More LJ-Cut Practice
Okay, I WILL manage to LJ cut this time.
Or, at least, I'm gonna try REALLY hard to get this to work. ::is determined::
Anyway, more presents for you guys. . . 'cause you rock -n- stuff. XD
Firstly, 'The Cosplay Song.' Which really kinda speaks for itself. ^_^
~*~
Disclamer: I own ZIP.
Author’s Note: My friends Ryan and Su-chan and I came up with the basic idea of this. . . then I went and perfected it. ;) Enjoy!
Warnings: Nothin’, really. ‘Cept silliness. XD
XXX
The Cosplay Song
-To be sung to the tune of “If You’re Happy and You Know It”-
NOTE: All things in parentheses show what hand motions you should be doing, the stuff in quotes is what you should say when doing it. I know they’re stupid, and I know I could have done a dozen more characters. But this is what I wrote and I like it. I hope y’all do to. And I also hope you have fun! XD
SING IT!
XXX
If you’re Ed and you know it (clap like Ed; “clap”) your hands
If you’re Roy and you know it (snap; “snap”) your hands
If you’re Al and you know it-and you really wanna show it-
If you’re Al and you know it (be armor Al, hiding a kitty in your chest cavity; “eat” (or “hide,” if you don’t get the “eat” joke. ;)) ) a kitty!
x
If you’re Riza and you know it (point fingers like a gun, move as if shooting; “shoot”) a gun
If you’re Hoho and you know it (make legs with your fingers, have them walk across your arm; “leave”) your sons
If you’re Winry and you know it-and you really wanna show it-
If you’re Winry and you know it (move your arm like you’re throwing something at someone’s head; “chuck”) and wrench!
x
If you’re Hughes and you know it (whip out an imaginary picture, people, you know how it’s done! XD; “show off”) your kid
If you’re dead and you know it (pose as one of the homunculi-you chose which one; “rise”) again
If you’re Scar and you know it-and you really wanna show it-
If you’re Scar and you know it (big, waving arm movements with ‘jazz hands’; “’splode”) some brains!
x
If you’re Ed and you know it (clap like Ed; “clap”) your hands
If you’re Roy and you know it (snap; “snap”) your hands
If you’re Al and you know it-and you really wanna show it-
If you’re Al and you know it (Human Al time! Hug/pet a kitty, rub its imaginary ears, etc; “pet”) a kitty!
XXX
~*~
Secondly, a new ficlet! (::cheers::) With Vamperic Elricest! (::more cheers::) That's kinda confusing! ^_^; (::Booooooo::) But I hope you all like it anyway.
~*~
Disclamer: Yeah, right.
Author’s Note: My friend Su-chan enjoys challenging people, and has thus presented me with a few scenarios she dared me to write. Never being one to back down from a ‘test of skill,’ I accepted. And here I go! ;)
Challenge Three: Vampiric Elricest involving cacti, old people, and God in Arizona. (I kid you not.)
Enjoy. XD
Warnings: Elricest. (C’mon, people, haven’t you figured that out yet? ;)) Oh, and vampirism.
XXX
Pointless
-AKA: The Su-chan Challenge Part III-
XXX
The church had been abandoned for over eighty years, desolate and silent in the Arizona desert. Its bell had finally rusted, its doors were firmly jammed, its white-washed walls had long since become yellow and gritty from the sand residue that tore at the old paint. Even the once-beautiful stained glass windows were falling apart, nibbled away by the wind. It had been abandoned completely: by its priest, then his family. . . by the people, then by God.
Yet, for whatever reason, it was never torn down. Perhaps from nostalgia; perhaps from fear of blasphemy; perhaps because very few people bothered to pay it any mind. As it stood alone on the edge of the tiny town, it was only ever thought of once in a great while-when the elders of the village would glance out at sunset, remembering when their parents would bring them to evening mass. It had been so lovely, once; with a garden of magenta flowers and blood-red roses. Yet, just as they had, the building became decrepit-and the flowers had long since been choked to death by drought and cacti and tumbleweed.
