Shippingitp IV: Flattery Will Get You EVERYWHERE

[Lyinginbedmon]

The ____ That Men Do - tentatively part of the Redemption series

Spoiler

Show

It was a vast room, probably a warehouse, but clearly it wasn't anymore. Lights hung from the ceiling as if to illuminate corridors and shelves that had long since been removed. The ceiling wasn't corrugated iron anymore either.

In the centre of it all hung a man, wet, cold, and in tattered robes. Igon Minoblendy. Rings no longer adorned his fingers, no gems hung on his belt, and nothing sat upon his head but old grey hair and blood.

This was a man brought to his knees by Mordokai. A man of magical talent, not brute strength. But ultimately, a man of knowledge. Someone Mordokai was convinced to keep alive, albeit in this disheveled state. Chains wrapped about his feet connected him with the floor as chains on each arm hung him crucifix-like from the ceiling.

A loud creak echoed through the vast room. A visitor.

She walked swiftly and with a way of importance towards old Igon. As she approached, she swiftly rummaged about in some hidden pocket. "Good evening Igon."

A dagger flashed in the light. Suddenly one more finger landed in the fiend's hand. Igon cursed under his breath as new blood flowed onto his shackles. "Good evening Isaz."

"Mordokai is doing well, three new territories captured this month."
"The world may yet be his, I'm sure your father approves."

Isaz cleaned off the finger in her palm, before lapping at the blood between her forked teeth. "My father doesn't deal in mortal empires, more in commerce and economics. Empires just enforce it all."

She leant in close to his cheek for a moment. "You should know that."

Yes, this was Igon Minoblendy. Not a grandfather at Christmastime, not a beggar on the streets, not an old preacher. Always the pagemaster, the man arranging the pawns. This was a man that lead great "nations" under his wing to thwart evils the world does not care to remember.

"Isaz, the daughter of Levistus, king of Hell."
"Must you start all our conversations like that? I hate to stand on ceremony with someone I've known so long."

She slipped the finger into her mouth, loud cracks filling the room as bones crumbled beneath her teeth. He waited for her to swallow.

"You can't kill me. And you know that as long as I know that, I won't tell the stories you want me to."

She shook his wounded hand. Blood had stained the skin, but as before he had all his fingers. Including one that apparently had missed counting.

"Of course I know that, or have you forgotten where that deathly enervation comes from?"
"You can't hold me either."
"Now, that we can do."

She gestured to a grunt by the side, who swiftly brought a chair over. Simple, wooden, plain. She would have to thank the cleaners later.

"A wide open space, nothing in range for you to move with your mind. No guards for you to enchant that would lead you anywhere. And you can't do most magic with your arms shackled like that."

She sat down as she spoke, crossing her legs and assuming a position of grace. A mocking motion infront of him, such comfort.

"And, just in case. Antimagic on any and all guests. I may only get a couple hours a day here but I do so enjoy our little "chats", uncle."

He grumbled.

"What? Are we making you uncomfortable? Shall I have a bad brought in? Maybe a book? Some entertainers perhaps?"

He bit his tongue. She laughed.

"Why do you do this? You couldn't have known I'd be captured when you tempted him."
"Oh no, but that's what we devils do, isn't it? Written right there in the Pact Primeval: Work to improve outputs."
"And you think such tyranny and evil will do that?"
"No, I think vengeance and betrayal will do that. It was easy really..."

He stared coldly at her, eyes squinted and mouth curled into a hidden snarl.

"Making Mordokai root for the other team."

"He'll see through you eventually."
"No, I don't think so. He's getting too much...encouragement."

She moved her legs again, crossing them the other way.

"Harlot."

Instantly she stood up, wings spread and tail quivering. His cheek was red. Moreso, to be accurate. She was angry again.

"No. Demons sleep around and whore themselves for profit, devils do not."
"No, they don't."
"We scheme and we plot and we corrupt with offers and such but we never let them see the fine print."
"Except for me."

She took a breath, and sat down again.

"Except for you, uncle. We never could get much past people like you."

Over the course of the next hour, more blood gradually stained the floor, and Isaz's jaw gradually grew more tired. Matters of discussion turned from current events to political theory, from political theory to philosophy, from philosophy to military strategy. And eventually to family history.

And then Isaz noticed the time drew scarce. Once again the grunt returned and retrieved her seat, not a drop of blood spoiled it this evening. She licked the last few drops of blood from the dagger.

"Mmm, you always had that little spicy bit of taint in your blood."
"Your blood must be like Jalapeno sauce."
"Oh? Would you like to try it?"

Isaz quickly twirled the blade in her hand and picked out an artery on her tail.

Igon shook his head. Isaz put away the knife and prepared to leave for the night.

"Isaz."

His voice echoed for the first time that night. She stopped dead in her tracks and turned to look at him.

"I will get out before this conflict is over."

She smiled, before turning again and leaving.

"Good luck uncle." She pawed at the dagger. "I'm sure I'll be waiting."

It should be noted Lying isn't Isaz's biological uncle, he's her godfather.

I think I've got one more for this.

[Dragonrider]

Oh man. As with IStLY, this plot is thickening immensely...

To the point where I wonder if Mordokai is even redeemable.

[celtois]

Fred: Not bad at all for a first ship =)
Thank you

Celtois:...you wrote an addition to the series without reading the rest of it?
...
Um.

I had read most of it...>.<
I guess I missed that story

So In short I have been reading the series I just missed some

[Deathslayer7]

use Happy's linky in her sig, that's where i go to get most of my story reading done.

[happyturtle]

The link's in my sig, but Reinholdt gets the credit for keeping it up to date.

[celtois]

Yay, ships!

@Celtois: Not bad for a first try. You might want to work on the editing and proofreading and stuff, but that always improves with time. I too recommend reading the rest of the series. There's some really great work being put into it, and not just by me.

Yeah I did read the rest, I just missed a couple. Going back to read those now.

Any suggestions you have for things that could be changed. As I'm not really sure what needs help >.>

[Destro_Yersul]

It's mostly just wording, and the like. To me, it didn't seem to flow quite right. All my first writing (which isn't posted here, just fyi) had the same problem. The dialogue especially just feels kinda scripted. Like I said, not bad for a first try, and I'm sure you'll get better. I can try to come up with an example, if you like.

[Lyinginbedmon]

The ____ That Men Do - tentatively part of the Redemption series

Spoiler

Show

It was a vast room, probably a warehouse, but clearly it wasn't anymore. Lights hung from the ceiling as if to illuminate corridors and shelves that had long since been removed. The ceiling wasn't corrugated iron anymore either.

In the centre of it all hung a man, wet, cold, and in tattered robes. Igon Minoblendy. Rings no longer adorned his fingers, no gems hung on his belt, and nothing sat upon his head but old grey hair and blood.

