Story-bit

Mar. 10th, 2013 09:29 pm
persephone20: (dead girl)
Originally, this was posted on 19th April 2009. I'd never experienced depression before. Depression was simply something that had happened to a couple of friends and family members. This was... a sort of contribution to what I interpreted that feeling to be, inspired by the Placebo song Without you I'm nothing.

Now it's four years later. I've struggled a lot over the last six months and I have a deeper of the understanding of these words I wrote way back then. They just need to be here now, unchanged.

**

Young girl, sitting in a corner in her room, guitar sitting between her legs and fingers lazily strumming the notes, the chords. Her younger sister had come in to tell her to be quieter, but it had been a while ago and it seemed the sister had accepted the noise. Dark hair, almost black, falls over her eyes as the girl bends her head to look over the chords she plays. It's not a special song, certainly not one she's made up. She's just learning the chords from a well loved Placebo song.

I'm unclean, a libertine
And every time you vent your spleen,
I seem to lose the power of speech,
You're slipping slowly from my reach.
You grow me like an evergreen,
You never see the lonely me at all


A loud sigh is heard as the door to her bedroom is open. Her friend's tall and lanky form is the first figure to be betrayed, but the opening of her door reveals also her younger sister behind his shoulder. She's granted another opportunity to vent her displeasure before the door is closed again.

The girl makes one last strum of a chord and then puts the guitar aside. Her friend takes her bed, slim fingers touching each other at the tips as he glances her way. He's self possessed and she wishes she was self possessed. He makes messy look like a fashion statement, yet his hair over his eyes reminds her of the hair she has haphazardly tied back to keep from her face. She smiles, maybe sadly, maybe self deprecatingly, as her friend tips his head in a silent question, but it is a smile all the same, and boys are well practiced at accepting what is shown on the surface.

"What's up?" Her fingers twitch for the sake of finishing song and she curls her fingers so her small nails bite palms.

The boy inclines his head. "You weren't at practice."

Without her guitar, the girl is free to stand, to move out of the corner of her room and towards the window. "I didn't think I needed to be."

Practice had been orchestrated for the purpose of the new drummer getting a feel for the sounds of the rest of the guys. Vocals would come later, but she would have been welcome to attend.

There was no reply for a while. Her bed wasn't the kind that creaked when someone moved on it. As a result, her friend managed to stand and cross the room so that she was unaware of it until his arms were around her waist. "What's wrong?"

"Oh, you know." A weak shrug of the shoulder. "Just one of those days."

"Anything I can do to help?"

His head was bent, his lips near her throat, and she could think of many things. She smiled again, this time a smile he could not see.

"You're already doing everything you can do to help."

The houses outside of her window were mostly lower storey houses, and she was glancing out at a forest of roofs. She was dancing on those roofs at the same time as being held in the arms of her friend. She was dancing, she was still.
persephone20: (little storm in a teacup)
I come to you today, fresh from my first day at a new job, thinking that I will have a couple of weeks away from my writing to recharge and re-energise after the last week of restructuring one novel, editing another and beginning two new ones.

Here I am, ready to take the world by storm.

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(in a couple of weeks)


Then today, I get an email from my friendly, neighbourhood publisher.

"Erm, ehm, promotion, promotion, promotion!"

Imagine me headdesking at this moment as I scratch my head and utter, 'I knew I forgot something...'

So!

Leap of Faith LLC have been kind enough to take a ... leap of faith :D ... with my new novel Gothic, which is in final stages of editing and awaiting cover art.

Gothic is the first in a new paranormal romance series sketched together in the middle of my Honours year last year (much less stressful than the writing I was actually researching and getting marked on, I tell you! (Anyone who has ever done an Honours year can tell you this is true.)) Of course, then I talked to my partner about this book I had just written and he said, 'So what happens if you did this next...?' and so a series was born.

But Gothic... I have had so much fun writing this story.

