♌ arsenicCatnip (Nepeta Leijon) (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
purrfectlycute) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
ataraxion2012-08-25 12:44 am
purrfectlycute) wrote in ataraxion2012-08-25 12:44 am
Entry tags:
( 003 ) text;
:33 < im sorry fur those who expected a continuation of my last story but
:33 < in light of current events i couldnt really muster the heart fur it
:33 < maybe another day
:33 < i decided to write something else in the mean time though
:33 < its mostly to make myself f33l better
:33 < maybe itll help someone else too
A man wakes in his own bed.
He doesn't consider this abnormal. He wakes. He goes about his normal morning routine. It's only when he exits his door does his sharp mind register that something is wrong.
This isn't as unnerving as it is confusing. Intriguing.
He walks briskly, fidgeting with a phone. The streets that were once familiar to him become something new. Trees pop up where they weren't before. The sunlight seems too hot, too bright, almost uncomfortably so. Perhaps most suspicious of all is that the world is empty except for the chirp and hums of insects.
Not until his eyes reach the girl, anyway.
Something seems off about her too, but he can't quite put his finger on what. It's as though his mind is stuck back in his sleeping world and can't keep up with his walking. This is far more frustrating to the man than the transformation of his world.
The girl smiles as she reads his expression. "Don't worry. You're actually doing much better than most new people. It takes a bit for the disorientation to wear off. You must have quite the intellect to make it this far this quickly."
There are too many questions to ask. Though the man is usually brisk, offering only words that serve a purpose, he stalls to size up the situation.
"Is that impressive?" he asks.
"Only somewhat," the girl admits. "But you're an impressive man, aren't you?"
"Yes." There is no humbleness or hesitation, but still, the girl can see he's telling the truth. She motions for him to follow her into the copse of trees. He walks with his hands stuffed in his pockets. Their steps are muffled in the cool soil. Thankfully, the path the girl leads him through is sheltered from the blazing sun by a canopy of trees.
He takes opportunity of the mutual silence to think back to how he got here. Before waking. Before that there was…
Oh.
"You're a troll." The man can't pin down her identity--perhaps he's never even met her before--but he's certain of her species. How he's certain, he's still deciphering. Trolls aren't native to his world. In fact, this should strike him as entirely odd. Surprising. Maybe even startling.
Instead he continues to do mental gymnastics. It's actually enjoyable to an extent.
"I am!" the girl says. She sounds excited that he's recognized this. Or maybe he remembered. It's hard to tell at this point. "You're adapting pretty quickly. At this rate I won't--"
"--have to tell me that I'm dead?" the man interrupts. This stops the girl in her tracks. She turns to stare at him. Brows raised in surprise, he notices, but not fear or anger. There are no negative repercussions for this realization. None from her, anyway. There may be some to come.
"It wasn't hard to figure out," he explains. Curt. To the point. She doesn't ask for clarification and he offers none.
And there is a gut instinct, a feeling, that he's dead, even if there are no memories of how he died. But this is hardly solid evidence.
The girl smiles again and continues leading him away from his own world into the unknown. "Not for you, maybe. It took me a while, but now I think I understand."
The man remains silent while she explains. He notices, too, that the sun seems to have dulled. Still warm, still bright, but not uncomfortably so. The forest thins. The trees begins to have more needles than leaves, bark that looks like it could shred skin if it was stroked. Tough. The sort of trees that could survive anything short of fire. The sort of trees that can survive the rocky soil (more rock than soil) the two souls now tread on.
In what seems like only seconds later, the forest opens up to an entirely new landscape. Rocks jet upward high, higher, nearly scraping the sky. Nestled in the sharps points and sheer drops is a magnificent castle. At first glance it seems like a wasteland of stone and certain death. But looking closer it's apparent that there is nothing lifeless or washed-out about this place; tough, yes, forboding, definitely, but the sky is blue and beautiful. The cliffs glitter with minerals. Certainly if one were to scale the high points of this land, they could see to the edges of other worlds.
A shadow blots out the sun for a moment. Looking up, the man thinks the gliding figure overhead must be some sort of bird. On further inspection he sees four legs instead of two. Scales, not feathers.
It's a dragon. (For the first time the man is surprised, but the bafflement quickly turns to excitement. He'd like to get a good look at one of those things up close. Preferably dead.)
"Everything dies," says the girl. It sounds less like a lecture. More like musing. "People, plants, animals. Cities. Worlds. Universes. Not all are fortunate enough--or unfortunate enough--to have life breathed into them again. But memories live on. Death doesn't really mean things end. They just continue differently."
Now he notices the frog she's holding. (When did she pick that up? Maybe he should have been paying more attention to her than planning the best way to dissect a dragon.) He leans in to see twinkling lights and swirls and, if he squints, colorful little spheres.
Stars. Galaxies. Planets. The universe blinks and offers a introductory ribbit. (Hello, my name is Reginald. Too bad neither of them speaks frog.)
