(no subject)
My first Mary-Sue posting...
Story Or Series Title: Ghosts of the Past
Fandom: Highlander
Culprit Author's Name: Lady_Cinnibar
Full Name (plus titles if any): Marie Juliet Amberain
Full Species(es): Human/cursed
Hair Color (include adjectives): Rich brown hair, rippling over her shoulders, the sun glowed within its depths, and shadow lurked under its locks.
Eye Color (include adjectives): Golden, molten bronze
Unusual Markings/Colorations: The single freckle at the corner of her eye, even the one green freckle in the right eye, like a dark agate lurking in molten bronze.
Special Possessions (if any): Bookstore
Annoying Origin: High priestess to an ainceint goddess whose temple Methos' teacher desecrated, and got cursed to e reborn over and over again until the teacher or one of his students showed her compassion.
Annoying Connections To Canon Characters: Saved Methos in a prior incarnation
Annoying Special Abilities: gets caught up in a demonic possesion ritual and is saved by/is the incarnation of an animal totem. having people appear from mid air inbetween chapters
Other Annoying Traits:
It's a well researched story, but here we have "I must look like someone you know. It’s the brown hair, brown eyes, and plain indiscriminate looks thing. Everybody says I resemble someone they know..." and still have purple prose descriptions of herself. It gets worse as it goes on, but the whole story could have been told without the Immortals with the whole vein of reincarnation...
Please include a small sample of the worst of this story:
"I dare you, Marie Juliet Amberain to kiss the next guy you see on the lips!"
"You’re on!" Oh, gods, why’d I say that? Must be the Guinness talking…
"Oh! Three guys…" Red said, suddenly, as they came around a bend in the asphalt path. "I guess this means you have to modify the plans a little, Rita…"
"Fine. Pick one of the three to kiss." Rita said. "Oh my god! Look at that one! Talk about your hotties! Tall, dark, and handsome! Be still my beating heart! How come you get the lucky dares Ree? Everytime you toss me a dare like this, the next guy I see happens to be fifty, overweight, balding, and seriously in need of a bath!"
(Back to the Highlander crew…)
They were wildly different. A blond, a brunette, and a red head. Sounds like a bad joke… Wait a minute, is that brunette coming towards me?
One of them moved to stand in front of him. "Hi. Can you tell my friends that this is a stupid fucking dare?"
Shall I make her squirm, or let her go? He mused, then looked up. "Well I don’t kn…"
"Julia?" He managed, after a pause, in which baffled golden eyes held him, like a deer in headlights.
The same tilt of the head, the same eyes. Rich brown hair, rippling over her shoulders, the sun glowed within its depths, and shadow lurked under its locks. Same face, square, and as Celtic as Celtic gets. The single freckle at the corner of her eye, even the one green freckle in the right eye, like a dark agate lurking in molten bronze.
"No…" She chided. "I must look like someone you know. It’s the brown hair, brown eyes, and plain indiscriminate looks thing. Everybody says I resemble someone they know…"
He searched her face, build, to find something, but could find nothing that did not look exactly like the young warrior maid, dead these three thousand years. "Right, Julia, Julia didn’t have glasses." He managed. "And she was shorter." He lied, that last part. Julia was exactly that height, he’d bet. Just tall enough to be average for these days, just short enough that he could bury his nose in her hair, which had always smelled of heather.
She smiled. "Old friend?"
"She saved my life, once." He admitted, closing his eyes to relive the moment in which her sword flashed down, and stopped the smelly nasty brute that was her enemy from beheading the traveler wandering the roads of France. "And I failed to save hers." The Roman troops, charging, and Julia tossing him her sword, even as they struck her down. It was the first, and last, time he’d ever used the sword. He’d tossed it into the Mediterranean, only to retrieve it in order to mark her cairn. But her last act had saved him from the Romans, who’d fought hard, but not as well as an infuriated Immortal. The one of two of them who had survived had turned tail and run, leaving Julia’s hacked off head, their trophy, behind. If he closed his eyes, he could still see her sword spinning in the air over the river, and the solid weight of it smacking into his palm, like the last wish of its wielder had controlled its flight.
Julia, I called you, in my arrogance, although your name was something else entirely. Julia, because you looked a little like Julius’ daughter. You stood by my side, though, with those burning eyes, and when you were trapped on the other side of the river, you did your best to keep the Romans from coming for me. You shared salt with me, and called me brother. And I didn’t appreciate you, and how lonely I’d been before you came, until you were gone.
"I don’t know. You should do something crazy at least once in your life. What exactly is the dare?" He smiled at this modern Julia.
The two girls were cat-calling her, encouraging her to do ‘it’.
She blushed. "I can’t tell you."
"Well, then I can’t let you out of it." He said smugly.
"You can’t object now…"
Before he could voice protest, smooth hands (not without some calluses, though) gripped his face, and he was kissed. She smelled like spices, like ambergris and cinnamon. And when a single lock of the hair fell in front of his nose, he froze. Heather. He could almost see the shrub dancing in a brisk sea breeze, the scent carried to him on that same breeze.
Julia is definitely a good kisser. It passed through his thoughts like a whisper, and he stared blankly, shocked, into her face. Her head was down-turned, and slightly away, but her cheekbones were rosy colored.
"You’re forgiven." He stammered.
The girls were screeching in delight.
"Look, what’s your name."
"Marie Juliet." She said softly, and ran away.
"Wait!"
But those fleet feet, bound in sandals, carried her past her suddenly shocked friends. The sun backlit her, a silhouette against the fire of its evening light. She turned, briefly, and the wind lifted her hair, to make it dance and whip like a silk banner in the breeze, frozen. She almost resembled an ancient warrior clad in modern clothes, silhouetted against the perfect blue sky, before she was over the hill in a flash.