It's a story of a human girl, Dahlia, who's mother died when she was eight. After her father ran away with grief, she was taken in by her vampire godmother and the rest of the werewolf pack of which her father had been a part. When the story starts, Dahlia has just moved out of home and wants to live the 'normal' life, i.e. a life without quite so much vampire and werewolf influence. In the first few weeks of class, she finds out that her godmother has contacted one of her vampire friends to watch over her. He, Elliott, ends up being one of her confidants. Another student, and human girl, Renee ends up being another close friend.

Hijinx ensue! Time for some more visual assist:



Renee meets our girl Dahlia through her normal university boyfriend. She's super cute and acts about half her age because she wants to get the university experience "just right". Elliott is another supernatural featuring in Dahlia's full supernatural dance card. He is of the mild snark and general hilarity, and claims at times to have brushed elbows with such popular figures as Lord Byron and Bram Stoker.

One of the best parts of this story is that I have clear images for both of these characters. The lovely actors who are acting as muses in my head right now are none other than the lovely Ms Ksenia Solo from Lost Girl and Mr Ian Somerhalder (nicknamed 'Smoulderhalder' with good reason by fellow cast mate AND GIRLFRIEND Nina Dobrev) from The Vampire Diaries. Say what you will about these shows, but these two people are gorgous. Anyone who knows me will know I shamelessly fangirl this TV series that is based on the L. J. Smith series of books from my childhood.

So that's me and mine for in the last little while. More news and excerpts to come next time I get a chance to be on the computer.
persephone20: (little storm in a teacup)
This is largely for my reference, but here's something to keep you all interested all the same:

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Shadows of Melbourne (original trilogy of stories):
Paranormal romance.
Gothic: A novel where the main character, and the whole cast of characters, is introduced. Also, main character would like to be anywhere but in a paranormal novel. Fairly werewolf centric. Finished.
Carnival: Main character is a fair bit more settled with the fact she's not going to manage to escape her paranormal life. The fae get involved and the vampires and werewolves have a territory war. Read a bit of Last Watch for inspiration here. Finished, but for the shouting of it.
Collateral (working title): Main character is being pursued as a pawn in the games of the fae, vampires have long memories and may have to get around that in order to form an alliance with the werewolves they know against the enemy they don't.

Winters Duology:
Young adult.
Tidal Wave: Themes of broken families written from the perspective of a sixteen year old girl, drug use and addiction, with a happy ending for the heroine. Finished.
Shutter Down: Written from the step brother of the other book, sociopathy and bad boy themes where the bad boy doesn't automatically get the girl.

Untitleds:
Young adult lesbian/coming out story:
Constance Murray, calls herself Con, refers to herself as 'himself', cross dresses much to the dismay of her parental units and the kids at school who thinks she's a big freak just going for attention. She doesn't have a lot of friends apart from Kjell who is pretty sure that he is gay.
Alice Psyche Waterhouse, born of rather parents who both legally changed their names to Waterhouse when they married and gave all their children names of god/desses as middle names. Alice is the shiest one of the bunch and does her best not to be noticed, currently trying out not being gay.
Young adult gay/coming out story:
Kjell Strøm, comes from rather non-conventional Norwegian immigrants who moved to Australia after a schism with his mother's parents, they will object to anything that her parents would accept on principle. Kjell has told his grandparents that he is gay but not his parents, wants true love but has started to accept that it's not something that's going to happen in high school.
Adrian Hardy, arrogant transfer student in last year of high school, estranged from his family and currently living on his own because he wasn't dealing with being gay, projected onto them how they were supposed to react and got out of there early.

Fairy tale series:
Either an anthology of short stories, or a couple of longer pieces, where both romantic leads in the fairy tales are the same gender. An idea sparked off by a conversation with @InkBats.
persephone20: (Default)
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http://les-bonnes-fees.com/index.html

A couple of years ago, I sent a short story in for submission in an online magazine called Les Bonnes Fees. The story was an original fairy tale about a fairy girl who stepped across the grass and into the life of a human girl, and it owed more than a little in inspiration to W. B. Yeats' poem 'The Stolen Child' and to the novel by the same name written by Keith Donohue.

It's now been a while since that story was getting any sort of attention and I though I might bring it out again. This will be the first time it's appeared in print.