Thousands of thoughts and questions swirl in the man's head, faster than even his own extraordinary mind can sort and place. Almost distantly the question falls out of his lips.
"Name?"
The girl smiles. "Nepeta Leijon. Nice too see you again, Mr. Sherlock! I've been--oh gosh, erm, please don't prod the universe like that! He may be dead but it's rather mean to do an autopsy at this point. How about I show you around some more?"
This story begins with a death.
That does not mean it ends with nothingness.
Meanwhile, aboard the Tranquility, a direwolf eats Mr. Wheatley. The end.
:33 < in light of current events i couldnt really muster the heart fur it
:33 < maybe another day
:33 < i decided to write something else in the mean time though
:33 < its mostly to make myself f33l better
:33 < maybe itll help someone else too
A man wakes in his own bed.
He doesn't consider this abnormal. He wakes. He goes about his normal morning routine. It's only when he exits his door does his sharp mind register that something is wrong.
This isn't as unnerving as it is confusing. Intriguing.
He walks briskly, fidgeting with a phone. The streets that were once familiar to him become something new. Trees pop up where they weren't before. The sunlight seems too hot, too bright, almost uncomfortably so. Perhaps most suspicious of all is that the world is empty except for the chirp and hums of insects.
Not until his eyes reach the girl, anyway.
Something seems off about her too, but he can't quite put his finger on what. It's as though his mind is stuck back in his sleeping world and can't keep up with his walking. This is far more frustrating to the man than the transformation of his world.
The girl smiles as she reads his expression. "Don't worry. You're actually doing much better than most new people. It takes a bit for the disorientation to wear off. You must have quite the intellect to make it this far this quickly."
There are too many questions to ask. Though the man is usually brisk, offering only words that serve a purpose, he stalls to size up the situation.
"Is that impressive?" he asks.
"Only somewhat," the girl admits. "But you're an impressive man, aren't you?"
"Yes." There is no humbleness or hesitation, but still, the girl can see he's telling the truth. She motions for him to follow her into the copse of trees. He walks with his hands stuffed in his pockets. Their steps are muffled in the cool soil. Thankfully, the path the girl leads him through is sheltered from the blazing sun by a canopy of trees.
He takes opportunity of the mutual silence to think back to how he got here. Before waking. Before that there was…
Oh.
"You're a troll." The man can't pin down her identity--perhaps he's never even met her before--but he's certain of her species. How he's certain, he's still deciphering. Trolls aren't native to his world. In fact, this should strike him as entirely odd. Surprising. Maybe even startling.
Instead he continues to do mental gymnastics. It's actually enjoyable to an extent.
"I am!" the girl says. She sounds excited that he's recognized this. Or maybe he remembered. It's hard to tell at this point. "You're adapting pretty quickly. At this rate I won't--"
"--have to tell me that I'm dead?" the man interrupts. This stops the girl in her tracks. She turns to stare at him. Brows raised in surprise, he notices, but not fear or anger. There are no negative repercussions for this realization. None from her, anyway. There may be some to come.
"It wasn't hard to figure out," he explains. Curt. To the point. She doesn't ask for clarification and he offers none.
And there is a gut instinct, a feeling, that he's dead, even if there are no memories of how he died. But this is hardly solid evidence.
The girl smiles again and continues leading him away from his own world into the unknown. "Not for you, maybe. It took me a while, but now I think I understand."
The man remains silent while she explains. He notices, too, that the sun seems to have dulled. Still warm, still bright, but not uncomfortably so. The forest thins. The trees begins to have more needles than leaves, bark that looks like it could shred skin if it was stroked. Tough. The sort of trees that could survive anything short of fire. The sort of trees that can survive the rocky soil (more rock than soil) the two souls now tread on.
In what seems like only seconds later, the forest opens up to an entirely new landscape. Rocks jet upward high, higher, nearly scraping the sky. Nestled in the sharps points and sheer drops is a magnificent castle. At first glance it seems like a wasteland of stone and certain death. But looking closer it's apparent that there is nothing lifeless or washed-out about this place; tough, yes, forboding, definitely, but the sky is blue and beautiful. The cliffs glitter with minerals. Certainly if one were to scale the high points of this land, they could see to the edges of other worlds.
A shadow blots out the sun for a moment. Looking up, the man thinks the gliding figure overhead must be some sort of bird. On further inspection he sees four legs instead of two. Scales, not feathers.
It's a dragon. (For the first time the man is surprised, but the bafflement quickly turns to excitement. He'd like to get a good look at one of those things up close. Preferably dead.)
"Everything dies," says the girl. It sounds less like a lecture. More like musing. "People, plants, animals. Cities. Worlds. Universes. Not all are fortunate enough--or unfortunate enough--to have life breathed into them again. But memories live on. Death doesn't really mean things end. They just continue differently."
Now he notices the frog she's holding. (When did she pick that up? Maybe he should have been paying more attention to her than planning the best way to dissect a dragon.) He leans in to see twinkling lights and swirls and, if he squints, colorful little spheres.
