(no subject)
Regarding the saga of our refrigerator woes: well, we now have not ONE, but TWO refrigerators. Without going into a long, drawn out story, suffice it to say that the day AFTER we bought the new 'fridge, the repairman called Bob and told him that the part had come in and he'd be out that day to fix the old one. Bob thought it best to have it fixed and put in the garage, not only to keep extra drinks and beer, but also as a 'back up'. Me... I'd have told the repairman what he could do with the part since he NEVER bothered to return any of Bob's calls prior to us going to buy the new refrigerator.
In other news.... I had a potential cell phone stalker!!!!!!!!!! Last Tuesday at around 11 p.m., my cell phone rang -- something that just does NOT happen at that time of night, since most everyone who knows me, knows I'm in bed at the time during the week. Anyway, I didn't make it to the phone in time to answer, but when I looked at the number, it was local (336 area code) but I didn't recognize it, so I shrugged it off. Well, around 1 a.m., it rang again -- same number but this time I made it to the phone in time to pick up and say 'Hello', figuring the person would ask for whoever they wanted and I'd tell them they had the wrong number. Imagine my surprise (can you say 'shock'?!?) when there was no one there but I knew someone was on the line. This sorta' freaked me out so I shut the phone off. The next day, after getting back from the grocery store, I turned it back on to find two text messages and VM (though no one was there). One of the text messages asked about chatting or emailing. At this point, I replied to the message and told the person that they had the wrong number. I also replied to the VM with the same message, mainly so I could get the person's name who was calling.
Again that night, around 11 p.m., the phone rang again with the same number. I immediately shut it off. The next morning, another text message (to which I responded telling the person I believed they had the wrong number and to stop calling) AND another VM with no message. I responded to that as well, telling the person that they had the wrong number and if they didn't stop calling I'd call the police and give them the person's name and telephone number.
Well, my phone rang twice at work that day, but I didn't answer, merely shut it off. Fortunately, I believe the person FINALLY got the message because since Thursday, no more calls! I have to say, though, that was really, really getting freaked out about this.
On the up side of life... the muse has been in overdrive lateley. If I'm not writing at least one haiku every other day or so, I'm writing two or sometimes three. Add to that, I've begun the next chapter of Eye of the Beholder as well as an all new ficcie -- Through His Eyes, for which blueutopiah and I have been bouncing ideas around and for which I promised her a 'teaser'. Anyway, teasers for both are below the cuts, if you want a 'peek'.
Hiei Jaganshi was not, at this moment, what one might call happy. In point of fact, not only was he not happy, Hiei was royally, and justifiably (at least in his mind), pissed off!
How dare their pompous ass of a producer arbitrarily decided what was best for his band!
A sudden mental picture of said producer flashed through Hiei’s mind. Yomi Gandara: tall, darkly handsome with long black hair and penetrating black eyes, and cynical to a fault. At one time, he had been the lead guitarist in the hugely popular band, Rose Whip, but that had been three years ago, before the accident that had taken the life of one of its members and left another without his sight. In the years since, Yomi had become a highly successful producer with Makai Productions, the record label that had recently signed the up and coming Dragon’s Flame…Hiei’s band.
And Dragon’s Flame was his! Okay, so technically, his and Yusuke’s. Hiei glanced over at the man he’d known since childhood. Yusuke Urameshi was stretched leisurely across on of the two overstuffed sofas that decorated the small lounge, his raven black head pillowed in the lap of the band’s bassist (and Yusuke’s lover), Koenma Daoh, his eyes closed. Long legs, encased in sinfully tight, low-slung black leather pants were crossed at the ankles; a shirt of emerald green silk opened over a tight, midriff baring tank top completed his ensemble. Long fingered hands were clasped across his chest, which rose and fell with each easy breath the man took. His dark hair, normally slicked back and gelled to within an inch of its life, was miraculously free of the sticky shit today. It spilled gracefully over his ears and around his heart shaped face, much like his lover’s own tousled brown hair.
Hiei shifted his gaze from his childhood friend to the man in whose lap Yusuke’s head rested. They were polar opposites: the cocky punk with the devil-may-care grin from the wrong side of the tracks, and the billionaire industrialist’s son, born with the proverbial silver spoon in his mouth. Even in looks and temperament, they were different. Yusuke, exuding sensuality from every pore of his body - a walking/talking sex machine.
Koenma, on the other hand, was classically handsome with honeyed brown hair and hazel eyes, a patrician nose and generous mouth (that is, when you could see it, for the man had a fetish for lollipops and was very rarely seen without one stuck between his lips). He was taller than Yusuke, older than the other members of Dragon’s Flame by three years.
Chapter 4
“H..h..how dare I?” Hatanaka sputtered, managing to sound indignant even with the sword still pressed uncomfortably into his throat. The anger that now coursed through him at the audacity of this puny upstart now matched that of the being in whose grasp he was held. “How dare you!” He retorted. “You attack me and then have the temerity to address me in such a manner! Have you any idea just who I am?”
Icy blue eyes, filled with all the haughty arrogance their former nobility granted them, stared back at the cloaked and hooded figure standing over him.
“I care not in the least for who you are!” spat the figure. Though the face beneath the hood remained invisible, the voice that addressed Hatanaka carried within it the same arrogance as the former noble’s sapphire eyes. “You are nothing more than a common trespasser and thief,” it finished, the sword pressing even further into the soft flesh of his captive’s neck enough to draw blood.
“I am neither,” the noble fumed. Despite the blood he could feel trickling down his skin, Hatanaka held onto his rage, eyes and voice becoming icier as he glared at the hooded man. “This road is meant for public use; and that bush,” he flung an arm in the direction of the overgrowth from which he’d so recently taken the rose…..