Right now, I'm furiously trying to get it ready for Melbourne's Manifest convention... but I'm starting to feel that this may be a little bit optimistic...
persephone20: (little storm in a teacup)
The Queen is dark. Dark skin, dark nails polished and pointy at the ends. Dark lashes grow long from her eyelids, creating cruel shadows over sharp cheekbones. Spider web gossamer makes up the dress that flows from shoulders to ankles. Her dark hair is broken by florescent pink highlights; the only colour.

Around her, subjects pay court. They are in many different shapes and sizes. Horns and wings are popular themes. One small creature seems clothed entirely in vines. Another has bark for hair. They like to leave bark in place of the ones they steal. Bark and bracken. They laugh about it afterwards.

Before them all, a serpentine girl awaits their pleasure. Awaits the Queen's pleasure. None of those paying court are moving. They all are there awaiting the Queen's pleasure; dreading her displeasure.

"Play." The Queen's word is formal.

The serpentine girl is blue and green. Her arms and legs are long, flowing; fingers and toes have extra joints. She is beautiful, hair flowing like water, trinkets in it like goldfish swimming through sea weeds. Her painted skin is bare, perfect globes for breasts that barely move as she twists and turns in impossible contortions that seem perfectly natural to her form.

Her audience stares in silence that is only broken occasionally by awed gasps that she seems hardly aware of. Her hair flows into her face and away again. Her gaze has attached itself to a far-away point on the wall.

"I tire of this quickly," says the Queen. Courtiers look around and a new silence, made of in-held breaths, replaces the last.

The serpentine girl seems not at all surprised. Rumours of this Queen have come a long way, so that when the serpentine girl was summoned, she knew her likely fate. Once, death had been terrible to the long-lived races. Not so with this Queen. Still she had come to make this dance.

As her fate came to fall down upon her, the serpentine girl moved not at all, fingers still and clasped before her smooth nether regions, hair long but still, as though it had never looked like water. Her lips seem big now, pronounced, out of place. Her nose is small. Her gaze is no longer fixed on some far off point. Her stare pins every faerie in place, calling them on their compliance to let this action occur.

It is almost a relief when her head is relieved from her shoulders. It rolls towards several courtiers to the right of the Queen. They all step back into the faeries behind them.

Even the blood runs blue.

The Queen is unmoved. The night is young.

"Next!"

**

I wrote this -- something like this -- a very long time ago.. and then promptly lost it. It's been playing around in my head ever since and tonight, buried nose deep in my new copies of Holly Black's the idea came to me again and I decided to rewrite it. There's a whole novel attached to this vignette, less than half of which is written.

I'm torn between writing that novel for my PhD, or the piece I've been working on and off with since I was 16. 11 years on and I can still stand the sight of the latter. But my interests and exegesis are more in line with the mostly unwritten novel that I've had in mind for only 3 or 4 years.

But hey, at least I'm talking about my PhD again!
persephone20: (quantum gravity)
Inspired by the second of Justina Robson's second sci-fi elf-and-demon book, Selling Out, and the elf speaking of the main character as 'his girlfriend'.

*

He was finally here.

Over the hill, where the trees that didn't sing grew, past the buildings that seemed to suck in light, amidst pedestrians who didn't seem to feel the connection with the ground they walked on.

Samael stood on a not too busy street in suburbia. Not too busy by human standards, perhaps. Traffic flowed without backing up much, but Samael couldn't make himself look back to those moving boxes of metal for long. It was still a struggle to remind himself that he would not have an adverse reaction to it. However, having an elderly woman help him across a road several streets back, had bruised his pride and made Samael decide he would deal better with these things.

He had demanded to be here. If fast moving vehicles were another part of being here, that was the price. In turn, he would just have to think of them as horses. Brightly coloured, chrome, flashing horses, that growled and rolled on wheels, but horses nonetheless.

Dark had told him that his life here would take longer to get used to than the physical body he now wore, and now Samael believed him. The guardian had given him a look of mild pity when they came to be here after Samael's first moment of contact with the trees.

"Do you need a moment?" The words had been delivered with the perfect impartiality that Dark had ever used to speak with him, and Samael had shaken his head and indicated they should move on. Every minute longer that kept him away from Tiana was needless.