This was a man brought to his knees by Mordokai. A man of magical talent, not brute strength. But ultimately, a man of knowledge. Someone Mordokai was convinced to keep alive, albeit in this disheveled state. Chains wrapped about his feet connected him with the floor as chains on each arm hung him crucifix-like from the ceiling.

A loud creak echoed through the vast room. A visitor.

She walked swiftly and with a way of importance towards old Igon. As she approached, she swiftly rummaged about in some hidden pocket. "Good evening Igon."

A dagger flashed in the light. Suddenly one more finger landed in the fiend's hand. Igon cursed under his breath as new blood flowed onto his shackles. "Good evening Isaz."

"Mordokai is doing well, three new territories captured this month."
"The world may yet be his, I'm sure your father approves."

Isaz cleaned off the finger in her palm, before lapping at the blood between her forked teeth. "My father doesn't deal in mortal empires, more in commerce and economics. Empires just enforce it all."

She leant in close to his cheek for a moment. "You should know that."

Yes, this was Igon Minoblendy. Not a grandfather at Christmastime, not a beggar on the streets, not an old preacher. Always the pagemaster, the man arranging the pawns. This was a man that lead great "nations" under his wing to thwart evils the world does not care to remember.

"Isaz, the daughter of Levistus, king of Hell."
"Must you start all our conversations like that? I hate to stand on ceremony with someone I've known so long."

She slipped the finger into her mouth, loud cracks filling the room as bones crumbled beneath her teeth. He waited for her to swallow.

"You can't kill me. And you know that as long as I know that, I won't tell the stories you want me to."

She shook his wounded hand. Blood had stained the skin, but as before he had all his fingers. Including one that apparently had missed counting.

"Of course I know that, or have you forgotten where that deathly enervation comes from?"
"You can't hold me either."
"Now, that we can do."

She gestured to a grunt by the side, who swiftly brought a chair over. Simple, wooden, plain. She would have to thank the cleaners later.

"A wide open space, nothing in range for you to move with your mind. No guards for you to enchant that would lead you anywhere. And you can't do most magic with your arms shackled like that."

She sat down as she spoke, crossing her legs and assuming a position of grace. A mocking motion infront of him, such comfort.

"And, just in case. Antimagic on any and all guests. I may only get a couple hours a day here but I do so enjoy our little "chats", uncle."

He grumbled.

"What? Are we making you uncomfortable? Shall I have a bad brought in? Maybe a book? Some entertainers perhaps?"

He bit his tongue. She laughed.

"Why do you do this? You couldn't have known I'd be captured when you tempted him."
"Oh no, but that's what we devils do, isn't it? Written right there in the Pact Primeval: Work to improve outputs."
"And you think such tyranny and evil will do that?"
"No, I think vengeance and betrayal will do that. It was easy really..."

He stared coldly at her, eyes squinted and mouth curled into a hidden snarl.

"Making Mordokai root for the other team."

"He'll see through you eventually."
"No, I don't think so. He's getting too much...encouragement."

She moved her legs again, crossing them the other way.

"Harlot."

Instantly she stood up, wings spread and tail quivering. His cheek was red. Moreso, to be accurate. She was angry again.

"No. Demons sleep around and whore themselves for profit, devils do not."
"No, they don't."
"We scheme and we plot and we corrupt with offers and such but we never let them see the fine print."
"Except for me."

She took a breath, and sat down again.

"Except for you, uncle. We never could get much past people like you."

Over the course of the next hour, more blood gradually stained the floor, and Isaz's jaw gradually grew more tired. Matters of discussion turned from current events to political theory, from political theory to philosophy, from philosophy to military strategy. And eventually to family history.

And then Isaz noticed the time drew scarce. Once again the grunt returned and retrieved her seat, not a drop of blood spoiled it this evening. She licked the last few drops of blood from the dagger.

"Mmm, you always had that little spicy bit of taint in your blood."
"Your blood must be like Jalapeno sauce."
"Oh? Would you like to try it?"

Isaz quickly twirled the blade in her hand and picked out an artery on her tail.

Igon shook his head. Isaz put away the knife and prepared to leave for the night.

"Isaz."

His voice echoed for the first time that night. She stopped dead in her tracks and turned to look at him.

"I will get out before this conflict is over."

She smiled, before turning again and leaving.

"Good luck uncle." She pawed at the dagger. "I'm sure I'll be waiting."

It should be noted Lying isn't Isaz's biological uncle, he's her godfather.

I think I've got one more for this.

Thoughts on this everyone?

[celtois]

It's mostly just wording, and the like. To me, it didn't seem to flow quite right. All my first writing (which isn't posted here, just fyi) had the same problem. The dialogue especially just feels kinda scripted. Like I said, not bad for a first try, and I'm sure you'll get better. I can try to come up with an example, if you like.

Okay thanks that makes more sense now. Thanks for clarifying


It's good..But I've only skimmed it I'll give proper comments when I get a chance to read read it.

[Deathslayer7]

i think the word he is looking for is continuity, as in, it doesn't flow well together, like my latest ship. It jumps around a lot.

[Coidzor]

Oh man. As with IStLY, this plot is thickening immensely...

To the point where I wonder if Mordokai is even redeemable.

Oh he's just acting out for attention, you know that. He really needs to be dealt with though, since he's been more of a shadow hanging over the rest of the cast than received much treatment. Perhaps that's part of the point though, that in his fall he's become less of a PC....

Lying: I'm currently interrupting my process of reading yours, sorry. back to it.

Very interesting. Nice read too. A little bit of spacial confusion came up when we first read about his fingers being cut off and put into some fiend's mouth before she's introduced.

This reminds me of the fact that I am woefully lacking in having read through Mordokai's fall.

[Coidzor]

This won't be terribly interesting or anything... but...

In the Vestibule (A Redemption side story)

Cristo (Mordokai and Happy figuring) [Sienna it is, Deary ]

Spoiler

Show

The human heart is a curious thing. Between the darkness and the light it sits, tilting one way and another. A few souls can feel the balance in the scales of themselves and those around them, and of these a rare unfortunate few feel the pain and repercussions of the acts they bear witness to in life. Others, in their feeling come across the tendrils of the godhead and become conduits by which the divine may smile upon their children once more.

Even beings comprised out of the darkest dregs of its heart can learn to love... and even the purest angels commit atrocities to make grown men weep, but only man has the choice to become something out of nothing.

One man, in his time, plays many parts. Redemption, Damnation. The same coin, having but two sides. And an edge.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A circle of clerics waited, arrayed for war. Their hearts heavy, they prayed to the heavens for the strength to do what must be done to save their people. To save their lord. Their reverie broken by a change in their holy symbols, a flickering light began to emanate from them, slowly growing stronger and more resolute.