Choked and killed. . . choked and killed. Everything choked and killed.
But nobody spoke of that.
A breeze rustled through, restlessly toying with the twilight clouds; gusts of dust swirling to life in the barren streets. One or two men sat on the porches of the one or two stores that the settlement had to offer, a dead game of checkers between them. It was another endless night in the ghost town of Amestris.
And then. . .
One man, stunned by something out to the west, kicked another, who nudged a third and a little boy. Shock painted itself upon their faces within seconds as they all glanced in the indicated direction; jaws dropping an inch. Cigarettes burnt to cinders; eyes were rubbed for mistakes. But it wasn’t an illusion: there were two silhouettes in the distance, outlines that sands and shadows couldn’t hide.
All was silent as the trudged closer, their horses calm and glassy-eyed.
They stopped before the men; bodies cloaked in red and black, the wide rims of their cowboy hats hiding their faces. But their eyes shone through all the same.
“What is the year?” the first asked suddenly, voice quiet; husky. A flutter of gold rustled beneath his cap when a second wind whipped through.
For a moment, the village men simply gawked. (Visitors? In their town? What on Earth could anyone want with them?) But after a drawn out minute, the child piped: “It’s 1931, sirs. But. . . how could you not know?”
The second stranger chuckled, his tone gentler, but just as soft. “We’ve been traveling many years. And the dates blend together, when you’re as old as we are.”
“You don’t look that old,” the boy objected, grinning toothily. And such was the innocence of children, unaffected by the differences adults latch onto. “You look younger than my Daddy.”
“Appearances can be deceiving,” the first replied roughly, tugging briskly on his horse’s reigns. The pair began to trot slowly off again, when-
“Wait!”
Both riders paused, glancing backwards. Eyes of sharp gold and glistening silver shone through the creeping night. The man who’d spoken hesitated, then called-a little desperately-:
“What are you doing here? We’ve no money to find-in our pockets or in our earth. We cannot help the government. And there are no outlaws for miles. We’re nothing but a desert town; we don’t even have beds to offer you. What could you two possibly be here for?”
“. . .” The two strangers exchanged glances, as if considering what to tell the man. Then the first spoke. “We’re here for your church.”
And they continued on their way.
X
“It’s been years, hasn’t it, brother.”
The first did not respond as they walked down the cobwebbed aisle, movements illuminated by the dusky moonlight that pushed through the spider-webbed glass. Their footsteps echoed through the sealed room; golden eyes swayed back and fore, eventually fixing on the rusted crucifix before them. The second also noticed the cross and hummed, removing his hat and touching his own. It glittered on his throat like a gem. “Amen.”
“Amen,” the first repeated, retrieving a pistol from its holster and aiming it upwards, towards the face of Jesus. He paused, waiting. . . then lowered his arm again. An eyebrow cocked. “. . . It’s not here, Alphonse.”
Alphonse cast his brother a sideways glance, silver eyes sparking eerily through the gloom. “Not. . . ?” he repeated, clearly irked. “I thought that that you said this was the church, Edward. His church. Where it happened. . . to him; to us.” He brushed his neck subconsciously.
“So I thought,” Edward murmured darkly, fixing his hat with a thumb. His mouth had pulled downward in irritation. “And so I still think. I know it was here those many years ago. However. . .” He sighed, tightening his red cloak around his pale body as he sank down upon a pew. “. . . can it really be 1931 already?”
“Time stops for no-one,” Alphonse returned quietly, calming; sinking next to his companion. His long auburn locks swayed with his every movements. “No-one except us.”
Edward didn’t respond. Instead, he fingered his bangles and earrings, contemplating. Then he sighed, resting his chin against his laced hands. “It all began here. . .” he whispered, his old wounds throbbing. “It should all end here, too.”
“And so it will,” Alphonse soothed, resting his hand upon his brother’s leg. “It will be okay. If we cannot find the one our sire made, we will simply continue making one ourselves.”