Now, standing at the window that reflected not just his physical form, but the mobile metal boxes beyond him, he almost wished he'd taken that moment by the trees.

Then he saw her on the other side of the mirror, and found he couldn't move even one step towards her.

Skins (UK)

Apr. 21st, 2011 10:59 pm
persephone20: (hoodie)
I seem to be doing a fairly good job, so far, of documenting where it is that I'm getting my inspiration for actual and projected scenes, even if it is from UK Skins watching with [profile] priortodeath today.

I make it no secret that I love the character of Effy Stonem. So, it's equally possible that I'm indulging in a mini Effy photo post here... which has also inspired an idea for a scene that isn't going to be written anytime before tomorrow.

PhotobucketPhotobucket


And some prose: "I'm the one who gets to have the fucking breakdown," James said, his voice low and angry. "That's how it works. Your job is to hold it together, and I kill people, and I fuck, and I do all sorts of evil shit that you don't have to think about."
persephone20: (Default)
Lead-in to this journal entry here


Samael shrugged his shoulders in the new body that had been tied to him, tied to his essence. The usual menagerie was not here. Bones had made sure of that.

"I only count one bone woman here, and it certainly isn't any one of you," she'd announced to a room that consisted of Eddie, Arize, Hunter, Vic and Dark.

Danika, behind a smirk she didn't do a lot to hide, dared ask idly, "Why's he get to come along?"

Bones had looked at Dark, then answered, "He's a guardian."

Now Samael stood, with only Bones and Dark, pondering the body they had given him while the guardian and the bone woman watched on.

"It doesn't feel any different."

Bones tipped her head to the side, looking at him with no small amount of irony. "Well, of course it doesn't feel any different. You're still here, aren't you?"

Samael looked down at himself, almost expecting to see parts of his body become suddenly transparent. When that didn't happen, he looked back up at Bones and Dark. "I'm still here," he agreed, with one short nod.

Bones snorted. "Not here, you idiot. Here." She waved her arm around, indicating everything around them, the graveyard and beyond. "In the underground."

Samael blinked. "And your point?" he asked.

When Bones sighed and rolled her eyes, Dark decided to take this one. "Believe me. You'll notice a difference when you go topside."

Samael's eyes narrowed in on Dark. There was a certain resemblance between the two men, if one looked to tall, dark and handsome as amounting to a certain resemblance. Although Danika had helped define why Dark had come along with them, Samael couldn't find it in him to actually like the other guardian. The guardian. Samael supposed he didn't count among that number any longer.

He looked aside from Dark, not to concede a victory to the taller man, but caught within his own thoughts.

"Come." Bones' voice struck him again, causing Samael's eyes to lift once again. "It's not that bad. You can go to the human world soon and, for the first time, actually walk up to your beloved."

That sentence would once have brought a smile to his face, purpose and protective instinct to his stature. Lynette's other guide had sent messages here often enough that let him know she was still safe, still there, even without ongoing Samael's guidance during his quest for a corporeal body. It wasn't that which struck a chord of nervousness in him.

A furrow developed between Samael's brows at that 'chord of nervousness' but, before he could articulate his thoughts, Dark spoke again.

"Things are gonna be real different for you from now on. You're not Sidhe anymore. Not just Sidhe. That part of your life is over." With a glance at Bones, he added, "That's the thing that's gonna take more getting used to than the body, I reckon."

Bones shrugged a shoulder, nodding her head in agreement. "I told you that before," she said simply.

"Yeah." Samael's jaw tightened, loosened, then tightened again. "Yeah, you did."

Dark gave him a moment to compose himself, then took in a deep breath. "We'd best get this thing going, if we're going to. Do you know where you want to pop out?"

"Pop... out?"

"Topside. Which city is she in?" When Samael hesitated, Dark's voice turned very droll. "Can't direct you to her if I don't know where I'm directing."

This time, Samael maintained eye contact with Dark for a good long time. "Melbourne," he acceded, finally.