"It is time, brethren. He comes." said their leader, an old priest cut of cloth that was not made in this age. "For the Lady" he whispered as the men took up position.

It seemed they were right too, as they did not have to wait very long before an angry figure in full armor came to them, bursting through the doors, backed by a cadre of scared guards. The blackguard had sought them out.

"Traitors who dare defy their lord... Knowing I come to evict you, you array for war against me! I was going to let you live, but now you will have to answer for such disrespect to your lord." With that, Mordokai drew his blade, angry and red. Thirsting for blood at the scent of goodness.

"There are bonds beyond that of blood and flesh, My Lord. It saddens me that we must break them." The group of clerics moved, filing around to surround their lord.

"Fousyl, I will break you for this. Disobedience is death, and I am Captain of My Soul. To DARE take my will... Well, we'll just have to find a fitting punishment."

"The demon hate clouds you, do you even know what you want anymore? By the Glory of the Dawn, I adjure thee!" As one man, they raise their holy symbols, glowing with a sickly green light due to the presence of such twisted evil, though the green quickly turns to white, blinding and pure.

Too pure. Mordokai snarls as the first waves of pain course through his body. Though the blinding pain is the least of his concerns, since his soul is seared by the ritual his pride lead him to walk into.

Reaching out with his will, he sought for fear, lust, anger, hate, anything to latch onto. For once, a religious leader without a serious moral failing, just my luck. Grunting, he slumped, down onto one knee. The pain welling up in his heart. Guilt liquifying his belly.

"I will not be so easily muzzled!" he roared, sending out a wave of rage and demonic energy that pushed the ring of clerics back, threatening to have tossed them all back like so many rag dolls. It probably would have if they weren't girded for battle. Primal hate, anger, the defiance that cast down the first angel welled up within him.

Resolve wavering, the weakest link gives way. The center never can seem to hold, after all.

Bones crunch. Meat slaps. Metal bends and groans. Mordokai stands over the leader of the clerics and smiles as he leans on his blade, cracking the man's breastplate like the shell of a lobster, and pulling the suddenly very frail old man out. With a look of contempt on his face, Mordokai casually tosses the cleric into the far wall. A loud slap of contact later, he crumples, body twitching, on the cold stone.

That taken care of, Mordokai stands over the young cleric paralyzed by Mordokai's attack. Sweat begins to well up inside the young man's armor as he feels death kiss him on the cheek.

"I think I'll let you live just so I can enjoy the shame you feel. It's most exquisite." A rough, mailed hand squeezes the young cleric's mouth as Mordokai inspects his physical condition. "Yes... you shall live, shan't you? Guards! Take this one and prepare him a new room. spartan. As for the rest... I think we'll let their god sort them out."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The memories still burned within him. The failure, the loss, the pain. He still saw the face of his old master, so full of hope and sorrow then pain and dead before his eyes in minutes, his blood shed into a river that in his dreams only grew deeper and wider the more he saw it. It had filled him with sadness at first, as he realized the weight of their failure, by turns though, he had learned from Mordokai's example how the heart of good was best twisted from feeling pain at the wrong it sees and knows into taking pleasure exactly because of the intimate understanding of what evil will result as echoes of an act.

Sometimes, late at night, he could still feel the hot stickiness on his face. It had sickened him at first. Now, however, he was coming to enjoy it most heartily, even going so far as to wait on his nightly utterances of communion until he felt the blood running down his face, into his hands.

Cristo had always been devout, though now he had a new master. Or mistress. He still flitted between the dark gods of his dreams, feeling for the one that would best compliment the dreams and desires he felt. By turns, the holy symbol he was crafting was revealing the face of his new god more and more to him, as he reached out, through the grabbing sea of deities looking for another nexus of divine energy to glorify themselves.

His grey robes, once the reflection of his humility and ascetic life, now were cut and burnt clean of the signs of his old order. He even kept the robes he had worn that day, even though they had become soaked in the blood of his fellows. Now he wore them on such special occasions because of the blood's effect.

He was just delivering the last words of a sermon he had received unsolicited from the gods who sought him, on the proper methodology of rapine during war to the guard posted in the catacombs when the sobbing stopped and the cold sound of the latch being undone could be heard.

"As ever, it seems the gods know just when to end things. By your leave, captain, the blood of our lord calls out to me."

With a nod, he swept by the men at attention and entered the ancient inquisitorial chamber. He noted with delight that Happy had managed to evoke a fine misting of the room with Mordokai's blood without the usual necessity of a mop, a bucket, and a paintbrush. His background weave of spells alerted him to his lord's condition on death's front lawn and started feeding assessments of what to do about it amidst the background noise of his thoughts.

Smiling at Happy for the superb job she did, he began a prayer to invoke the powers of the gods of darkness and for his god in particular to enter this place and take their fill of the suffering it knew, asking only that this man be mended to spread his suffering to more men that they might know glory and satisfaction.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As he channeled the divine powers of creation to patch up Mordokai's body. Cristo was impressed that he could not tell whether Mordokai had been more flayed or more bruised and beaten beyond recognition of the beautiful paladin he once was, indeed, the probing tendrils of energy he sent out to ascertain the nature and extent of his lord's wounds were almost stymied as to how exactly they had occurred, but at least they could repair the damage, that being the easy part.

Warmth and the feeling of smooth almonds welled up from his soul and out through his hands as he massaged and mended the nigh infinite little cuts that made up a pattern of pain, knitting flesh back together from the reverse weave happy had traced. He had a little bit of trouble putting Mordokai's kidney back together, but decided to hell with it and set it to regenerating when he realized he had left about half of it outside of his body after closing his wounds.

Through the course of some long minutes his ministrations lasted, the unique twists of Happy's practiced hand requiring some special attentions to remedy properly.

He looked up to smile at her, not realizing that she had gone sometime during the operation. Mordokai slept, at times fitfully, at times oddly at peace for what had happened. It would soon be time to awaken his lord and the blackguard would be disappointed at her absence.

He sighed, and with a mixture of blood(his and mordokai's) and vinegar, oil and water, anointed the face and head of Mordokai, releasing the hold of his sleeping sign as he gave his blessing.

"Awaken, O Lord of Darkness! Arise, my Lord Mordokai."

I just had this sort of image of Mordokai being ambushed/trying to evict the good clerics from his lands when they found out he had fallen and where he might have gotten a cleric to twist to darkness before the usual suspects of secret blood cults and such started to gravitate towards him.

Unfortunately I couldn't much think of room to put it in earlier in the narrative what with my ignorance of the prequel, but I figured as a flashback it'd do alright. And lo and behold, Happy gave me the out with Cristo's introduction.

