July 18th, 2004



Blood tastes like copper pennies. Have you ever noticed that? I've just cut my finger and automatically popped it into my mouth. Oddly metallic. Warm wet copper pennies.

I had a friend back in high school who fancied himself a vampire; he and his girlfriend would cut themselves or each other and suck each others' blood. On a regular basis. Pretty weird guy.

Then again, I also had a friend in high school who bought souls. People would ask for something small, matches or a soda or whatever, and he'd say "In exchange for your soul." And make them write it out, a transfer of their soul.

He said it was because he knew he was going to hell, and he wanted to be able to bargain with the devil.

Funny where the mind goes...


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Last year I made $1,750... wanna get there this year too...

Spread the word!

And not that it has anything to do with this lameass post - but I really really love it that some of you recognize my characters' voices, without the characters themselves being named!

And on another unrelated note... I have little chocolate donuts, and you do not.

I mean, you might. But I find it unlikely. Do comment if you have little chocolate donuts, 'k?

9 hours to go.


It's the fact that it's forbidden that's the biggest turn-on, of course. The threat of discovery lends urgency. Knowing that we have little time, his kisses are so hungry... soft and sweet, and then suddenly it's like we're both gutpunched with lust; we devour each other.

It's not like sex with her, which is gentle and slow and sweet. There's nothing wrong with sex with her. I love her. But I can't keep away from this, the primal, the animal.

She plays mah jongg. He's fucking me on our bed while she's out playing mah jongg.

I wish I felt guiltier than I do.


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I am so gonna want a wordcount on all of this when I'm done.

Hello to the third-shift tech people! *wave*

My cat Max has chosen to blog with me. Everybody say hi!


(I'm recycling again.)

First Light, First Fire
We are told that the touch of the morning dew on her brow is what awakened her. Small, lithe, ungainly as a fawn - waist-length dark-gold hair the only thing covering her, falling over her shoulders as she looked at our world for the first time.

Tiala. The Firstborn.

This must be remembered: that she was the first. She was alone with the gods, and only she and they know what transpired in those first days, weeks, months – possibly years. What is known is that she was both relentlessly examined for any possible defects and cherished, adored – equal parts charming daughter and brilliant pupil. She learned and, by observing her, they learned.

Having studied her, the gods decided that they were ready to bring the rest of us into the world. She walked with them, and sang as she walked - brought into this world full-grown, she was never a child, but always childlike. Knowing her boundless imagination, the gods requested her help in designing the rest of her people; she was delighted to help.

She watched them create, and gave suggestions. "A raven! Oh, give this one hair like a raven's wing... this one larger, stronger, bearlike! This one, eyes like Father's and the heart of a wolf, and his cheekbones like - no - let me..." and, overcoming the last of her shyness, she shaped flesh herself, for that was one of her gifts. And one by one, over time, they created us all.

When they were done, they began to wake us. They gave Tiala the seeds of our power, and one by one she knelt beside us in the grove at the heart of the world, woke us with a kiss, named us.

"Wolf's spirit, sword and strength... your house is L'Arath, and your name is Nisar."

"Hawk and raven soaring, currents of water, of earth and air... your house is Lhri'nahr, and your name is Kai."

Airenn, of House Narsan. Tal, of House Telenias. Nial, of House Bartomn. Kennet, of House Ziroth.

These were her first six companions, who would later be known as the Talthar Kithrayna.

Some time later - none know how long - she moved on. "Keeper of memory... your house is Tarak, and your name is Lara." And that is where our cultural memory begins. This must be remembered: anything before this day is pure conjecture.


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yendi brought me monkey bandaids.

Eight hours to go.


I feel like I don't belong here. People don't make sense to me. Very little does.

All my life I've felt the pull of something indefinable. Elsewhere.

A place to belong.

I dream it sometimes. Dream *in* it. I see the lights of a perpetual carnival; I see a decrepit old castle...