"Good." Dark held an arm out to Bones. "Let's get going, shall we?"
persephone20: (lanterns)
"Trash. Trash. Rubbish." Things were flying over James' shoulder and into the doorway of the room behind him, even as Tash sat calmly in that room, on a beanbag, and flicking through a glossy magazine that had been one of the first items James had thrown out of the room he'd claimed as his.

They were settling in well here. All things considered. Daniel had, of course, cased the house for places that might need guarding against. Then, around five minutes later, Sebastian had done the same thing. Tash had no doubt that, given another ten minutes, and once he was done throwing things out of his room and into hers, James would suddenly realise he'd not yet cased the place and would remedy that.

While that happened, Tash would move everything he'd thrown in her room back into his without lifting a finger. Sometimes, it was good to be a witch.

Somehow, she had the idea that Bri wasn't adjusting so well as the rest of them. It might have been that the blonde just hadn't seen as much as the rest of them. Even as she flicked on through pages of her magazine, her mind reviewed the merry band she'd come to ally herself with. Daniel had seen enough to be a smart ass, even though he was merely human. As far as Tash could see, there seemed to be a silent pissing contest between Daniel and James that Daniel still seemed to think he could win.

Sebastian was definitely the brains out of the men. Well, not so much brains. James demonstrated brains on occasion. Particularly in plans that involved himself getting out of situations scot free. Sebastian was the brains behind figuring out what the rest of them might do.

Bri still seemed as though the whole vampire world was a mystery to her. Not surprising as she'd barely been a vampire six months so far. Coming here via the underground must have been a real treat for her. She'd give the girl till later on in the night before trying to approach her about it.

As for her, she had her own reasons why she'd left her home town and come on this jaunt with a group of vampires and their human. But if she had to define it, she'd probably say...

Coming to the end of her glossy mag, Tash delicately removed herself from her beanbag As she started on down the hall to see what the rest of the house was up to, she stopped idly by James' bedroom door.

"Try getting into my mind again? You're going to find all manner of strange things start crawling their way into your head."

James had stopped muttering under his breath and throwing things from his room into hers some time ago. In answer to her accusation, he turned slowly to look her up and down. He wasn't even attempting an innocent fascade. Instead, he gave her a special smile that did not make it even halfway up to his eyes. "Looking forward to it," he answered, with a dare-devil glint.

Tash turned away from his room, made it to the end of the hall where Sebastian was in the process of pouring himself a drink. While she plonked herself on the couch and kicked her legs up over one side, she called out to him, "I thought you said you were going to keep a better leash on your brother."

Sebastian turned aside from the bar -well, dresser, but they had already begun to stock it like a bar- and gave Tasha his whole attention. His eyes were kind of lazy as he considered Tash's request. Really, they'd only been here about two hours. "What's he done now?" he asked, with the world-weary voice of one who has been tied to an unruly twenty-three year old brother for the better part of half a century.

Tasha heaved a sigh. "Tried to get into my mind. Didn't get very far. Obviously. I think I need a drink to make myself feel better about the whole thing."

Sebastian hesitated, then turned back to the bar where there were beverages that were people-friendly, not just vampire-friendly.

"What would you like?" he asked.

"Mm, scotch and soda. Do we have soda?"

Sebastian shook his head. "Guess you'll have to just make do with scotch."

Tasha's lipstick darkened lips twitched in mirth. "Oh, damn."
persephone20: (lanterns)
"I'm looking for a way out."

Danika looked up from her drink, then paused a moment to let her eyes travel all over the body that had found its way in front of her. A playful smile widened her lips, and she hadn't even reached the torso yet.

"Like what you see?" the voice attached to such a very pleasing body said, with not a small amount of irony.

Danika looked back up into his eyes and met that cool gaze with one of her sweetest. "A way out?" she asked, sweeping her eyes dismissively towards the door of the bar they were in. It would be much more interesting if he decided to stay.

"Not that kind of way out," came the reply.

The smile on Danika's lips was not getting any smaller. "Oh, you're one of those types," she said.

"What... types?"

Without answering his question, Danika stuck her hand out to be shaken. "I'm Danika."