There was a brief pause of consideration; Edward straightened, glancing towards the altar. “. . . How far are we, then? How much more do we need?”
“I do not know. But it cannot be much more.”
Neither spoke, listening instead to the silence as it pressed closer; bodies slowly filling with the knowledge of what they were about to do. What they needed to do. What they wanted to do.
“No one will notice,” Alphonse assured, tenderly trailing his fingers up and down his brother’s inner thigh. “This town is only a shadow of what it used to be. Remember when we were small? Now there are only 34 people. I could smell them all.”
“As could I. And yet. . . though it is not here. . .” Edward muttered distractedly for the second time, pulling out his revolver and cocking it purposefully. Again, he raised the barrel, giving the trigger a feather-light squeeze. Good. He readied, aimed-
BANG.
The chest of the crucifix crumbled around the silver bullet, and instantly an ocean of red liquid seeped to the surface of the metal skin: trickling down the statue’s long legs, falling like raindrops to the dusty ground. Alphonse hissed in surprise and desire, jolting forward as if to move-then stopped. He cast his brother a longing look.
Edward nodded.
And he watched silently as Alphonse stood, sliding forward, pressing his lips to the ancient effigy and licking, sucking, drinking away the essence of all who had lost their lives there, so many years before. . .
“He used too many,” Edward said to himself, watching the leftover souls trickle down his brother’s pale chin; smeared like chocolate on the lips of a toddler. “He didn’t need to sacrifice them all. Nearly an entire city before running. . . Did he do it on accident, or on purpose?” He looked towards the ceiling, as if it would answer him. Inexpressive angels returned the stare, but did not respond- too busy pealing away.
“Brother,” Alphonse called, his voice echoing through the church. His eyes shone brightly, illuminated a rosy red. “Brother, there is plenty for you. So much. . . Perhaps we won’t need the villagers after all. Perhaps this will be enough to create it: enough Life to create our Death-to create the Stone.”
Edward, pleasantly distracted from his thoughts, smiled faintly as he noiselessly got to his feet. “I doubt it, little brother,” he whispered, sliding like a shadow to the other’s side; leaning over and lightly licking away the access blood. (Alphonse shivered at the contact, wrapping his arms around the other’s neck.) “Nothing is ever that easy. Father made it that way on purpose.”
Alphonse frowned, pouting out his bottom lip; his sharpened teeth catching the light of the stars. “Why did he curse us so?” he asked quietly, and not for the first time. “If he hated it so much. . . if he created a Stone to turn back and die. . . Why?”
His elder brother smirked slightly, leaning closer to lovingly nip the other’s throat.
“Because he is the Devil.”
X
There was crying. Crying in pain, fear, sadness. . . always the same silent weeping, as if something inside was dying. Some piece of humanity. And though they did not sob aloud, (privately or otherwise,) they passively allowed the stained tears to fall. But stoic they always remained.
“. . . How old do you think he was?” Alphonse suddenly inquired, indifferent; glancing back towards the town. It crackled and glowed through the darkness, lit from the cinders of the church. Edward’s anger personified.
“Who?” the older brother questioned, monotonous. “The boy?”
“Yes.”
“Quite old. . . perhaps 100.”
“Brother,” Alphonse frowned, stopping his horse in the middle of the dark road. “That is not true and you know it. He was only a child.”
Edward shrugged. “Well, how would I know? Appearances can be deceiving. He may have been 1,000. But it doesn’t matter anymore, does it? Once death comes, the years are blissfully pointless.”
Alphonse didn’t reply for a moment-nudging his horse to begin walking again. “So our goal. . .” he then paraphrased, “is to become pointless?”
“Yes.”
He wasn’t sure how he felt about that: to allow all of the memories of good times to fritter away into nothingness. Wasn’t existence, no matter how horrible, worth something? But as they continued on, the metallic taste of child and death still on his lips, Alphonse decided that the plan was a good one.
(He clutched his cross.)
For pointless things could not hurt people.