I wish I could find it.

Have you ever felt homesick for a place you've never been?"


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"Fucking weird."

Fenris looked over at Julia. "What is?"

"Well, here we are, having a beer, with this tactical map in front of us, planning a revolution."

He shrugged. "Yeah, it's new to you... but I've been planning this my whole life."

She nodded, tapping her fingers on her leg and studying the map. "I'm afraid that I might not be that good at strategy."

"Well, that's what you've got me for." He paused. "Julia?"


"I'm really glad you're not a spoiled little bitch."

"Um... me too?"

"You know what I mean."

"Yeah, I do. And thanks. And I'm glad I don't hate you anymore either."


"So shall we plot the overthrow of a corrupt government?"

"Ah, why not. I've got nothin' else goin' on tonight."


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Seven more hours. I can do this.


The ocean brings the fog every sunset. The fog builds against the seawall until it starts falling down, down onto the city streets.

It pools on the ground, faintly obscuring the cobblestones, and swirls in lazy eddies when disturbed by feet.

It does not stop at that, though; it pours over the wall until it's mid-calf height. Sometimes knee-deep. Sometimes you can't see your feet unless it swirls around you in just the right way.

We have learned to be very careful when walking at night.

It's most beautiful in the Carnival District... the lights shimmer through it. Cotton-candy curls. Children love it.

It's a comfort. No matter where I go outside the city, fog always reminds me of home.


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yendi is asleep. The cats are asleep. I remainawake.

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* A story from me.
* Graphics work from zarhooie.
* A custom illustration by swisscheesed.
* A sketch by museumfreak.

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(sequel to Ritual)

"Have we not discussed this, Alanna?"

She started and turned to see him. "Oh... I... discussed what?"

"Do not give me that shit, princess. We discussed your little hobby."

"The... umm..."

"Yes. The drugs." He caught her forcefully by the chin, looked her in the eye. She whined his name, and he gave her a little shake. "I told you that you are only to take what I give you. When I give it to you. And I do not remember supplying you tonight."

"I'm sorry..."

"Yes. Yes, you are." He released her, and she fell back onto the stool at the vanity table, eyeing him nervously. "Now... what am I going to do with you?" he mused, rummaging through her drawers.

"What are you doing?"

"Confiscating your supplies," he said, absently stuffing syringes in his pockets. "When I said you're not to do anything that I do not myself give you you, I meant it. You have no discipline, Alanna, and you are sorely in need of some." He slammed the drawer shut. "All of your drugs come through me."

"No. That's not fair. I'm an adult, I can make my own-"

He seized her by the hair at the nape of her neck, and she cried out. "No. You cannot. You belong to me, princess, and you know it. I control who you fuck, I control what you put into your system. This?" He picked up the hand mirror she used to do lines on, and threw it at the wall behind her head. It bounced and landed in front of her, shattering. "You don't need it."

Seven years of bad luck.

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(I had to tone this one down. A lot.)

6 more hours. 12 more posts.


"What the hell is all of this stuff?"

Capri glanced back over her shoulder. "Oh! My Sailor Moon dolls."

Kieran eyed the stack skeptically. "There's... a lot of them."

"Well, yeah. I have all of the American six-inch dolls - series one
and two! - and the 12-inch dolls. And then I have all of the original
Japanese dolls."

He picked up a box, turned it over. "Sailor Moon drinking glasses?"

"They're cute!"

"Kip, you're so girly," he grinned. She merely stuck her tongue out at
him. "Okay, moon wand, moon jewelry box... two stuffed cats?"

She scooped up the purple one. "Luna and Artemis! Luna actually purrs."

"How did you get all this stuff?" She looked faintly guilty,
and comprehension dawned. "You discovered eBay, didn't you?"


"Kip... what else is coming?"

"Well, I really like Hello Kitty..."


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And you guessed it... the reason I know this stuff exists is because I
own it all.