Some wiggy ideas about souls have been presented here, if they seem a bit murky, let me know and I'll try to rectify/clarify things.

[happyturtle]

This won't be terribly interesting or anything... but...

In the Vestibule (A Redemption side story)

Cristo (Mordokai and Happy figuring) [What color to make his text though?]

Spoiler

Show

*snip*

Wow!

I have no idea why you would think that isn't terribly interesting.

[Coidzor]

Well, it's not part of the stuff that needs writing, but I swear, I've been wracking my brains about what to do with Flora and can't for the life of me penetrate her bark.

Plus I can't for the life of me think of a color to have given Cristo.

[Dragonrider]

Typically, Cristo is Sienna .

[ghost_warlock]

Well, it's not part of the stuff that needs writing, but I swear, I've been wracking my brains about what to do with Flora and can't for the life of me penetrate her bark.

Plus I can't for the life of me think of a color to have given Cristo.

The way I figure, Flora's probably busy playing with her new pet kittens toadstools.

[Coidzor]

Does make sense. I mean, we know Flora's been rather inactive physically, but I imagine some interesting stuff would be going on metaphysically. And those toadstools seem like they like singing to her... that is true.

*remembers something from SMBG*

GW, is this good enough for you, or was there some request you had of me?

Hmm... Gah. To Espionage and Sabotage by poisoning Mordokai's concubines or not?

[Helgraf]

Yay, ships!

alright, specific comments. If I don't mention yours, it's not because I didn't like it, it's because I don't have much to say beyond "keep up the good work".

@Helgraf: Excellent as usual. You're very good at writing someone who doesn't see the world like everyone else. I would have liked for there to be a visit to Destro, but sadly that wasn't possible.

Don't write out the possibility of Helgraf paying a visit later. Just need to handle business with Rabbit & Happy first. That tower was far too interesting looking for Helgraf to leave it be long though...

[Destro_Yersul]

Been trying to write this in my head for most of the day. It's inspired by the song of the same name. Not actually a songfic, but hey...

Don't Fear the Reaper
Raistlin/RHL

Spoiler

Show

Rabbit walked the streets, shivering. It was cold out, but the cold hardly registered anymore. She just shivered, and thought about better times. Times when she wasn't always cold, when she had a warm place to stay. Those times were gone now, they had left with like the changing of seasons and blown away in the wind.

She stopped by the house, like she had stopped every day since he had gone away. That house was always empty now. Empty and cold, like the streets. But it would offer some shelter from the wind. Rabbit stumbled up the walk to the front door and tried to knock. The door swung open on its own and she went inside.

Rabbit left the wind outside, shaking the door and rattling the windows. It was a mean one tonight. She was lucky to be inside. Lucky to be in, away from the wind and rain, even if it was still cold in here. It was always cold, and she was tired.

There were no beds in the house, so Rabbit slept on the floor in a corner, curled up against the cold and the loneliness. She woke up once, convinced she had heard a noise upstairs. There couldn't be anything upstairs, could there? She found herself checking, walking halfway up the stairs until she could just see over the top.

There was a light on at the end of the hall, creeping out from under a door. Rabbit was drawn towards it, treading noiselessly across the old floorboards. The door swung open at her approach, spilling golden light out into the hall.

It was his room. Just like she remembered it. The old desk in the corner, the fire crackling in the fireplace, the snow visible through the window, falling softly to the ground. All of these things were his. Rabbit went over to a chair, ran her hand along the back, found the hole she had always meant to have fixed. Perhaps now she could finally fix it.

Hi Rabbit. She turned around, saw him in the doorway. Raistlin. It didn't occur to her that he couldn't be here. She was lost in the smile he gave her as she ran towards him and hugged him. He patted her back, whispered in her ear. I told you I'd come back.

I thought I'd lost you... She didn't let go. Couldn't let go. She didn't see the smile become a sad one.

It's ok, Rabbit. Everything's going to be ok. The window in the room cracked, shattered. Cold wind blew in and he turned, shielding her from the storm. The fire in the grate died and went out, casting the room into semidarkness. Don't be afraid. Everything's going to be alright.

The curtains blew in the wind as Rabbit pulled away just enough to look up at him and smile. I'm not afraid, Rai. They crossed to the window and looked outside, her hand in his.

I'm here now, Rabbit. I'm here, and you don't ever have to be afraid again. Rabbit nodded, looked out into the swirling snow. Raistlin pulled her closer, put his arm around her, smiled sadly. Don't fear the reaper, my little Rabbit. He can't touch you now.

And back downstairs, still deep in sleep, Rabbit smiled one last time.

Probably not my best work, but it's something, at least. Even if it did take forever for me to write.

[Helgraf]

Poor girl. Now: I can either split Definition drabble into two narratives, or do a one or two-shot until whatever happens happens, or I can do nothing until whatever happens happens. Or something entirely different.

Let it never be said I do not do anything to help...

Definition Drabble - Imperative
1. A command; an order.
2. An obligation; a duty: social imperatives.
3. A rule, principle, or instinct that compels a certain behavior: a people driven to aggression by territorial imperatives.

Spoiler

Show

Mi'ir and Mordokai began packing up the camp to resume travel. The air between them was silent, but bore the weight of an as of yet unspoken disagreement, something neither one of them would acknowledge. Finally, a voice cut through the stewing atmosphere.

"You want to pack tent or herd?"

"I'll get him," came the irritated reply.

A low susurration terminated in the sharp retort of a discharged swear, and the sound of returning feet.

"Problem?"

"The bloody lunatic insists we go after her!"

A tired laugh. "Did you really think we had a choice?"

"Bloody cursed mission," he grumbled.

[Reinholdt]

Unfortunately my time is short and I can't comment on all now.

Just one question for Lyinginbedmon. Could you define tentatively for us in this case? In other words, what would be the qualifiers that you're looking for to make it a part of Redemption?

[RabbitHoleLost]

Destro made me cry.

And, hurrah, Helgraf picked a direction.

[Raistlin1040]

In the same continuity as Heroes and Summer Breeze.
Trouble: Raistlin/RHL

Spoiler

Show

Here it was. Here was the moment. She was goig to do it. Rai...? He turned away from the piano, brushing the hair out of his eyes. Yes? Um. We need to talk. The four words of pain. Raistlin blinked, standing up and taking a seat in a chair. About? Us. There it was again. Alright. Talk. He said slowly, waiting for Rabbit to speak. She sat down opposite him. She took a deep breath, wanting to say it as well as she could.