~*~
. . . I really hope these cuts work, this time. . .
Or, at least, I'm gonna try REALLY hard to get this to work. ::is determined::
Anyway, more presents for you guys. . . 'cause you rock -n- stuff. XD
Firstly, 'The Cosplay Song.' Which really kinda speaks for itself. ^_^
~*~
Disclamer: I own ZIP.
Author’s Note: My friends Ryan and Su-chan and I came up with the basic idea of this. . . then I went and perfected it. ;) Enjoy!
Warnings: Nothin’, really. ‘Cept silliness. XD
XXX
The Cosplay Song
-To be sung to the tune of “If You’re Happy and You Know It”-
NOTE: All things in parentheses show what hand motions you should be doing, the stuff in quotes is what you should say when doing it. I know they’re stupid, and I know I could have done a dozen more characters. But this is what I wrote and I like it. I hope y’all do to. And I also hope you have fun! XD
SING IT!
XXX
If you’re Ed and you know it (clap like Ed; “clap”) your hands
If you’re Roy and you know it (snap; “snap”) your hands
If you’re Al and you know it-and you really wanna show it-
If you’re Al and you know it (be armor Al, hiding a kitty in your chest cavity; “eat” (or “hide,” if you don’t get the “eat” joke. ;)) ) a kitty!
x
If you’re Riza and you know it (point fingers like a gun, move as if shooting; “shoot”) a gun
If you’re Hoho and you know it (make legs with your fingers, have them walk across your arm; “leave”) your sons
If you’re Winry and you know it-and you really wanna show it-
If you’re Winry and you know it (move your arm like you’re throwing something at someone’s head; “chuck”) and wrench!
x
If you’re Hughes and you know it (whip out an imaginary picture, people, you know how it’s done! XD; “show off”) your kid
If you’re dead and you know it (pose as one of the homunculi-you chose which one; “rise”) again
If you’re Scar and you know it-and you really wanna show it-
If you’re Scar and you know it (big, waving arm movements with ‘jazz hands’; “’splode”) some brains!
x
If you’re Ed and you know it (clap like Ed; “clap”) your hands
If you’re Roy and you know it (snap; “snap”) your hands
If you’re Al and you know it-and you really wanna show it-
If you’re Al and you know it (Human Al time! Hug/pet a kitty, rub its imaginary ears, etc; “pet”) a kitty!
XXX
~*~
Secondly, a new ficlet! (::cheers::) With Vamperic Elricest! (::more cheers::) That's kinda confusing! ^_^; (::Booooooo::) But I hope you all like it anyway.
~*~
Disclamer: Yeah, right.
Author’s Note: My friend Su-chan enjoys challenging people, and has thus presented me with a few scenarios she dared me to write. Never being one to back down from a ‘test of skill,’ I accepted. And here I go! ;)
Challenge Three: Vampiric Elricest involving cacti, old people, and God in Arizona. (I kid you not.)
Enjoy. XD
Warnings: Elricest. (C’mon, people, haven’t you figured that out yet? ;)) Oh, and vampirism.
XXX
Pointless
-AKA: The Su-chan Challenge Part III-
XXX
The church had been abandoned for over eighty years, desolate and silent in the Arizona desert. Its bell had finally rusted, its doors were firmly jammed, its white-washed walls had long since become yellow and gritty from the sand residue that tore at the old paint. Even the once-beautiful stained glass windows were falling apart, nibbled away by the wind. It had been abandoned completely: by its priest, then his family. . . by the people, then by God.
Yet, for whatever reason, it was never torn down. Perhaps from nostalgia; perhaps from fear of blasphemy; perhaps because very few people bothered to pay it any mind. As it stood alone on the edge of the tiny town, it was only ever thought of once in a great while-when the elders of the village would glance out at sunset, remembering when their parents would bring them to evening mass. It had been so lovely, once; with a garden of magenta flowers and blood-red roses. Yet, just as they had, the building became decrepit-and the flowers had long since been choked to death by drought and cacti and tumbleweed.