I have a Kali finger puppet and a little plastic monkey with a fez
sitting on my desk. This pleases me.

Second wind, baby. Second wind.

Max is learning. If he rubs his face on my face or knocks over my arm, he is officially off my lap. I'm workin' here.

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The first thing she remembered was ash.

The world was grey and powdery, and the ash smeared on her hands as
she emerged from the abandoned restaurant she'd been living in. All of
the structures were standing... but there were no people.

Her first thought was that the people must have been incinerated, but
no. Unless what had done this was strong enough not only to sear flesh
from bone, but consume the bone utterly.

No people.

No memory.

She was almost eighteen. She was wearing clothes. Clearly she'd come
from somewhere.

"You okay?"

She spun, gasping. The man held his hands up to soothe her. "Who
are you?"

"Michael. I was with you in the restaurant."

"I can't... why can't I remember?"

"You don't have to."


"Listen - it's okay. You're not supposed to. The important thing is...
what will you do?"

She looked around. Ash falling from the sky. Nothing and no one. She
had a sinking feeling. "Michael... what did I do?"

"You acted in accordance with your nature," he said softly.

"What did I - what am I?"

"You'll know." he said. "The only question that matters is this: what
will you do?"

She looked up at the grey sky. "Fly," she whispered.


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I am probably not making any sense at all anymore. Still, I will persevere.

I don't think there's any blood left in my caffeine system.

Starting to have a difficult time picking prompts. I love "Marked", but that wants to be something longer.

My eyes are dry.

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He tensed, recognizing her voice, and turned. "Hello, Alanna."

She looked luscious tonight – he was sure that the straight guys at the club were going mad. "Would you like to dance?" she asked, clearly trying to be endearing.

Ryan shielded as best he could. Couldn't let on that he'd far rather wring her neck than take her hand. "No, thank you. I don't feel like dancing right now."

She sat down beside him, crossing her legs at the ankle. "I thought you always loved dancing."

"I don't want to right now,"

"You don't want to dance with me," she said quietly.

Something in her voice made Ryan look back at her. She refused to meet his gaze, hugging her arms… she looked… sad.

"You don't like me," she shrugged, biting her lip.

Gods. Alanna acting like a person.

But then she looked up with renewed purpose, with her old cruel smile. "I could make you like me," she purred.

He shuddered with revulsion. "You know when I first heard you say that?"


"The night of the Purges. To Michael Halloran. Right before you killed him."

"Ah." She touched her throat, stroked the velvet band. That was… regrettable. The others were fairly certain that he wouldn't bow to me, but… I wanted to try."

"Just one try? And then you had to kill him?"

"I was angry!" she protested.

He stared at her, momentarily speechless. "You killed a man because you were angry that he turned you down."

"Well, that's not all of it. He was opposing me. He wouldn't acknowledge me. It had to be done. I was just… hoping that I could sway him rather than kill him." She was looking away again. Was that regret?

"I've turned you down, Alanna," he said, measuring each word. "Why haven't you killed me?"

She looked back at him, flipping her hair. "Because you acknowledge me. House Lhri'nahr recognizes me as the true Lishaya. You… you don't like me. But you support me."

She looked… younger than her years, just then. He had to remind himself who she was. "Alanna. The Purges. You killed… so many people."

Her eyes hardened. "Bartomn. Tamra. They resisted me, Ryan. I had to put them in their place. A show of force."

"You killed every Tamrani woman in Shayara!"

"Because of Jessamyn! That bitch! I had to show them. The rest of them. There is no Kithraya of House Tamra but me."

He sighed and looked out at the dance floor. She fell silent.


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I have yet to hit the wall. But I know it's coming.

My tummy, it doth rebel. Too much coffee. (No, I'm not saying that. My belly is.) Too much junk food.

I've opened "update" windows for every post til 9 AM. Just so I can get an idea of how much I hafta do, still.

Boy howdy, that's a lot. But it's a piece of cake compared to what I've done thus far.