It tumbled out of her mouth, wordvomit. I cheated on you with Twobit. I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to, you weren't home one night, and I was lonely, and I went over, and we talked, and I went over everytime you didn't get home, and things just sort of...fell into place...and we...and then, oh I'm so sorry Rai. She said, turning away. No...no Rabbit, it's ok. Instantly, her remorse turned into suspicion. You aren't mad, why aren't you mad? You should be pissed, I CHEATED on you! Right, well...ah, I know we're in love, and we can get through this. Rabbit's eyes narrowed. You're lying, I can tell, I could always tell. You cheated on me too, who was it? I bet it was that...that stupid groupie, with the stupid streaks in her hair, it was, wasn't it? Raist didn't say anything. Oh, that's just gross Raistlin. Hey, I just kissed her! I didn't freaking jump in her bed everytime you were stuck in traffic! Rabbit glared. Whatever, we're done! She jumped up and grabbed her keys off the kitchen counter. She walked outside, and drove off.

Raist sat at the piano, taking a breath. They were over. All these months, and they were over. He wasn't a one-woman man anyway, this was a GOOD thing. He should feel ecstatic. But he didn't. All he felt were the wet tears dripping from his eyes, as he tried in vain to wipe them fast enough to see, but his vision was completely obscured by the watery droplets. His first instinct was to call her, apologize, tell her how much she meant to him, beg her to come back. Something stopped him. Why should he apologize? He never slept with the silly groupie, just a few kisses between shows. Rabbit was the one who was screwing the neighbor.

---

Rabbit pulled over. She couldn't drive, she could barely see through the haze of tears, sobs wracking her body. It was awful. She loved Raistlin, how could he not see that? The thing with Twobit...it was just a bad call, made in lonliness. But...why had she been lonely in the first place? Raist had promised he'd always be there for her. Promised that he'd love her forever, and then he just threw aside their relationship for an easy girl. She didn't believe him, about the 'only kissing' part. Her crying subsided, and she resumed driving down the road, hiding her love, and pain, with anger.

--

The lights flashed in his eyes. Damnit. Vespe always liked the elaborate stage set up, with all the lights. They hurt Raist's eyes. Didn't matter. He had a show to do. He walked out on stage, scowling. The female fans in the front row tried to grab at him, screaming praise and adoration, but he didn't care. He was here to do a show. He played the HELL out of his guitar, scowling through the whole show. At the end of the show, he gritted his teeth. Pent-up anger and aggression were bad, he knew that. He took his guitar, raised it over his head, and slammed it against the ground, snapping it in two. He kicked at the pieces, and walked off-stage, hands in his pockets, the grumpy scowl still plain on his face.

---

Ugh, such a drama queen. Rabbit said, changing the channel. Since she'd met him, his band had become locally famous, and it was possible to catch them on local stations. She'd been watching his concert, and seen him smash the guitar, rolling her eyes. Stupid stupid stupid. She flicked the TV off and turned away.

---

Hey, look, the guitar smashing was badass. Everyone agrees on that. The problem remains, you don't HAVE a guitar now. How the hell do you expect us to play? Shut up Vespe. There's a few guitars I think, in the closet, that got left over here by some friends. Check in there. Vespe opened the closet, and dug around inside. He pulled out a blue Les Paul. There's this. Raistlin's eyes widened.

---

Hey, Rairai, what do you want for your birthday? Nothing really. I hate that. Give me an answer. Fine, a kiss. Rabbit rolled her eyes and stood on the tips of her toes, pressing her lips softly against Raist's. Cute. Now what do you really want? He shrugged. Rabbit rolled her eyes and grabbed her car keys to drive down to the mall. She browsed the shops, nothing catching her eye, until she happened up a little family-owned guitar store. She poked her head inside. There it was. A beautiful blue guitar with a tiger finish. One of the owners was a painter, she even got him to paint a heart with the words 'Love, Rabbit' inside on the pickguard, and then put some gloss over it so it wouldn't scratch.

Raistlin had been so happy when she'd given it to him. Oh my gawd, it's beautiful sweetheart. I love you, thank you. He'd hugged her tight and pressed his lips to hers in a loving kiss. She'd kissed him back. Mmm, I love you too. I'm so glad you like the guitar darling.

---

He looked at it, jaw dropped. He'd played it a bunch after Rabbit had bought it for him, but became paranoid that it'd get messed up at shows, and had started using his SG more and more, eventually putting his masterpiece of a Les Paul in the storage closet. You can play this, yeah? Vespe asked, holding the guitar up. Raistlin shook his head quickly. No, no I can't. Vespe grabbed a pick and strummed the guitar. Raist, it plays like heaven, it's great. No, put it back, I'll get another one. Vespe sighed and put the Les Paul back, heading out of the house. Raistlin sat there for ten minutes, not moving. Finally, he started to cry again, moving over to the piano, his tears falling on the keys as he played.

---

You miss him. Of COURSE I miss him. I loved him. Don't lie to your sister. You still love him, and you know it. Yeah, well, we're not together anymore. Why not? You guys go so well together. I cheated on him, he cheated on me, lack of communication, whatever. Rabbit said coldly, dismissing the entire relationship. You're so stubborn. Turtle said, frowning and hanging up the phone. Rabbit sank in her chair. Did she still love Raistlin? No, she thought, no, she didn't. It was futile, she did, and she knew it. But what could she do, it wasn't like she could just drive over to his house, knock on the door, and tell him how much she loved him. They were BROKEN UP, for gawd's sakes.

---

Raistlin looked at the CD. All piano, he couldn't play his guitar. He'd sung, but only after spending hours agonizing over the lyrics. It had to be right. It sounded perfect. He'd send the CD to Vespe, who's give it to the manager, who'd copy it, and send it to the stations, and it would be all over the charts. It was a song written from experience, everyone would see that, and it'd be a hit. Raistlin sighed. Shame he'd never be able to listen to it again. He bit his lip and opened the CD player, popping it in, for one last listen. He heard the door open, but payed it no mind.

---

Rabbit stepped inside the house. She still had the key he'd given her, when she'd decided to move out of the apartment she'd shared with Turtle. She heard the music playing out of the CD player. Piano. She'd always loved it when he played piano, even more than guitar. The song was good. She tried to focus, to hear the lyrics.

O no, I see,
I spun a web, it's tangled up with me,
And I lost my head,
The thought of all the stupid things I said,
O no what's this?
A spider web, and I'm caught in the middle,
I turned to run,
The thought of all the stupid things I've done,

I never meant to cause you trouble,
And I never meant to do you wrong,
And I, well if I ever caused you trouble,
O no, I never meant to do you harm.

Did you write it...about us? Rabbit spoke up suddenly. Raistlin turned, turning off the CD player. He nodded. Yeah. It's great. Thanks. They stood there for a few seconds. Why did you come over? I wanted to apologize. But, I should apologize. No, I cheat- But I- We're not doing this. Rabbit said, frowning. We both screwed up. I'm sorry. I'm sorry too. Another few seconds passed, neither moving or speaking. I missed you. Raistlin said softly. I missed you too. Rabbit replied. Suddenly, they met in the middle of the room, embracing. I love you. I love you too. It didn't make a lot of sense, actually. They were supposed to be broken up, they had each broken the promise they'd made when they began living together. But hey, they loved each other, that's what's important, right?

