dropping to the hilt of her katana.
Thats one thing you need to learn, never expect the obvious.
Mamushi watched as the girl straightened her shoulders, chin lifting marginally as she gave a curt nod. Okay, so maybe there was hope for this one yet. The blonde let a ghost of a smile lift her lips. Ready to let the lesson begin in earnest?
Yes. We start with those mad scientists. Sayuri spoke curtly, so clipped that she had no trace of the accent that had tried to overtake her trembling voice. The girl was all business now, back ramrod straight as she started away from the meeting place. A real grin broke over Mamushis face and she pushed away from the pole to tread silently after the tiny Asian girl. If nothing else, the night would prove amusing for a short while.
---
The women approached the warehouse, nerves on fire and eyes wary. Sayuri exhibited great bravado, the only proof of her real nervousness in the colorless pallor of her face. Mamushi idly wondered how long the girl had been heroing, as it were. She was as fresh and new as a colt just dropped, all shaky legs and unsure posture. It wouldnt do, not at all.
Get a grip, Mamushi hissed as she stepped past the girl to creep up to the door. Even with her back to Sayuri, she could feel the girl bristle with indignation. Good. Better angry than scared. Mamushi pressed her ear to the door, listening carefully before judging the way safe. One hand dropped to the sheath of her sword, thumb nudging the hilt up slightly to free the blade. She motioned for Sayuri to follow, then twisted the doorknob and pushed.
The door opened freely and soundlessly, and the duo moved in to stand in a dilapidated lobby, the smell of rotting plants mixing with a more acidic, toxic smell. Sayuri quickly covered her mouth and nose with a hand, gagging before swallowing past the disgust. Still, she was close behind Mamushi as the blonde skulked out of the lobby, heading for the dimly-lit hallways beyond.
They rounded the first bend, and the stench hit them with an almost physical strength. Rotting, decaying flesh with the sharp tang of formaldehyde and antiseptic. Scents that warred for domination to muddy in a nausea-inducing cloud that seemed thick enough to cut. The buzzing of a hundred thousand flies followed, accompanied by the shuffling footsteps of the undead and their maniacal creators. The heroes paused, still unnoticed by their foes, taking a moment to ready themselves. Their eyes met, and with a slight nod Mamushi started forward.
Her pace was slow at first, but without hesitation she snapped forward, the hiss of her drawn katana muted by the angry moans from the cadavers she fearlessly waded into. One masked Reaper snarled a quick Fools! but was silenced as a mystical force enveloped him and threw him towards the ceiling. Mamushi smiled broadly the girl was a Controller. This was going to be much easier than she thought.
Breathing an air,
permeated, soaked in darkness,
emanating from within,
resonating like a scream no one can hear
I wear this chaos well.
Though none should save me,
desperation keeps me here,
my need for innocence,
the place where I began
The abyss becomes me,
I wear this chaos well.
Are these not words of heresy
a venom on my lips, a poison?
My spirit impurified
in everything I choose to say
With you I stand in hope that
god will save us from ourselves.
Every cry a wasted moment
until another day is lost.
Even lands we once called home
lie undiscovered and unknown.
Only heaven's silence for an answer.
And did our laughter, did our tears
have some purpose after all?
Did we toil in vain in hope
that wisdom came from what we'd done?
Even lands we once called home
lie undiscovered and unknown.
Only heaven's silence for an answer.
Are these not words of heresy
a venom on my lips, a poison?
My spirit impurified
in everything I choose to say
If I would shed my skin, the layers left,
but not the lessons learned
it would not undo what I have done
or grant forgiveness in some better days.
"The proper office of a friend is to side with you when you are in the wrong. Nearly anybody will side with you when you are in the right."
- Mark Twain, Notebook, 1898
and
- Bart Allen, aka Impulse/Kid Flash/The Flash, Teen Titans v.3, #6
[ QUOTE ]
((All apologies to Sith_Rose; VNV Nation's my pick as well *hangs head in shame* "Genesis". Mamushi has a few, but she's not very helpful in narrowing 'em down. The Cape -- feel free to use/play.))
[/ QUOTE ]
((No! You may not use VNV Nation, I have laid sole claim...Ahem. Sorry. Evil Overlord peeking through there. I'm better now. 
Great band, aren't they? *grins*))
@SithRose and @Sith Rose
Permanent resident of Virtue
"Mommy, I need Cthulhu. He keeps the bad dreams away."