I wish that, like theferrett and zoethe, I had friends here to keep me awake. I just have Max. Who isn't really much help.

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We lived in paradise once. The original Garden of Eden. Gifted beyond measure and immortal... our healers could mend bones, mend internal damage, mend anything with a single pass of their hands. Our telekinetics could build anything - rough-hewn cubes of granite moving through the air over our heads. A storyteller could create images of light to illustrate her tale.

And there was peace. Centuries of peace.

You know what happened. Everyone does. The Fall. The decimation of our powers. Eventually, the diaspora... and now the return.

My secret?

I like it better this way.

I like the struggle of life as a mortal. I like learning things. I like developing self-discipline. I like determining my own character through my choices.

So many people want that idyllic world back even now.

I don't.


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I so totally want to write porn. But I cannot waste writing time on porn. Must write posts.

My brain is melting.

Four more hours.


It's twilight and the heat is beginning to fade. We're walking hand in hand, and I stop him and point. "There. Look there."


I see why people once thought they were fairies. Tiny lights rising from the grass, from flowers. They sparkle.

And in the twilight, the world is full of them.

I laugh, and he understands, and we stand here amidst fireflies for a while.


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I am working my ass off. My eyes are closing as I write. Give money to RAINN.

See that? That's the wall. I have hit is. Hi, wall, howya doin'?


(They're more best-friends-with-benefits. Still. This is what I thought of.)

Fenris's voice was gruff behind the closed door. "What?"

"It's Halloran. Can I come in?"

"Ah! Sure. It's unlocked."

The three exchanged glances; Halloran opened the door and led Ryan and Kieran in.

Fenris raised his eyebrows. "A committee. I'm being met by a committee." He studied them. "What have you boys done?"

Kieran swallowed hard. "I - it's me, not them."

Fenris folded his hands in mock-patience. "Kieran ni'Narsan. What have you done?"

"Um. I."

"Spit it out," he growled.

"Um." Kieran took a deep breath. "Capri. Capri and I are... becoming lovers."

Fenris rose from his desk and leaned forward, weight on his knuckles. His voice was deliberate and cold. "You are here to tell me that you are screwing my god-daughter?"

"No! I'm not - we haven't yet!"


Halloran interceded. "Fenris, it's okay."

"Is it. I was not aware that you were the person in this room who got to decide whether things are okay."

"They've hardly done anything yet," Halloran persisted. "Barely anything more than kissing. Kieran is here to ask for your blessing."

"My blessing." Fenris glared at Kieran. "You want my blessing to fuck my little girl."

"This was... probably a bad idea," Kieran stammered.

"Oh, yes. Laying a hand on her was a bad idea." He paused. "Get out."


"Get the hell out of my office. I'll call for you when I decide to finish this conversation. Until then, I don't want to fucking see you."


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I WANT TO HIT $1,500 BEFORE I GO TO BED! Please make this happen!

Getting hard to type. Eyes all heavy/blurry.

I have a titanium battle spork. And you, dear reader, do not.

My voice? Totally gone. I'm croaking.

Feel the pain in my brainmeats!


Ondine's art has always been her passion. She's messy about it, as I guess any true artist would be... some days, some weeks, you can barely walk through her apartment for the clutter. Last week she was using one of those little labelmakers to stick words onto a naked mannequin.

This week she's painting me.

She takes this very seriously, so we're not bantering as we often do. Her eyes flick back and forth between me and the canvas. For my part, I just sit still. Which is difficult, and I'm unreasonably tired when I go home.

Tomorrow is the same. The only words that pass between us are her curt instructions - "lift your chin", "look to the right". And I'm even more exhausted when I leave.

If this wasn't so obviously important to her, I'd blow it off. But she's my friend, so I keep coming back.

"Ondine... I think I'm sick."

A quick glance from her. "No, you're fine."

"I really don't feel well." And I was starting to feel worse. Vague and muddleheaded.