Choked and killed. . . choked and killed. Everything choked and killed.
But nobody spoke of that.
A breeze rustled through, restlessly toying with the twilight clouds; gusts of dust swirling to life in the barren streets. One or two men sat on the porches of the one or two stores that the settlement had to offer, a dead game of checkers between them. It was another endless night in the ghost town of Amestris.
And then. . .
One man, stunned by something out to the west, kicked another, who nudged a third and a little boy. Shock painted itself upon their faces within seconds as they all glanced in the indicated direction; jaws dropping an inch. Cigarettes burnt to cinders; eyes were rubbed for mistakes. But it wasn’t an illusion: there were two silhouettes in the distance, outlines that sands and shadows couldn’t hide.
All was silent as the trudged closer, their horses calm and glassy-eyed.
They stopped before the men; bodies cloaked in red and black, the wide rims of their cowboy hats hiding their faces. But their eyes shone through all the same.
“What is the year?” the first asked suddenly, voice quiet; husky. A flutter of gold rustled beneath his cap when a second wind whipped through.
For a moment, the village men simply gawked. (Visitors? In their town? What on Earth could anyone want with them?) But after a drawn out minute, the child piped: “It’s 1931, sirs. But. . . how could you not know?”
The second stranger chuckled, his tone gentler, but just as soft. “We’ve been traveling many years. And the dates blend together, when you’re as old as we are.”
“You don’t look that old,” the boy objected, grinning toothily. And such was the innocence of children, unaffected by the differences adults latch onto. “You look younger than my Daddy.”
“Appearances can be deceiving,” the first replied roughly, tugging briskly on his horse’s reigns. The pair began to trot slowly off again, when-
“Wait!”
Both riders paused, glancing backwards. Eyes of sharp gold and glistening silver shone through the creeping night. The man who’d spoken hesitated, then called-a little desperately-:
“What are you doing here? We’ve no money to find-in our pockets or in our earth. We cannot help the government. And there are no outlaws for miles. We’re nothing but a desert town; we don’t even have beds to offer you. What could you two possibly be here for?”
“. . .” The two strangers exchanged glances, as if considering what to tell the man. Then the first spoke. “We’re here for your church.”
And they continued on their way.
X
“It’s been years, hasn’t it, brother.”
The first did not respond as they walked down the cobwebbed aisle, movements illuminated by the dusky moonlight that pushed through the spider-webbed glass. Their footsteps echoed through the sealed room; golden eyes swayed back and fore, eventually fixing on the rusted crucifix before them. The second also noticed the cross and hummed, removing his hat and touching his own. It glittered on his throat like a gem. “Amen.”
“Amen,” the first repeated, retrieving a pistol from its holster and aiming it upwards, towards the face of Jesus. He paused, waiting. . . then lowered his arm again. An eyebrow cocked. “. . . It’s not here, Alphonse.”
Alphonse cast his brother a sideways glance, silver eyes sparking eerily through the gloom. “Not. . . ?” he repeated, clearly irked. “I thought that that you said this was the church, Edward. His church. Where it happened. . . to him; to us.” He brushed his neck subconsciously.
“So I thought,” Edward murmured darkly, fixing his hat with a thumb. His mouth had pulled downward in irritation. “And so I still think. I know it was here those many years ago. However. . .” He sighed, tightening his red cloak around his pale body as he sank down upon a pew. “. . . can it really be 1931 already?”
“Time stops for no-one,” Alphonse returned quietly, calming; sinking next to his companion. His long auburn locks swayed with his every movements. “No-one except us.”
Edward didn’t respond. Instead, he fingered his bangles and earrings, contemplating. Then he sighed, resting his chin against his laced hands. “It all began here. . .” he whispered, his old wounds throbbing. “It should all end here, too.”
“And so it will,” Alphonse soothed, resting his hand upon his brother’s leg. “It will be okay. If we cannot find the one our sire made, we will simply continue making one ourselves.”