The man before her raised an eyebrow.

Danika turned her hand to look at it, then faced it back towards him. "It's not going to bite."

"James," came the rather terse reply, one that came without an accompanying hand to shake.

Danika just curled her fingers around her drink again, then sipped from the straw without worrying about taking her eyes off him. Nobody would try to harm her here. Especially not here.

"Do you know a way out or not? Bar woman said you were the one to ask."

The short fae-like girl gave a small sigh, which masked the look under her eyelashes that she gave to the tall red headed woman whose hands were currently paying a lot of attention to cleaning a glass behind the bar and whose eyes were not hiding the fact that she was watching over this conversation. "It's all about how you look," Danika said, turning back to look at her newest handsome stranger. Her eyes flickered away from him again, this time to a painting on the wall just beyond the door to the bar. "Things in the underground aren't the way they seem."

Hunter came up behind her, another much taller person than she, another very attractive specimen of a man. One of his arms landed loosely around her shoulders; on the other side of him, was another young man.

"Danika. Are you riling this perfectly nice gentleman?" Although Hunter's words were smooth and polite, one would have to be mighty oblivious to miss the steel undertone to his words. Hearing it, the bar wench turned back to her highly polished glass, put it down, and moved onto the next one as she finally took an order at the other side of the bar. "Your brother says you're looking for a way back into the mortal world."

"We are. I'm Sebastian." The dark haired brother of the one she'd been talking to leaned forward to shake her hand, and Danika shook her hair out of her eyes and shot him a high wattage smile.

"Politer than your brother," Danika mused, then merrily pretended not to notice the snarl that got her from the man she'd been talking to. Maybe 'man' was too general a term. That was certainly his gender, if not his species.

Hunter seemed more eager than Danika to get this conversation moving along.

"There is a transport through that mural," he said, but caught onto Sebastian's arm lightly before the two vampire brothers could simply walk off with that information. "Any city that mural drops you in... there are our people on the other side making sure that people who pass through here don't make any... trouble."

Hunter's face was utterly passive as he passed this on, but Sebastian understood.

"I thank you," he said, giving a single nod of his head, the expression in his eyes enough to share that he'd taken this warning seriously.

Much to Danika's disappointment, the brother who had come up to her left in the direction of the mural without another look in her direction. After they passed by, she overheard others talking behind them.

"What did James do this time that Tash wouldn't open up a pathway on her own?"
persephone20: (lanterns)
Alright. So this.... This is a story that is best represented by itself. It's poking fun of a whole lot of things, and was really fun to rewrite.

(If anyone knows how to do dreamwidth cuts, I'm happy to hide these stories behind them. I just don't know the html)



The Underground and Himself
This was before they knew him. He was arrogant, self-entitled, after that, but all the Sidhe were like that. Brought up as unelected aristocrats of the fey. At least according to Themselves. So what was he doing down here?

He was humble, only just this side of broken, and only just doing that well. Frator Victatio didn't forget much that he saw. He never brought it up afterwards, and neither did Bones. By the time they arrived at Arize's place, they were already pretending like it had never happened.

But out there, on that dank, drunken night, they had made first sight of the Sidhe that would become Samael. Vic didn't drink, but he did a good impression of a drunk man for all of that. They were swaying back and forth on the street that kept moving -- the street totally could have been moving; it was the underground, after all -- when Bones stood shock-still and Frator Vic resumed watchful sobriety.

"What the fuck is one of the Sidhe doing down here?"

Bones was moving again before Vic could quite reach out to stop her. She could take care of herself, it was just that Vic didn't necessarily think it was a good idea for her to prove that on a member of a race whose presence down here usually preceded violence.

As he watched this Sidhe, however, he didn't think that that was going to be the case. This one looked... lost. Like he didn't know what to make of the two of them, or even of himself having found his way down here. It was unsettling to see in the usually confident Sidhe.

Not unsettling to Bones, apparently.

"You look like shit." She wasn't saying it to borrow trouble, though Vic felt some concern that this might be the way her standard bluntness was received. For surety, the Sidhe was taken aback. Then his eyelids dipped half over his eyes in a way that somehow didn't obscure his view of Bones; a reasonably suave move coming from the Sidhe, since Bones stood almost as high as the lithe fey man.