She dabbed a last few strokes on the canvas and turned it around. "See? It's you!"

It was a remarkable likeness. Not just of my face and my body, but truly of me, my mind, my personality.

She smiled. "See? You're just fine. You're right here."

I was too ill to respond. All I could do was watch her as she set my picture on her desk to dry. "Hi, Doug," she said to it, with a secret smile.

And she looked at me. "Bye, Doug."


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Want to hit $1,500. Please. Please. I know my writing sucks at this point, but still...

Two hours. Two hours.
  • Current Music
    Boiled in Lead, "Sugarfoot Congress"


(This is a cut & paste. Prewritten thingie. I've been awake for over 24 hours now. Deal.)

Napalm was standing outside the hotel room when Johnathan emerged. "You can't do this," he said, eyes defiant, voice tight with emotion.

Johnathan shrugged. "That's not up to you, dude."

"She's a kid!"

"Not when she's Lily, she's not."

"I don't care. Lyric is still in there, and she's a kid."

"Dude. Look. Same body. More than one person. Okay? I'm not fucking Lyric. I'm fucking Lily."

"Lyric can *feel* you..."

"I don't think she can. I wouldn't do it if I thought she could. Dude, I don't wanna hurt Lyric. You gotta know that. But Lily's a different person. And *I* have got to go hit the snack machine."

Just as Johnathan disappeared from sight, as Napalm was turning to leave, the door opened again. "Aisling. Good to see you."


Lyric's body, Lyric's face, subtly changed. The open innocence gone, the body language aggressively sensual, the eyes sultry. Lyric... twisted.

She sat beside him, adjusting her crimson silk robe, and lit a clove ciarette. Napalm watched her exhale as she looked up at the stars, watched the smoke in her hair, the lean angle of her throat. It was nigh-impossible to look at Lily without wanting her, and she knew it.

"Don't do that," he said quietly.

She gave him a speculative look. "Do what?"

"Smoke. You'll hurt.. your body."

She grinned knowingly. "You mean I'll hurt Lyric."


"We all die someday, Aisling. What does it matter if we die coughing?"

"It matters."

She looked back at him, sensing weakness. "Don't want this body... damaged, hm?"

"It's Lyric's body."

"Oh, please. Lyric's a latecomer just like the rest of us. She just gets more screentime. And *you* -" she pointed at him with her cigarette - "are just intent on her because you're in love with her."

Napalm's eyes widened. "No! I - she's like a kid sister to me."

Lily rolled her eyes. "Please. Spare me. You're in love with the girl. She's in love with you. Take her!"

"Take her?"

"Fuck her, Aisling. Or make sweet sweet love to her.Whatever you want to do, just *do* it already."

"I don't want that."


"I love her. Like a sister. And she's a *kid*. I would never - I - Lily, she - I love her. Like a sister. She'll... never be old enough to love someone the way you mean."

She shrugged. "Then do me."


"Aisling," she grinned. "Same body. I'll close my eyes so you can pretend I'm Lyric..."

"No!" he cried, panic-stricken. "Not Lyric. I don't want that. I'll never, never..."

Lily let her robe slip off her shoulder, revealing the tops of her breasts. Napalm looked away, as much as he could. Lyric's body. Little Lyric. Not Lily. "Please stop that," he whispered.

"I wanna go home."

He looked back up, startled. Lyric's innocent eyes. She looked at her cigarette, confused. He gently removed it from her hand and stubbed it out, and cleared his throat. "Ah. Honey? Fix your robe. Lily's robe. The shoulder."

She pulled it up, rubbing the red silk thoughtfully. "Take off this uniform."

"Yeah. Let's get you changed."

He did *not* want Lyric. Not like that. He wouldn't. He couldn't. No matter what Lily did.

Beautiful Lyric.

Damn Lily to hell.


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I keep almost nodding off.