I have mixed feelings about this one.

[ghost_warlock]

In the same continuity as Heroes and Summer Breeze.
Trouble: Raistlin/RHL

Spoiler

Show

*snip of agony*

I have mixed feelings about this one.

You...have horrible timing, you know that?

Sorry, that's simply a reaction based on some personal...stuff.

The fic is good, or at least I liked it.

I admit that I've had in mind a continuation fic in mind for "Heroes" and "Summer Breeze" for...honestly quite some time now. I never got around to writing it, though, for various reasons. I think I prefer yours to what I would have written. Edit: This is the song I would have used for mine.

*bows out*

[Destro_Yersul]

I kinda like it, Raist. It's sweet. And "We need to talk" is quite probably the scariest phrase in the English language.

[randman22222]

In the same continuity as Heroes and Summer Breeze.
Trouble: Raistlin/RHL

Spoiler

Show

Here it was. Here was the moment. She was goig to do it. Rai...? He turned away from the piano, brushing the hair out of his eyes. Yes? Um. We need to talk. The four words of pain. Raistlin blinked, standing up and taking a seat in a chair. About? Us. There it was again. Alright. Talk. He said slowly, waiting for Rabbit to speak. She sat down opposite him. She took a deep breath, wanting to say it as well as she could.

It tumbled out of her mouth, wordvomit. I cheated on you with Twobit. I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to, you weren't home one night, and I was lonely, and I went over, and we talked, and I went over everytime you didn't get home, and things just sort of...fell into place...and we...and then, oh I'm so sorry Rai. She said, turning away. No...no Rabbit, it's ok. Instantly, her remorse turned into suspicion. You aren't mad, why aren't you mad? You should be pissed, I CHEATED on you! Right, well...ah, I know we're in love, and we can get through this. Rabbit's eyes narrowed. You're lying, I can tell, I could always tell. You cheated on me too, who was it? I bet it was that...that stupid groupie, with the stupid streaks in her hair, it was, wasn't it? Raist didn't say anything. Oh, that's just gross Raistlin. Hey, I just kissed her! I didn't freaking jump in her bed everytime you were stuck in traffic! Rabbit glared. Whatever, we're done! She jumped up and grabbed her keys off the kitchen counter. She walked outside, and drove off.

Raist sat at the piano, taking a breath. They were over. All these months, and they were over. He wasn't a one-woman man anyway, this was a GOOD thing. He should feel ecstatic. But he didn't. All he felt were the wet tears dripping from his eyes, as he tried in vain to wipe them fast enough to see, but his vision was completely obscured by the watery droplets. His first instinct was to call her, apologize, tell her how much she meant to him, beg her to come back. Something stopped him. Why should he apologize? He never slept with the silly groupie, just a few kisses between shows. Rabbit was the one who was screwing the neighbor.

---

Rabbit pulled over. She couldn't drive, she could barely see through the haze of tears, sobs wracking her body. It was awful. She loved Raistlin, how could he not see that? The thing with Twobit...it was just a bad call, made in lonliness. But...why had she been lonely in the first place? Raist had promised he'd always be there for her. Promised that he'd love her forever, and then he just threw aside their relationship for an easy girl. She didn't believe him, about the 'only kissing' part. Her crying subsided, and she resumed driving down the road, hiding her love, and pain, with anger.

--

The lights flashed in his eyes. Damnit. Vespe always liked the elaborate stage set up, with all the lights. They hurt Raist's eyes. Didn't matter. He had a show to do. He walked out on stage, scowling. The female fans in the front row tried to grab at him, screaming praise and adoration, but he didn't care. He was here to do a show. He played the HELL out of his guitar, scowling through the whole show. At the end of the show, he gritted his teeth. Pent-up anger and aggression were bad, he knew that. He took his guitar, raised it over his head, and slammed it against the ground, snapping it in two. He kicked at the pieces, and walked off-stage, hands in his pockets, the grumpy scowl still plain on his face.

---

Ugh, such a drama queen. Rabbit said, changing the channel. Since she'd met him, his band had become locally famous, and it was possible to catch them on local stations. She'd been watching his concert, and seen him smash the guitar, rolling her eyes. Stupid stupid stupid. She flicked the TV off and turned away.

---

Hey, look, the guitar smashing was badass. Everyone agrees on that. The problem remains, you don't HAVE a guitar now. How the hell do you expect us to play? Shut up Vespe. There's a few guitars I think, in the closet, that got left over here by some friends. Check in there. Vespe opened the closet, and dug around inside. He pulled out a blue Les Paul. There's this. Raistlin's eyes widened.

---

Hey, Rairai, what do you want for your birthday? Nothing really. I hate that. Give me an answer. Fine, a kiss. Rabbit rolled her eyes and stood on the tips of her toes, pressing her lips softly against Raist's. Cute. Now what do you really want? He shrugged. Rabbit rolled her eyes and grabbed her car keys to drive down to the mall. She browsed the shops, nothing catching her eye, until she happened up a little family-owned guitar store. She poked her head inside. There it was. A beautiful blue guitar with a tiger finish. One of the owners was a painter, she even got him to paint a heart with the words 'Love, Rabbit' inside on the pickguard, and then put some gloss over it so it wouldn't scratch.

Raistlin had been so happy when she'd given it to him. Oh my gawd, it's beautiful sweetheart. I love you, thank you. He'd hugged her tight and pressed his lips to hers in a loving kiss. She'd kissed him back. Mmm, I love you too. I'm so glad you like the guitar darling.

---

He looked at it, jaw dropped. He'd played it a bunch after Rabbit had bought it for him, but became paranoid that it'd get messed up at shows, and had started using his SG more and more, eventually putting his masterpiece of a Les Paul in the storage closet. You can play this, yeah? Vespe asked, holding the guitar up. Raistlin shook his head quickly. No, no I can't. Vespe grabbed a pick and strummed the guitar. Raist, it plays like heaven, it's great. No, put it back, I'll get another one. Vespe sighed and put the Les Paul back, heading out of the house. Raistlin sat there for ten minutes, not moving. Finally, he started to cry again, moving over to the piano, his tears falling on the keys as he played.