Story Or Series Title: Ghosts of the Past
Fandom: Highlander
Culprit Author's Name: Lady_Cinnibar
Full Name (plus titles if any): Marie Juliet Amberain
Full Species(es): Human/cursed
Hair Color (include adjectives): Rich brown hair, rippling over her shoulders, the sun glowed within its depths, and shadow lurked under its locks.
Eye Color (include adjectives): Golden, molten bronze
Unusual Markings/Colorations: The single freckle at the corner of her eye, even the one green freckle in the right eye, like a dark agate lurking in molten bronze.
Special Possessions (if any): Bookstore
Annoying Origin: High priestess to an ainceint goddess whose temple Methos' teacher desecrated, and got cursed to e reborn over and over again until the teacher or one of his students showed her compassion.
Annoying Connections To Canon Characters: Saved Methos in a prior incarnation
Annoying Special Abilities: gets caught up in a demonic possesion ritual and is saved by/is the incarnation of an animal totem. having people appear from mid air inbetween chapters
Other Annoying Traits:
It's a well researched story, but here we have "I must look like someone you know. It’s the brown hair, brown eyes, and plain indiscriminate looks thing. Everybody says I resemble someone they know..." and still have purple prose descriptions of herself. It gets worse as it goes on, but the whole story could have been told without the Immortals with the whole vein of reincarnation...
Please include a small sample of the worst of this story:
"I dare you, Marie Juliet Amberain to kiss the next guy you see on the lips!"
"You’re on!" Oh, gods, why’d I say that? Must be the Guinness talking…
"Oh! Three guys…" Red said, suddenly, as they came around a bend in the asphalt path. "I guess this means you have to modify the plans a little, Rita…"
"Fine. Pick one of the three to kiss." Rita said. "Oh my god! Look at that one! Talk about your hotties! Tall, dark, and handsome! Be still my beating heart! How come you get the lucky dares Ree? Everytime you toss me a dare like this, the next guy I see happens to be fifty, overweight, balding, and seriously in need of a bath!"
(Back to the Highlander crew…)
They were wildly different. A blond, a brunette, and a red head. Sounds like a bad joke… Wait a minute, is that brunette coming towards me?
One of them moved to stand in front of him. "Hi. Can you tell my friends that this is a stupid fucking dare?"
Shall I make her squirm, or let her go? He mused, then looked up. "Well I don’t kn…"
"Julia?" He managed, after a pause, in which baffled golden eyes held him, like a deer in headlights.
The same tilt of the head, the same eyes. Rich brown hair, rippling over her shoulders, the sun glowed within its depths, and shadow lurked under its locks. Same face, square, and as Celtic as Celtic gets. The single freckle at the corner of her eye, even the one green freckle in the right eye, like a dark agate lurking in molten bronze.
"No…" She chided. "I must look like someone you know. It’s the brown hair, brown eyes, and plain indiscriminate looks thing. Everybody says I resemble someone they know…"
He searched her face, build, to find something, but could find nothing that did not look exactly like the young warrior maid, dead these three thousand years. "Right, Julia, Julia didn’t have glasses." He managed. "And she was shorter." He lied, that last part. Julia was exactly that height, he’d bet. Just tall enough to be average for these days, just short enough that he could bury his nose in her hair, which had always smelled of heather.
She smiled. "Old friend?"
"She saved my life, once." He admitted, closing his eyes to relive the moment in which her sword flashed down, and stopped the smelly nasty brute that was her enemy from beheading the traveler wandering the roads of France. "And I failed to save hers." The Roman troops, charging, and Julia tossing him her sword, even as they struck her down. It was the first, and last, time he’d ever used the sword. He’d tossed it into the Mediterranean, only to retrieve it in order to mark her cairn. But her last act had saved him from the Romans, who’d fought hard, but not as well as an infuriated Immortal. The one of two of them who had survived had turned tail and run, leaving Julia’s hacked off head, their trophy, behind. If he closed his eyes, he could still see her sword spinning in the air over the river, and the solid weight of it smacking into his palm, like the last wish of its wielder had controlled its flight.
Julia, I called you, in my arrogance, although your name was something else entirely. Julia, because you looked a little like Julius’ daughter. You stood by my side, though, with those burning eyes, and when you were trapped on the other side of the river, you did your best to keep the Romans from coming for me. You shared salt with me, and called me brother. And I didn’t appreciate you, and how lonely I’d been before you came, until you were gone.
"I don’t know. You should do something crazy at least once in your life. What exactly is the dare?" He smiled at this modern Julia.
The two girls were cat-calling her, encouraging her to do ‘it’.
She blushed. "I can’t tell you."
"Well, then I can’t let you out of it." He said smugly.
"You can’t object now…"
Before he could voice protest, smooth hands (not without some calluses, though) gripped his face, and he was kissed. She smelled like spices, like ambergris and cinnamon. And when a single lock of the hair fell in front of his nose, he froze. Heather. He could almost see the shrub dancing in a brisk sea breeze, the scent carried to him on that same breeze.
Julia is definitely a good kisser. It passed through his thoughts like a whisper, and he stared blankly, shocked, into her face. Her head was down-turned, and slightly away, but her cheekbones were rosy colored.
"You’re forgiven." He stammered.
The girls were screeching in delight.
"Look, what’s your name."
"Marie Juliet." She said softly, and ran away.
"Wait!"
But those fleet feet, bound in sandals, carried her past her suddenly shocked friends. The sun backlit her, a silhouette against the fire of its evening light. She turned, briefly, and the wind lifted her hair, to make it dance and whip like a silk banner in the breeze, frozen. She almost resembled an ancient warrior clad in modern clothes, silhouetted against the perfect blue sky, before she was over the hill in a flash.