“Wrong again, interloper!” The angry voice hissed, effectively silencing the nobleman before he could so much as finish his thought. “These lands are mine. Thus, whatever is contained on or within them also belongs to me.”
In other news.... I had a potential cell phone stalker!!!!!!!!!! Last Tuesday at around 11 p.m., my cell phone rang -- something that just does NOT happen at that time of night, since most everyone who knows me, knows I'm in bed at the time during the week. Anyway, I didn't make it to the phone in time to answer, but when I looked at the number, it was local (336 area code) but I didn't recognize it, so I shrugged it off. Well, around 1 a.m., it rang again -- same number but this time I made it to the phone in time to pick up and say 'Hello', figuring the person would ask for whoever they wanted and I'd tell them they had the wrong number. Imagine my surprise (can you say 'shock'?!?) when there was no one there but I knew someone was on the line. This sorta' freaked me out so I shut the phone off. The next day, after getting back from the grocery store, I turned it back on to find two text messages and VM (though no one was there). One of the text messages asked about chatting or emailing. At this point, I replied to the message and told the person that they had the wrong number. I also replied to the VM with the same message, mainly so I could get the person's name who was calling.
Again that night, around 11 p.m., the phone rang again with the same number. I immediately shut it off. The next morning, another text message (to which I responded telling the person I believed they had the wrong number and to stop calling) AND another VM with no message. I responded to that as well, telling the person that they had the wrong number and if they didn't stop calling I'd call the police and give them the person's name and telephone number.
Well, my phone rang twice at work that day, but I didn't answer, merely shut it off. Fortunately, I believe the person FINALLY got the message because since Thursday, no more calls! I have to say, though, that was really, really getting freaked out about this.
On the up side of life... the muse has been in overdrive lateley. If I'm not writing at least one haiku every other day or so, I'm writing two or sometimes three. Add to that, I've begun the next chapter of Eye of the Beholder as well as an all new ficcie -- Through His Eyes, for which blueutopiah and I have been bouncing ideas around and for which I promised her a 'teaser'. Anyway, teasers for both are below the cuts, if you want a 'peek'.
Hiei Jaganshi was not, at this moment, what one might call happy. In point of fact, not only was he not happy, Hiei was royally, and justifiably (at least in his mind), pissed off!
How dare their pompous ass of a producer arbitrarily decided what was best for his band!
A sudden mental picture of said producer flashed through Hiei’s mind. Yomi Gandara: tall, darkly handsome with long black hair and penetrating black eyes, and cynical to a fault. At one time, he had been the lead guitarist in the hugely popular band, Rose Whip, but that had been three years ago, before the accident that had taken the life of one of its members and left another without his sight. In the years since, Yomi had become a highly successful producer with Makai Productions, the record label that had recently signed the up and coming Dragon’s Flame…Hiei’s band.
And Dragon’s Flame was his! Okay, so technically, his and Yusuke’s. Hiei glanced over at the man he’d known since childhood. Yusuke Urameshi was stretched leisurely across on of the two overstuffed sofas that decorated the small lounge, his raven black head pillowed in the lap of the band’s bassist (and Yusuke’s lover), Koenma Daoh, his eyes closed. Long legs, encased in sinfully tight, low-slung black leather pants were crossed at the ankles; a shirt of emerald green silk opened over a tight, midriff baring tank top completed his ensemble. Long fingered hands were clasped across his chest, which rose and fell with each easy breath the man took. His dark hair, normally slicked back and gelled to within an inch of its life, was miraculously free of the sticky shit today. It spilled gracefully over his ears and around his heart shaped face, much like his lover’s own tousled brown hair.
Hiei shifted his gaze from his childhood friend to the man in whose lap Yusuke’s head rested. They were polar opposites: the cocky punk with the devil-may-care grin from the wrong side of the tracks, and the billionaire industrialist’s son, born with the proverbial silver spoon in his mouth. Even in looks and temperament, they were different. Yusuke, exuding sensuality from every pore of his body - a walking/talking sex machine.
Koenma, on the other hand, was classically handsome with honeyed brown hair and hazel eyes, a patrician nose and generous mouth (that is, when you could see it, for the man had a fetish for lollipops and was very rarely seen without one stuck between his lips). He was taller than Yusuke, older than the other members of Dragon’s Flame by three years.
Chapter 4
“H..h..how dare I?” Hatanaka sputtered, managing to sound indignant even with the sword still pressed uncomfortably into his throat. The anger that now coursed through him at the audacity of this puny upstart now matched that of the being in whose grasp he was held. “How dare you!” He retorted. “You attack me and then have the temerity to address me in such a manner! Have you any idea just who I am?”
Icy blue eyes, filled with all the haughty arrogance their former nobility granted them, stared back at the cloaked and hooded figure standing over him.
“I care not in the least for who you are!” spat the figure. Though the face beneath the hood remained invisible, the voice that addressed Hatanaka carried within it the same arrogance as the former noble’s sapphire eyes. “You are nothing more than a common trespasser and thief,” it finished, the sword pressing even further into the soft flesh of his captive’s neck enough to draw blood.
“I am neither,” the noble fumed. Despite the blood he could feel trickling down his skin, Hatanaka held onto his rage, eyes and voice becoming icier as he glared at the hooded man. “This road is meant for public use; and that bush,” he flung an arm in the direction of the overgrowth from which he’d so recently taken the rose…..
“Wrong again, interloper!” The angry voice hissed, effectively silencing the nobleman before he could so much as finish his thought. “These lands are mine. Thus, whatever is contained on or within them also belongs to me.”