---

You miss him. Of COURSE I miss him. I loved him. Don't lie to your sister. You still love him, and you know it. Yeah, well, we're not together anymore. Why not? You guys go so well together. I cheated on him, he cheated on me, lack of communication, whatever. Rabbit said coldly, dismissing the entire relationship. You're so stubborn. Turtle said, frowning and hanging up the phone. Rabbit sank in her chair. Did she still love Raistlin? No, she thought, no, she didn't. It was futile, she did, and she knew it. But what could she do, it wasn't like she could just drive over to his house, knock on the door, and tell him how much she loved him. They were BROKEN UP, for gawd's sakes.

---

Raistlin looked at the CD. All piano, he couldn't play his guitar. He'd sung, but only after spending hours agonizing over the lyrics. It had to be right. It sounded perfect. He'd send the CD to Vespe, who's give it to the manager, who'd copy it, and send it to the stations, and it would be all over the charts. It was a song written from experience, everyone would see that, and it'd be a hit. Raistlin sighed. Shame he'd never be able to listen to it again. He bit his lip and opened the CD player, popping it in, for one last listen. He heard the door open, but payed it no mind.

---

Rabbit stepped inside the house. She still had the key he'd given her, when she'd decided to move out of the apartment she'd shared with Turtle. She heard the music playing out of the CD player. Piano. She'd always loved it when he played piano, even more than guitar. The song was good. She tried to focus, to hear the lyrics.

O no, I see,
I spun a web, it's tangled up with me,
And I lost my head,
The thought of all the stupid things I said,
O no what's this?
A spider web, and I'm caught in the middle,
I turned to run,
The thought of all the stupid things I've done,

I never meant to cause you trouble,
And I never meant to do you wrong,
And I, well if I ever caused you trouble,
O no, I never meant to do you harm.

Did you write it...about us? Rabbit spoke up suddenly. Raistlin turned, turning off the CD player. He nodded. Yeah. It's great. Thanks. They stood there for a few seconds. Why did you come over? I wanted to apologize. But, I should apologize. No, I cheat- But I- We're not doing this. Rabbit said, frowning. We both screwed up. I'm sorry. I'm sorry too. Another few seconds passed, neither moving or speaking. I missed you. Raistlin said softly. I missed you too. Rabbit replied. Suddenly, they met in the middle of the room, embracing. I love you. I love you too. It didn't make a lot of sense, actually. They were supposed to be broken up, they had each broken the promise they'd made when they began living together. But hey, they loved each other, that's what's important, right?

I have mixed feelings about this one.

I liked it...
And I've got one, of which, I too, am not sure of.
Not quite a songfic, but there's a song that fits well.

Walking On The Moon
Ego Slayer/Thufir

Spoiler

Show

I walked off stage without any regrets. Not in the performance, and not ever. It's funny how different the stage is from, well, on stage, than it is from the audience's perspective. From out there, it's not quite dark, but certainly not light either. It feels darker than it is, because on stage is someone with a few thousand watts of light shining on them. They're larger than life. On stage, the audience is nearly pitch-black; you can't see them for the lighting. You certainly know they're there, though. Their presence, especially just now, is massive, and every time I get the feeling that I'm facing a stampede, and stupidly not moving out of the way. But if I let that get to me, I wouldn't be able to sing. Or do much of anything.

Now I'm going to my room, to the solace of my bottle of water, which I forgot to bring on stage. Usually there's one somewhere that, even if intended for someone else, I take, but this time, no dice. A trumpetist walks by me, just a silhouette backstage. I honestly don't know my supporting band so well, except for TwoBitWriter, on the upright bass. A strange guy. Talks like he's from the 1800's. Incredibly smart, though, and he's got a way with words that makes you laugh. It makes you want to fall asleep at the same time. Usually around one word per second.

Well, there is a single regret, but there was nothing I could have done to make it any better. Back in university, when we were young, free, and naive, the band was a lot different. Tighter-knit, carefree, and I knew every instrumentalist's name. Now I'm sitting on a brown, leather sofa backstage, and I don't even know the name of the drummer in the room next to me. The regret I have is that my drummer from university wasn't more serious about music. Thufir got a degree in journalism instead. When I could finally tell our band wasn't going to last, I thought that he'd be the only one to continue on with me, and when he wasn't, it hurt. I miss him and his weird masks he'd put on for half our concerts. If only I could find him, I'd do everything I could to convince him to join up again.
He was just too sweet for me to want to leave behind.

***********

I woke up about a minute ago, and as always happens while I'm on tour, it took me a few seconds of confusion to figure out where I was. I reached up to turn on the tacky porcelain lamp, decorated with painted roses, then— wait. The last four hotels I've stayed at have all had tacky porcelain lamps, decorated with some sort of flower, left of the bed, on the night stand. And all the rooms were moodily lit. Hotels are strange places. I don't like them. Is it out of some sort of duty they make sure they're identical to each other, and this depressing?

I see our manager, Raistlin, has slid a few magazines under my door. Probably reviews of our tour, since last night was our finale. Reading through them, I find that the critics actually enjoyed us, except one writer that must have been a temp for the jazz writer. I'm pretty sure I've seen his name a lot in the top 40 sections.

One of the reviewers really liked how we did "The Girl From Ipanema"; they mentioned that it was the type of song that made former musicians want to start playing again. At the end of that review, my heart stopped, though. Then it decided to overcompensate by jumping into my throat and going at quarter note equals one-eighty.

Thufir wrote the review. Which means he's in town. Which means I'm frantically looking through the magazine for a number to call. I'm sure they'd give his number in town to the subject of his review.

***********

Later that afternoon, after picking out the warmest jacket I had (and best looking) against the cold weather outside, I got into a cab, knowing that I'm certainly not wishing my days away. Definitely have to worry about my legs breaking though. My mind is racing, while the rain falling around the cab is moving like snow. Walking on the moon, indeed. On arrival, I nearly forget to get change from a fifty from the driver, and then I had to force my legs to carry me forward. In the cafe, which, of course, must be decorated in dark woods, and be incredibly cosy, not that I'm complaining, I look to the left, where Thufir is seated with his back to me. I can't help but notice that in the jacket he's folded and put to his right, he not-so-subtly has his brushes and sticks poking out. I walk by him, and take a seat.

[ghost_warlock]

*cough* Anyway...

Does make sense. I mean, we know Flora's been rather inactive physically, but I imagine some interesting stuff would be going on metaphysically. And those toadstools seem like they like singing to her... that is true.

*remembers something from SMBG*

GW, is this good enough for you, or was there some request you had of me?

Nah, no specific requests from me. Unless you're up to re-writing The Tempest with me cast as Caliban.

