Conspiracies, part crazy.
Lately, time has following me around like a bored eight-year-old lining up a shot with his BB gun. That kind of position gives one a lot of time to think, and also to retype the same damn line because Firefox seems to be a hesitant thing. I can get to Firefox later, however. First:
I have come to a conclusion, and I wish to share. There may be two, come to think, but we can get into those later. Firstly, it should be noted as background that I live in a house, and that this house is so cluttered as to, most likely, be sentient.
Second, it should be noted that this house knows me better than a house should.
That, and the repeated injury of my foot over the course of this and other days, has brought me to realize a very, very important fact. What is that fact? What is that thing that causes me to look at my house in wonder?
Actually, it's just that my house seems to dislike me. Rather, my house seems to dislike my right foot. Augh. Maybe one of these days, it will Get Over It, but for right now, I look at my foot and I wonder why it remains apparently uninjured after all its contact with sharp, unforgiving, wooden furniture. Now, I know, the obvious solution to this is to say 'But come now, Kwith! We are well aware that houses do not do such things as attack their occupants, and certainly not when those occupants have a history of clumsy activities such as falling down stairs!'
Oh, no. I can head that argument off right here. I am to clumsy what window frames are to defenestration: ...that is, I have not a fucking clue in my head any more than you do what that just meant. But really, I'm graceful, honest. I spin, I deftly move among the clutter. There's only one possibility.
This house is out to get me.
No, seriously. The relations between my browsers and my MU* clients really need not be mentioned just now, though. I have two more things, instead. Second:
There is no change at all in my status as regards going off to school again. It will probably be happening in January, and then another semester or two after that, I may be moving across the country. This is not a Secret as such, but it is a distinct possibility. ...There are few updates as regarding offline here because seriously, not much happens. I will probably make something up tomorrow, and tell a story. Maybe not.
I lied; there is an extra bit. I am going to mention 'Anne Rice' and 'Jesus' and leave it at that.
No, I have not yet finished the fics for that meme. However, I do have a freebie! That's right, a freebie, just for all of you, and not because I was writing something else and this part happens to work well as a stand-alone short piece. Here it is, slightly edited, and no, I do not own the source or the characters, thank you.
--
"Just think about it, man..." The tall boy let slip a mournful sigh. "Her name. It's Quistis. Quis-tis. It's like Hyne is mocking me, yeah?"
"...Right. A dead god named your teacher, and is laughing behind your back." These days, he doesn't even bother to roll his eyes at this kind of talk. "..I would be, too. You know how many times you've gone on about her name alone?"
"...Huh? Oh, yeah, right, whatever. You think she likes me? She smiled at me at the party." Dreamily, the cadet leaned back in the flimsy cafeteria chair, staring up at the ceiling. "...Yeah, I think that's a good sign."
"...Right. I'm going to keep studying, now."
I have come to a conclusion, and I wish to share. There may be two, come to think, but we can get into those later. Firstly, it should be noted as background that I live in a house, and that this house is so cluttered as to, most likely, be sentient.
Second, it should be noted that this house knows me better than a house should.
That, and the repeated injury of my foot over the course of this and other days, has brought me to realize a very, very important fact. What is that fact? What is that thing that causes me to look at my house in wonder?
Actually, it's just that my house seems to dislike me. Rather, my house seems to dislike my right foot. Augh. Maybe one of these days, it will Get Over It, but for right now, I look at my foot and I wonder why it remains apparently uninjured after all its contact with sharp, unforgiving, wooden furniture. Now, I know, the obvious solution to this is to say 'But come now, Kwith! We are well aware that houses do not do such things as attack their occupants, and certainly not when those occupants have a history of clumsy activities such as falling down stairs!'
Oh, no. I can head that argument off right here. I am to clumsy what window frames are to defenestration: ...that is, I have not a fucking clue in my head any more than you do what that just meant. But really, I'm graceful, honest. I spin, I deftly move among the clutter. There's only one possibility.
This house is out to get me.
No, seriously. The relations between my browsers and my MU* clients really need not be mentioned just now, though. I have two more things, instead. Second:
There is no change at all in my status as regards going off to school again. It will probably be happening in January, and then another semester or two after that, I may be moving across the country. This is not a Secret as such, but it is a distinct possibility. ...There are few updates as regarding offline here because seriously, not much happens. I will probably make something up tomorrow, and tell a story. Maybe not.
I lied; there is an extra bit. I am going to mention 'Anne Rice' and 'Jesus' and leave it at that.
No, I have not yet finished the fics for that meme. However, I do have a freebie! That's right, a freebie, just for all of you, and not because I was writing something else and this part happens to work well as a stand-alone short piece. Here it is, slightly edited, and no, I do not own the source or the characters, thank you.
--
"Just think about it, man..." The tall boy let slip a mournful sigh. "Her name. It's Quistis. Quis-tis. It's like Hyne is mocking me, yeah?"
"...Right. A dead god named your teacher, and is laughing behind your back." These days, he doesn't even bother to roll his eyes at this kind of talk. "..I would be, too. You know how many times you've gone on about her name alone?"
"...Huh? Oh, yeah, right, whatever. You think she likes me? She smiled at me at the party." Dreamily, the cadet leaned back in the flimsy cafeteria chair, staring up at the ceiling. "...Yeah, I think that's a good sign."
"...Right. I'm going to keep studying, now."