"You are the bone woman."

Clearly, he'd heard of her.

Bones didn't preen for a moment over the obvious claim to infamy. "Yes. And you are tall, dark and reasonably attractive. For a fairy boy. So what are you doing here?" She attempted a leer but, between her drunken stance and lack of one eye behind the eye-patch she wore, it came out as almost more of a snarl.

Vic groaned under his breath, but the 'fairy boy's eyes flickered up immediately to assess him. Damned Sidhe. Their hearing was as bad as the vampires'. Vic cleared his throat, but stood his ground. Cherry wouldn't like it at all if he came home in more than one piece, but she'd like it far less if he didn't come home at all.

The Sidhe's eyes moved away from Vic as suddenly as they'd come to him, obviously -- probably correctly -- assessing her as the more volatile threat.

"And, he is?"

It was interesting that, bedraggled as he still clearly was, he was already beginning to command some of that arrogance that made up much of the backbone of his race. Bones didn't play into it at all. "That's Vic. And I'm Bones. And, you are?"

"I don't... have one." He frowned.

"A name? Eh." Bones shrugged one bare shoulder. "You'd be surprised how common that is around these parts. Why are you here?"

Bones' emphasis referred back to the original question, still unanswered, and now repeated twice. Apparently, this time the fairy boy saw fit to answer it.

"I have no where else to go." That lost look was returning to his features again. Apparently, they'd offered something to distract him for a while. Vic found that he almost preferred the fairy boy when he was cusping on arrogant.

"You do now," Bones supplied briefly. "Come on. Let's go knock on the Succubus' door."

Vic groaned again, this time without the Sidhe's note. Arize wasn't the best for having house guests; his partner even less so. This was going to be... interesting.

"Vic? You coming?"

Coming? Vic questioned silently, his feet already moving to follow up behind them. Like he'd miss this.
persephone20: (a tree)
I've just started reading Dracula and Bronte's Villette for the next couple of weeks of Victorian and Gothic literature classes. Before that, I believe there was The Lifted Veil and half a dozen short stories by Poe. All of these are written in first person narrative. Most of these have a completely ho-hum normal beginning before everything gets uncanny or at least, in the case of Villette, before the romantic interest makes an appearance.

I'd been wanting to write something to begin this journal as a creative outlet and these books I've been reading have ended up shaping the form of it.

This will likely be pretty rough. It is not the usual tone I use for my writing.



April 7th
I haven't thought of this story for many years. For a long time, I remember going to therapy. It turned out I wasn't much good at therapy. Seems I wouldn't 'apply myself' to getting to the bottom of repressed memories. That's that the round man in the tweed suit with suede elbows commonly told me. I can tell you exactly how much that showed how much he was listening to his patient.

For me, there were no repressed memories. There were, in fact, no memories there to be repressed. I told him exactly what I remembered -- that I had been brought back into the world I knew by my friend (no, I couldn't say which friend, she isn't exactly the kind you could contact), I knew we were running, and that we were relieved when we got me back here. She couldn't stay though, but she'd never be far -- but apparently this story left too many gaps in the narrative that I should clearly be able to fill in. I'm sorry, I had not realised that this was a writing your life class. I thought I had come in for a therapy session.

I stopped going to the therapist in the tweed suit with suede elbows very soon after it became clear that he could not help me. And he was overcharging.

I rented a flat near the city after that. For some reason, the idea of nameless, faceless people, but a lot of them, all around me, all the time, made me feel safe. The flat was one bedroom in a loft over the small kitchen / living room area, and when I went to sleep up there, I felt like I was on top of the world. No one could touch me here. My living room was barely ever used. I would eat my breakfast of toast and coffee in front of my computer that was set on a desk next to my bed and, after getting dressed, I would take the bus to work.

My work was never a terribly interesting place of occupation, but it was money. The boss did not treat his staff terribly, and it was not so far from home.