Laughing, Capri ran up to Victor and threw her arms around him. He grinned and lifted her, spinning her through the air. Beside Kieran, Halloran gave a snort of displeasure.

Kieran looked at Halloran, amused. “What?”

Halloran looked back at him, clearly discontent. “I don’t like him.”

“I see. Do you have a particular reason to dislike him?”

“He’s a show-off. A cowboy. That stunt he pulled during the Purges… motorcycle jousting, for gods’ sakes?”

Kieran nodded. “Yeah, he’s a cocky bastard. Chicks definitely seem to dig him, though. And he does get the job done. The Kirayth job, I mean. Not the chicks. Well, probably the chicks, too…”

Halloran was still glaring at Victor, who was now holding Capri close while joking with Joseph and Michael, his arm slung over her shoulder. “I just don’t like him.”

Realization dawned. “You don’t like him for Capri, you mean.”

“That doesn’t matter.”

“It does, though. You’re protective of her. Of course you are. But… I don’t think Victor would harm her in any way.”

Halloran turned to him, eyes ablaze. “I. Don’t. Like. Him.”

Kieran blinked. “Dude – are you jealous?”

Halloran was thrown off by the question. “What?”

“Are you jealous? Of Victor? With Capri?”

“Not jealous! Of course not jealous. She’s my ward, for gods’ sakes. Just… he doesn’t deserve her. He’s not good enough for her.”

“Is anyone? By your standards?”

His expression softened. “Well. I’m fine with you. And Ryan. You guys… you treat her right. You treat her like the treasure she is. Victor, guys like Victor – to them, she’s just another chick.”

“He thinks more of her than that, I’m sure, but… I see what you mean.”

Halloran sighed. “I’m not the boss of her. She can… be with whoever she wants. I just prefer her to be with you, if anyone.”

Kieran looked up at him. “I’m honored,” he said softly. Halloran merely shrugged in response. “You know…” Kieran ventured, “the person who best knows how incredibly special she is… is you.”

He looked genuinely shocked. “She’s a kid, Kieran. A wonderful, amazing person. But she’s a kid.”

“So she can’t be with whoever she wants.”


“Oh, nothing…”


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Sponsor me or the bunny gets it.

One. Hour.

This past half-hour has been nearly impossible. You'd've lost me for sure if Yendi hadm't woken up.

Gimme money.


"It's difficult, Donna." Julia whispered, looking out the window.

"What is?"

"The memories. The past lives. They're all coming back at once, they're all overlapping. I never know whether to call Jeramie Jeramie or Nisar. I always see Kieran as Airenn, and... I barely knew him as Airenn."

Donna nodded. "It's harder for you than it is for most people, I'd bet... you're getting so much, so intensely."

"It'll stop, right?"

"Eventually. Yes. In the meantime... you'll be a bit confused for a little while, poor dear..."


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This is as good as the writing gets right now, people. Deal. My brainmeats are screaming.

Cut tag of the day from rhiannonhero's journal: "Buncha insane rambling about fairy tales and cock sucking."

We are all insane. And the sleep dep is making us soooo fuckin loopy. "I love you guys!" (she said, all maudlin-like)


Julia stood on the balcony, looking her counterpart in the eye.


Julia had thought she'd be taller.

No, Julia's own size, but ten years older. Still the porcelain doll-like face that she was famous for... but the eyes, once hard, were dark and weary. She clutched the railing to stay upright. The attack had clearly taken its toll on her.

"Sister," Alanna whispered.

Julia drew herself to her full height and glared in response.

"Sister - I'm sorry." Alanna looked up, and the desperation in her eyes sent a shiver down Julia's spine...


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Yes, I wrote this fucker after being awake 26+ hours. Ph34r.

I cannot believe that I actually kept the one-word prompt thing up all 'thon.

Qapla' Shadesong!

And that's all for now.

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I love my Fez Monkey.

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I am the hell OUTTA HERE.

Fall down