Stars. Galaxies. Planets. The universe blinks and offers a introductory ribbit. (Hello, my name is Reginald. Too bad neither of them speaks frog.)
Thousands of thoughts and questions swirl in the man's head, faster than even his own extraordinary mind can sort and place. Almost distantly the question falls out of his lips.
"Name?"
The girl smiles. "Nepeta Leijon. Nice too see you again, Mr. Sherlock! I've been--oh gosh, erm, please don't prod the universe like that! He may be dead but it's rather mean to do an autopsy at this point. How about I show you around some more?"
This story begins with a death.
That does not mean it ends with nothingness.
Meanwhile, aboard the Tranquility, a direwolf eats Mr. Wheatley. The end.
[text]
I especially like that the universe's name is Reginald.
[text]
:33 < im sorry you missed him too!
:33 < he was pretty remarkable
:33 < not always the most popular guy but he was really nice to me and i liked him
:33 < though i think once the sadness ebbs ill be happy to just have known him at all
:33 < *snerk*
:33 < reginald is an excellent name, let no one tell you otherwise ;33
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Can I ask why you write ":33 < " before each line? I've noticed some people here write with different colored font but I haven't seen that before.
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voice;
skim
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snort.]
A dire-what. [...guess who lives under a rock. A very huge, very network-shaped rock.] Is that what he was gripin' about?
voice;
[ this isn't video but she's rolling her eyes. ]
One of the things he was complaining about. Even if he had legitimate concerns, I didn't like his tone at all.
[ And this is coming from someone who is in love with rage incarnate and is best friends with an elitist freak. ]
voice;
[No really it's a huge-ass rock.]
Hn. He always complains.
[Stated as grudging fact.]
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Do you do commissions, maybe?
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:33 < gosh that means a lot
:33 < i tried my best fur this purrticular story so if it can capture the readers imagination and elicit some emotions, ive hopefully done mr. sherlocks memory some justice
:33 < ive never done commission befur but id be happy to write you anything!
:33 < you dont n33d to give me anything in exchange, i just like writing :DD
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Kittyface Kid seems rad. So.]
There's this show I watch at home about this alien girl and her human family who fight evil and whatev. The last episode I got to see was of Sword Girl--that's the chick--having to leave Earth for a while to save everybody. Her brother Star Boy, one of the humans, was wicked fucked up over it. So since I don't get to see the next episode, can you write a real short thing about them getting reunited?
Sword Girl is this tall, blonde, super hot chick with a sword, who talks like a ren faire escapee and is all about ass kicking and honour. Star Boy is a snarky little ginger with the power of shielding people. And you say I don't have to repay you, but what if we fic exchange? I could write you something.
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is this your way of telling us that you're dead, back home?
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[ NOT YET, ANYWAY ]
:33 < but things are looking rather gloomy if im totally honest
:33 < and realistically im going to die some day
:33 < or you can think of this as a version of me from a doomed timeline
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you seem to be taking that pretty well
most people don't
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[audio]
That's not--that's not funny, do you think that's funny? Don't--answer that, you're obliviously having a huge laugh, obviously think it's funny.
But it's not. It's not funny. I don't find it funny.
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[HE DOESN'T EVEN CARE HE JUST REALLY LIKES HARASSING PEOPLE LIKE YOU WHEATLEY
I'M SORRY
no i'm not]
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It's a real s)(ame t)(at we don't )(ave dream bubbles all t)(e way out )(ere!
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:33 < im starting to f33l a bit better now that ive put my f33lings in a story
:33 < though of course it helps that i have you and other furiends on board, h33h33!
:33 < dave mentioned that term too
:33 < "dream bubble"
:33 < what is it, exactly?
:33 < i mean i have an idea but i havent gotten a full explanation of it
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Video.
[ Didn't read. ]
Video.
So now you have a thirteen year old troll girl looking disappointed and a little upset. THEON YOU ARE A MENACE TO CHILDREN EVERYWHERE but no really, she still remains calm and polite. ]
I'm sorry if you don't like it sir, but there's nothing wrong with being green.
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[no need to go into detail, right?]
[text]
[ hey, short and sweet is good enough for her ]
:33 < how have you b33n f33ling lately?
:33 < i mean...
:33 < you were the one who found him, right?
:33 < on top of everything else i cant imagine this has b33n a good w33k fur you either
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:33 < that last location is actually inspired by your own rocky home!
:33 < the one with the clear skies and warm sun
:33 < i just added the dragon beclaws it s33ms like the place where a dragon would live
:33 < and beclaws i f33l like itd be a location my furiend terezi would pick as a nesting ground fur her rp character
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I think the direwolves might fancy something better tasting than Mister Wheatley.
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Heehee, very true! I have a feeling he'd give them indigestion, and no one wants that. And quite frankly he looks a little too stringy. Blech.
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