[ QUOTE ]
((No! You may not use VNV Nation, I have laid sole claim...Ahem. Sorry. Evil Overlord peeking through there. I'm better now. Great band, aren't they? *grins*))
[/ QUOTE ]
((I weep!! 
They are splendiffic. They are also strangely inspiring, when the mood is right. Damn the man and his tawdry musical ways...))
"The proper office of a friend is to side with you when you are in the wrong. Nearly anybody will side with you when you are in the right."
- Mark Twain, Notebook, 1898
and
- Bart Allen, aka Impulse/Kid Flash/The Flash, Teen Titans v.3, #6
{Storyteller's note: The song is "In Another World" by Michael "Moonwolf" Longcor, filk god extraordinaire and a very gracious and generous man in person. I hope he won't mind if I borrow his ballad and apply it to a different sort of "true love lost" story altogether. The protagonist below is female, as is her typist, but somehow the lyrics work best for this story if I don't rewrite them to female perspective.}
{Storyteller's second note: Oh. I'm a firsttimer to the challenge series. I hope the 750 words is a **minimum**, because I am shamefully unable to do "short" well. If I'm too long, please let me know and I'll delete. Thanks!}
On the thin ledge outside their apartment's single window, Jarissa settled into place. Her back wedged more-or-less comfortably against the wall, she drew her knees up to her chest and wrapped her tail around her toes. Just by tilting her head slightly, she had a pretty good view up the alley to the front door of SubGenetics -- not the busiest place in Steel Canyon, but with the completion of the new branch campus for the university just down the street, and the entire fifteenth floor, far above her, getting leased by Saeder-Krupp Industries as a marketing office, foot traffic immediately after lunch became moderately heavy. Rissa got to indulge one of her favorite hobbies -- people-watching, ideally without being noticed or making anyone self-conscious -- to excess, for the relatively small price of a few hours' sleep.
So many worlds of might-have-been,
So many paths await;
So many maybe roads to walk,
So many tolls to pay.
But different drummers play the march
With different flags unfurled:
What am I doing in another world?
Humming contentedly, Jarissa looked around one last time to make sure the pigeons still agreed that her ledge was certain death to them, and also to make sure that the Outcasts and Trolls weren't engaging in another fistfight in the alley below her. With all trouble spots clear, she turned ears and eyes toward Cascade Street, and the citizens passing by on their business.
A man returning to a nearby business with coffee cup in hand was impeccably dressed, except for the painted, flashing, neon, day-glow tie pinned carefully to his shirt. Must've gotten that from little kids for a birthday -- yesterday, maybe? -- and made a point of wearing it in to work today, she mused while finger-combing a rosette on her left arm. And he didn't cheat, and switch to a normal tie after he got out of the kids' sight. Either his boss puts a lot of stock into being a family man, or this guy just doesn't care what his co-workers think of his priorities. Good for him.
Three Saeder-Krupp employees stepped out into her view, obviously just now leaving the front entrance of the building. One looked at the sky and scowled, another looked across the street at SubGenetics with his own share of scorn, while the third went about the far more useful business of looking for a taxi. Jarissa knew they were SK employees because of the big, gunmetal-grey umbrellas each man carried: they were hoping for rain, and then they could oh-so-casually open their umbrellas to show off the giant screenprinted company logo. Nice try, but someone in marketing hadn't done enough research to understand that Rhode Island as a whole wouldn't get a fraction of the rain that their main US office in Seattle got. She figured that it would only take two villain attacks before these guys would return home in disgust. That reminds me -- got to find out what they actually do, so we know which flavor of vexation to expect.
A kid barely twenty years old wandered into sight, nose glued to a cheap green flier. University newbie, trying to find the laundromat. He hasn't figured out that the map was printed upside-down. For a moment, Rissa thought she'd have to go rescue him, as she could see an Outcast striding toward him with that greedy, cocky gleam in his eye. Fortunately, a heroine stepped out of SubGenetics just then; the ringlet-haired blonde turned as she exited to make sure her cape didn'tcatch in the door, and realized what was about to happen. Faster than the Outcast could stutter, "Wait, what?" she had him pinned to the sidewalk. She made the lost kid hold her packages long enough that she could hogtie the Outcast with his own decorative chains, then slapped an arrest transport chit onto his forehead. As he was fading from view, the heroine politely retrieved her purchases, then flew off. Admittedly, the boy still didn't know how to get to the laundromat, but at least he'd been reminded to look around him more often. Rissa decided that she didn't have any sympathy for him. Either he'd figure it out for himself, or he'd learn to make the first trip with somebody who already knew their way to the destination. Some cat-faced chick walking up and flipping the paper in his hands would just convince him that random licensed heroes would solve all of his troubles for him.