There was a brief pause of consideration; Edward straightened, glancing towards the altar. “. . . How far are we, then? How much more do we need?”
“I do not know. But it cannot be much more.”
Neither spoke, listening instead to the silence as it pressed closer; bodies slowly filling with the knowledge of what they were about to do. What they needed to do. What they wanted to do.
“No one will notice,” Alphonse assured, tenderly trailing his fingers up and down his brother’s inner thigh. “This town is only a shadow of what it used to be. Remember when we were small? Now there are only 34 people. I could smell them all.”
“As could I. And yet. . . though it is not here. . .” Edward muttered distractedly for the second time, pulling out his revolver and cocking it purposefully. Again, he raised the barrel, giving the trigger a feather-light squeeze. Good. He readied, aimed-
BANG.
The chest of the crucifix crumbled around the silver bullet, and instantly an ocean of red liquid seeped to the surface of the metal skin: trickling down the statue’s long legs, falling like raindrops to the dusty ground. Alphonse hissed in surprise and desire, jolting forward as if to move-then stopped. He cast his brother a longing look.
Edward nodded.
And he watched silently as Alphonse stood, sliding forward, pressing his lips to the ancient effigy and licking, sucking, drinking away the essence of all who had lost their lives there, so many years before. . .
“He used too many,” Edward said to himself, watching the leftover souls trickle down his brother’s pale chin; smeared like chocolate on the lips of a toddler. “He didn’t need to sacrifice them all. Nearly an entire city before running. . . Did he do it on accident, or on purpose?” He looked towards the ceiling, as if it would answer him. Inexpressive angels returned the stare, but did not respond- too busy pealing away.
“Brother,” Alphonse called, his voice echoing through the church. His eyes shone brightly, illuminated a rosy red. “Brother, there is plenty for you. So much. . . Perhaps we won’t need the villagers after all. Perhaps this will be enough to create it: enough Life to create our Death-to create the Stone.”
Edward, pleasantly distracted from his thoughts, smiled faintly as he noiselessly got to his feet. “I doubt it, little brother,” he whispered, sliding like a shadow to the other’s side; leaning over and lightly licking away the access blood. (Alphonse shivered at the contact, wrapping his arms around the other’s neck.) “Nothing is ever that easy. Father made it that way on purpose.”
Alphonse frowned, pouting out his bottom lip; his sharpened teeth catching the light of the stars. “Why did he curse us so?” he asked quietly, and not for the first time. “If he hated it so much. . . if he created a Stone to turn back and die. . . Why?”
His elder brother smirked slightly, leaning closer to lovingly nip the other’s throat.
“Because he is the Devil.”
X
There was crying. Crying in pain, fear, sadness. . . always the same silent weeping, as if something inside was dying. Some piece of humanity. And though they did not sob aloud, (privately or otherwise,) they passively allowed the stained tears to fall. But stoic they always remained.
“. . . How old do you think he was?” Alphonse suddenly inquired, indifferent; glancing back towards the town. It crackled and glowed through the darkness, lit from the cinders of the church. Edward’s anger personified.
“Who?” the older brother questioned, monotonous. “The boy?”
“Yes.”
“Quite old. . . perhaps 100.”
“Brother,” Alphonse frowned, stopping his horse in the middle of the dark road. “That is not true and you know it. He was only a child.”
Edward shrugged. “Well, how would I know? Appearances can be deceiving. He may have been 1,000. But it doesn’t matter anymore, does it? Once death comes, the years are blissfully pointless.”
Alphonse didn’t reply for a moment-nudging his horse to begin walking again. “So our goal. . .” he then paraphrased, “is to become pointless?”
“Yes.”
He wasn’t sure how he felt about that: to allow all of the memories of good times to fritter away into nothingness. Wasn’t existence, no matter how horrible, worth something? But as they continued on, the metallic taste of child and death still on his lips, Alphonse decided that the plan was a good one.
(He clutched his cross.)
For pointless things could not hurt people.
~*~
. . . I really hope these cuts work, this time. . .