Of an evening, I would walk through the park near my house. Sometimes, when I had a book with me, I would sit and read underneath one of the oaks until the last of the light to read by faded, and I would walk the rest of the two blocks that would take me home.

Why do I tell you all of this? It is not to bore you, merely to show you how ordinary my life was. You see, the memories that my ex-therapist had been so concerned with came back. Oh, they hadn't been repressed, I knew that for sure the minute they were returned to me.
persephone20: (lanterns)
I turned to [personal profile] the_bone_yard as I started writing this this morning to say 'Man, I really need to stop writing this depressing shit'. So this is the low mood of the vignettes. There's been too many vignettes were all the fairies concerned were kind and lovely people. Makes me sad like sparkly vampires.

Ahem. Don't know if this was inspired by anything beyond the last vignette, really, but I was reading Yeats' Celtic Twilight this morning and also Lady Gregory's Visions and Beliefs of the West of Ireland.



This was the story of the Summer Girl, how she came to Fairyland, and how she had gained the attentions of King Finvarra. It is a story she would have told herself, if she had been able to remember it.

For the most part, she remembered silence. Not so long ago, there had been the voices of others, later the sounds of revelry, but now, nothing. Just silence, in an opulent room of which she was the only occupant. That wasn't always the case. Betimes, the fairy king would return to the room, and then she would be whirled into a too brief time of sound and colour, all previous points of reference forgotten until, once more, silence.

She couldn't remember how long the silence had gone on this time. It seemed like a while, long enough that when a sudden break came to silence, she startled. Immediately, her eyes looked for the king, but he was not there. It was not the kind of sound from a door opening, or even a footstep. The sound originated in her head. A voice, like from before.

"He didn't expect I would come back."

The voice was strained, drawing to her mind's eye a conversation in images that already seemed to be halfway through a story. Through him, she remembered herself, but that did nothing to help the lone figure staggering through a wilderness that even she could not see the end of, with nothing but dry sand for miles, and hot grit burning the undersides of his feet. He was tired, bone tired, and had been travelling so long already.

Her shock gave way to a shuddering sob.

"Don't think of it. There was nothing you could do."

Before she could argue, she received a string of images, of the young girls who had been Summer Girls before she, girls that the king had stolen away from others, decked in the finest of clothes and jewels until his interest in them waned. She looked down at herself, decked as she was in the finest of clothes and jewels.

"You can get out of there." From the determination in the strain in his voice, she came to realise his link to her was keeping him going. She resolved no argue with him no more after that; wouldn't risk taking even that much of his strength from the journey back. Instead, she kept on talking to him, quoting poetry remembered from high school to him, anything that would distract him from his long journey that would bring him back to her. Meantime, as she kept tight hold of that contact, she launched herself away from the king's bed, as though stung, covered herself and exited the manor via shadows and doorways.

"Think not of it sweet one so. Give it not a tear; sigh though mayest and bid it go any-- anywhere--"

As she continued, tears choked her thoughts, filled her eyes and overflowed to her face. He spoke back to her too, when he could.

"Remember... Do you remember where we used to meet... the old building... Do you remember it?"

"Of course. Yes!"

"There we will meet. Tell no one."

He was silent thereafter for the longest time. Tears burned down her cheeks over fairy cruelty and deception, for there was no doubt in her who had delivered Him so far and thought he'd not come back. For a long time, she sat alone in the old building, waiting and hardly daring to hope. When the sound of leaves crunching outside the building touched her ears, she stood, wiping tears with both heels of her hands, and fear and hopefulness vied for first emotion.

Despite that, she knew she could take the few steps to the front of the building if He had actually found his way back here. She pulled herself to the doorway, bracing herself as best she could for the eventuality that the king of the fairies had found her. She had no time for relief when she rushed forward to break his fall from his last unsteady steps.

"I found you," he croaked, and his voice in her ears this time was the sweetest thing she'd heard by far.

"Come on, please. Just a little further," she said, already starting to bring him closer to inside the building, and looking furtively over his shoulder just in case. But no, this was their safe place, theirs alone. And, with her help and the last of his strength, they found shelter together within the walls of the old building where they would not easily be found by the King Finvarra.
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