In another world, I'm a family man with seven kids or more.
In another world, I'm running guns in a dirty jungle war.
In another world, I'm alone and lost, A man without a clue.
But in another world, I would still love you.
Her therapist thought this people-watching hobby to be a minor bad idea. He said it'd be fine if she were seeing passersby as they really are, virtues and flaws together, every one of them possessing their own set of problems and seeming persecutions. He felt that Rissa was entirely too inclined to believe that everyone's life was "normal" and therefore happy in comparison to her own, and that she'd benefit more from going out and getting involved with so-called "normal" people on even terms. He'd even pointed out that Habitat for Humanity was looking for volunteers who were comfortable with tight, elevated places. She pointed out right back that roofing tar gunks up any fur for weeks and would mess up the rosette pattern on leopard fur to the point that she'd lose the advantage of natural camouflage; she expounded further that she had trouble turning pages in a book without damaging them, and she couldn't safely use a video game controller, and she'd already seen Sky High, and Serenity wasn't in theaters yet; and then she asked whether her boss wanted her to stop doing the people-watching in her free time. Maybe she was making someone nervous, as if she were trying to pick dinner out of a herd of sheep? He said something terse to the effect that her boss didn't care whether she wanted to play "Snoopy The Vulture" during her off hours, so long as she gave no one reason to call the cops, and then her therapist went back to the endless topic of separating reality from her preconceptions.
If Dr. Gironde gave out end-of-year bonuses to Wyldfire agents, she was going to demand that hers arrive in the form of a painting or statue or some other depiction of a black-and-white beagle looming on a tree branch. In the meantime, though, she wasn't about to give up her daily escapism. What might her life have been like, if she were that woman just getting out of the cab?
Tiny things can change your life with every little choice:
The morning smell of breakfast, the sound of someone's voice.
Good or bad or in-between, it all gets mixed and swirled.
What am I doing in another world?
Once the cab drove off, Jarissa could see that the woman wore a smartly-pressed Air Force dress uniform. Iradium hadn't taught her enough yet that she could decipher much from the patches and the insignia, but the embroidered space shuttle was pretty indicative. Holy crap! Rissa made an abortive move toward the window before she realized that her camera was still charging up for the evening's patrol, and she didn't have anything worth asking the lieutenant colonel to autograph. Watching the brunette join a somewhat scruffy man Rissa knew from the docks of Striga Isle -- Long Jack -- she strained to hear until she caught something about a nearby Dirty Duck. They'd probably be busy talking in there until long after Jarissa headed for work.
In another world, I'm an astronaut who's headed for the stars
In another world, I'm a lonely drunk who's crying at the bar
In another world, I'm a captain with a tall ship, and a crew
In another world, I would still love you.
Of course, her roommate had a standard-issue communicator with a built-in camera, too. He was out, though, and in fact had been gone already when she woke up: Silver Valor didn't need as much sleep lately as he had when they first escaped, and anyhow, he'd gotten home and gone to bed at least an hour before she'd finished up a rescue operation in the Skyway sewers last night. Too bad. He would've loved to meet the lady with the silver leaf on her shoulder.
Well, maybe he'd be home in time to meet them coming out of the Dirty Duck Bar & Grill.
As if her thoughts summoned him, Jarissa felt the faintest caress from a peculiar breeze. Her ears twitched in several directions, quickly sorting echoes of sounds for just the right low hum -- there! Up on Tach Ave, the street that ran parallel to Cascade from north of the train station until it looped around a building and dead-ended into Ninth -- in fact, she thought from the hiccups in the hum that he must've just passed by, and would probably head toward the downramp for Eighth ... and seconds later, here he came again, a silver blur with blue and white highlights.
Carrying an overstuffed plush palm tree.
Which meant he'd spent the morning at the video arcade.
Which meant, in turn, that he'd been on a date.
"There's nothing wrong with that at all," Jarissa said aloud, firmly, albeit quietly. "In fact, it's a good thing. Maybe it was the one who smells like strawberries and coconuts. Maybe he'll finally get around to telling me about her. And then I'll be happy for him."
The pigeons ignored her words.
She tried an Anglo-Saxon monosyllable, instead, and put everything she was really feeling into it.