As for the toadstools, they're not psychedelic or anything like that. They really are 'singing,' she's just the only 'person' who can hear them besides Pickman; courtesy of her 'speak with plants' ability. (Technically, fungi aren't plants and are actually closer related to animals, but that's a distinction I doubt most people/game mechanics would likely make. Besides, there's no specific rules we're using for these fics so just go with it, okay. )

Perhaps confusing expanded Pickman information below:

Spoiler

Show

Note that the toadstools are Pickman; or, at least, are the same organism. Not really clones, but something similar - they're the same 'mind' and body, just physically separated from the rest of the colony. Pickman's recent issue is that the fungus-mind is arguing a bit with his ghoul-mind; although that's simplifying matters since it's technically all fungus mind, but is simulating a ghoul mind. If...that makes any sense to anyone.

When Pickman, and the other two ghouls mentioned in his back story, were consumed by the fungus in the caverns, the fungus colony inherited all of Pickman's (and the other ghouls') memories and, thus, gained a sort of sentience. Now, in response to the dryad, the fungus' mind is starting to awaken and wants to be in close proximity to Flora to explore its newfound self-awareness. This has caused issues for the Pickman-mind, since it is used to being the dominant mind and, really, the only conscious mind. It is also not used to having to share control of its body. Essentially, Pickman has contracted an extremely late-onset form of dissociative identity disorder; which may eventually be compounded by the emergence of the other two ghouls' memories/personalities.

[Thufir]

@ Thufir - I like the entire letter concept. It's quite good and always has that element of realism.

Well, Curly is the one who came up with the original concept...
And the reason for the element of realism is that I kinda base my letters on my real life...
Oh, and thank you.

Walking On The Moon
Ego Slayer/Thufir

Spoiler

Show

I walked off stage without any regrets. Not in the performance, and not ever. It's funny how different the stage is from, well, on stage, than it is from the audience's perspective. From out there, it's not quite dark, but certainly not light either. It feels darker than it is, because on stage is someone with a few thousand watts of light shining on them. They're larger than life. On stage, the audience is nearly pitch-black; you can't see them for the lighting. You certainly know they're there, though. Their presence, especially just now, is massive, and every time I get the feeling that I'm facing a stampede, and stupidly not moving out of the way. But if I let that get to me, I wouldn't be able to sing. Or do much of anything.

Now I'm going to my room, to the solace of my bottle of water, which I forgot to bring on stage. Usually there's one somewhere that, even if intended for someone else, I take, but this time, no dice. A trumpetist walks by me, just a silhouette backstage. I honestly don't know my supporting band so well, except for TwoBitWriter, on the upright bass. A strange guy. Talks like he's from the 1800's. Incredibly smart, though, and he's got a way with words that makes you laugh. It makes you want to fall asleep at the same time. Usually around one word per second.

Well, there is a single regret, but there was nothing I could have done to make it any better. Back in university, when we were young, free, and naive, the band was a lot different. Tighter-knit, carefree, and I knew every instrumentalist's name. Now I'm sitting on a brown, leather sofa backstage, and I don't even know the name of the drummer in the room next to me. The regret I have is that my drummer from university wasn't more serious about music. Thufir got a degree in journalism instead. When I could finally tell our band wasn't going to last, I thought that he'd be the only one to continue on with me, and when he wasn't, it hurt. I miss him and his weird masks he'd put on for half our concerts. If only I could find him, I'd do everything I could to convince him to join up again.
He was just too sweet for me to want to leave behind.

***********

I woke up about a minute ago, and as always happens while I'm on tour, it took me a few seconds of confusion to figure out where I was. I reached up to turn on the tacky porcelain lamp, decorated with painted roses, then— wait. The last four hotels I've stayed at have all had tacky porcelain lamps, decorated with some sort of flower, left of the bed, on the night stand. And all the rooms were moodily lit. Hotels are strange places. I don't like them. Is it out of some sort of duty they make sure they're identical to each other, and this depressing?

I see our manager, Raistlin, has slid a few magazines under my door. Probably reviews of our tour, since last night was our finale. Reading through them, I find that the critics actually enjoyed us, except one writer that must have been a temp for the jazz writer. I'm pretty sure I've seen his name a lot in the top 40 sections.

One of the reviewers really liked how we did "The Girl From Ipanema"; they mentioned that it was the type of song that made former musicians want to start playing again. At the end of that review, my heart stopped, though. Then it decided to overcompensate by jumping into my throat and going at quarter note equals one-eighty.

Thufir wrote the review. Which means he's in town. Which means I'm frantically looking through the magazine for a number to call. I'm sure they'd give his number in town to the subject of his review.

***********

Later that afternoon, after picking out the warmest jacket I had (and best looking) against the cold weather outside, I got into a cab, knowing that I'm certainly not wishing my days away. Definitely have to worry about my legs breaking though. My mind is racing, while the rain falling around the cab is moving like snow. Walking on the moon, indeed. On arrival, I nearly forget to get change from a fifty from the driver, and then I had to force my legs to carry me forward. In the cafe, which, of course, must be decorated in dark woods, and be incredibly cosy, not that I'm complaining, I look to the left, where Thufir is seated with his back to me. I can't help but notice that in the jacket he's folded and put to his right, he not-so-subtly has his brushes and sticks poking out. I walk by him, and take a seat.

I like it. Thanks for PMing me - usually I'd see this anyway, but at the moment I'm behind the thread by about 3 pages...
It seems odd that here TwoBit is a musician and I'm a journalist, but whatever. In the interests of being shipped with Ego, I don't mind being a journalist. I quite like the way you wrote it all from Ego's point of view. Oh, and the description of her reaction to my review is great (Though, 'quarter note'? What's wrong with saying 'crotchet'?).

[Reinholdt]

@ Nil - I think we forget too often how evil isn't cool and then things like this remind us why. Topsy-turvey place got more dangerous. Well done.

@ Lyinginbedmon - Incredibly intriguing. Like I said, let me know what you think must be for it to be Redemption.

@ Coidzor - That was a great backstory Coid. Good job.

@ Destro - That was one of the saddest ones I've ever read. You made me cry too. And not just tear up like most sad ones.

@ Raist - TwoBit you seducer you . It was good Raist.

@ Randman - Good with just the proper touch of sweet at the end. I always admired your work with the 1st person.

[randman22222]

Well, Curly is the one who came up with the original concept...
And the reason for the element of realism is that I kinda base my letters on my real life...
Oh, and thank you.



I like it. Thanks for PMing me - usually I'd see this anyway, but at the moment I'm behind the thread by about 3 pages...
It seems odd that here TwoBit is a musician and I'm a journalist, but whatever. In the interests of being shipped with Ego, I don't mind being a journalist. I quite like the way you wrote it all from Ego's point of view. Oh, and the description of her reaction to my review is great (Though, 'quarter note'? What's wrong with saying 'crotchet'?).

Because then a sixty-fourth note becomes a hemidemisemiquaver, and a one hundred twenty-eighth note becomes a QUASIhemidemisemiquaver. Silliest nomenclature ever.