It didn't make her feel much better, but it did alarm the nearest brace of pigeons into fluttering off for a while, just before the window opened and curly white hair poked out. "You're up early," Silver Valor observed. "What's new?"
So she told him about the astronaut, watched his blue eyes literally light up with excitement, and listened as he raced out of the apartment ... zoomed back in to grab his camera ... rushed back again and reappeared at the window.
"Riss!Youdidn'ttellmeyetwhereshewent!"
Oh, life is comic, life is strange; life is often cruel
The master of my fate, but now the master is a fool
The many worlds of might-have been are ghosts that drift and call
I don't want what I have here, but I can't have what I want.
Once she'd extracted his most solemn promise to not interrupt a meal or an intense conversation, or in fact to make a big scene, she managed to get out "Dirty" before he finished "DuckBarAndGrillgotit!" and was gone again. Jarissa had to laugh -- if it weren't for the fact that a superspeedster would (by his own nature) take up the least amount of the lady's personal time, she'd have been right behind him, probably doing such an awful fangirl bit that she'd start slurring her sibilants again, and they'd think she was going to attack.
Non-volunteer genetic recombinant experimentation programs really messed up the most commonplace things: Speech. Kinesthetics. The ability to wear shoes. Any chance of enjoying a good pizza with the works.
No point to dwelling on any of it, though; it had to be approaching two in the afternoon, and there was an older couple who walked down this street every Wednesday in the early afternoon, stopping at the espresso cart to fortify for the walk to the Yellow Line station after lunch with their son. Rhode Island might be the wrong state, and of course the voices weren't the same, but on a purely visual level they reminded her very much of her parents. That was kind of comforting, really.
She went back to people-watching, humming under her breath.
In another world, I'm a superstar with beauties on my arm
In another world, I'm a homeless man who's trying to keep warm
In another world, I'm a trumpet player blowing smoky blues
In another world, I would still love you
In another world, I'm a writer that the critics all adore
In another world, I'm another corpse in another jungle war
In another world, I'm alone and lost, a man without a clue....
But in another world, I would still love you.
In another world, I would be with you.
Jarissa
Scrapper roleplayer, Member of Wyldfire
[ QUOTE ]
{Storyteller's note: The song is "In Another World" by Michael "Moonwolf" Longcor, filk god extraordinaire and a very gracious and generous man in person. I hope he won't mind if I borrow his ballad and apply it to a different sort of "true love lost" story altogether. The protagonist below is female, as is her typist, but somehow the lyrics work best for this story if I don't rewrite them to female perspective.}
[/ QUOTE ]
((And may I just say that I really liked this story? Good descriptive writing, and a very nice mix of practical and emotional. Not to mention one of my favorite filk artists. )
@SithRose and @Sith Rose
Permanent resident of Virtue
"Mommy, I need Cthulhu. He keeps the bad dreams away."
Wow, you know, I started this thing on a lark way back in May, after a conversation with, geesh was it Ascendant and Warcabbits? I don't remember. I thought it would be just buried away into the ether.
But we're on the 5th month of these things, and we get the usual suspects writing these, but every time we see one or two more new people. People that, in my opinion, should post more of their stories, but if I can only get 1 a month out of new people, I really shouldn't complain.
Anyways, first, thanks to everyone who've writen something for these. Thanks to those of you who take the time to read them as well. Writing on the interent is like finding a pickup group. Usually it's just junk, but now and then you just get a good gem. It's always a risk to invest time into reading something someone's writen, and these threads always bring people's A-game to the front.
Also, even though the focus has gotten away from this in recent month, thanks to everyone who provides private feedback to all the authors. Even if you just send someone a "Hey, I really liked what you wrote" and nothing more, it validates those of us who bare our creative souls to everyone else. A wise man once told me that art, in any form, is not complete if it's never viewed. The play, writen but never preformed, the painting, inked but never seen, the sculpture, molded but always kept under wraps, these things are meaningless. Knowing our hard work is being seen by others, and hearing it from their mouths, it makes things always worth it.
Now, enough of my platitudes. On to the challenge! For the going back to school month we're in, we're going to use an idea given to me by LadyAndreca. I remeber always taking a walk-man on the bus to school, all my favorite songs playing as the summer offically died. So, the challenge this month is to pen a story explaining why your character's theme song fits them. Uping the ante to 750 words for this month, but if you end up less than that post anyways.
Good luck all!
Arc #345863 - When The Bough Breaks
"Curse you Perry the Plata...wait, is that Love Handel?" - Dr. Heinz Doofenshmirtz, Phineas and Ferb