halloween and nano
This is the first year I can remember not being all worked up about Halloween. Huh. Prolly wear my Sabriel outfit 'cause I love it.
I've got myself all wrapped up in Daniel now when I really ought to be planning Jesse and Thad, since they're the MAIN CHARACTER and the main character's best friend. Durr. But, since I had Daniel (and Hellsing) on the brain, I made the best of it. Here's a couple of backstory/character development pieces I wrote to keep my itchy-fingered self from cheating and writing on the actual book.
No titles for either of them.
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1 - Based off today's NaNo word prompt, "spook." 14 min, 324 words.
By the time Daniel Cormier turned twenty-three, he had killed a man. By the time Daniel turned thirty he had killed six men, and he himself had been legally dead for four years.
The details of the first kill were not important, unremembered except in dreams, and Daniel didn’t dream often. He saved the pleasure of dreaming for times when he would remember; he daydreamed and plotted and pondered, sat in the glow of his central computer monitor, the big one Nat had brought him from Atlanta along with samples from the CDC because Daniel liked to be prepared, and he drifted in thoughts of soft breath and sharp teeth. He didn’t like blood. It was sticky, and hard to wash off. In his daydreams Daniel turned blood to satin and curled up in it, drowned in it, thought about every other time but the first.
Daniel’s name online, infamous in the right circles, was Kyuketsuki -- vampire. He was not dead in the cold, still sense, of course, but had erased himself from all records, leaving no trace of his existence. Dead to the world. He was an absentminded genius, too lazy to be alive in this apathetic bloody world, always moving but going nowhere. He liked it this way, living in the dark. Kyuketsuki was his last and only concession to life, the only quantifiable existence he led.
But it was Daniel’s thirtieth birthday, if he had a birthday anymore -- did it still count if the files were gone? -- and he wanted something tangible. Wanted the teeth and the satin from his dreams, wanted to remember, somehow, some way, that he was still alive in the here and now, and that he was more than just a name.
So he went out. Left his own dark for the dark outside, and wandered, until he found what he wanted.
And when he had number seven where he wanted him, all Daniel said was, “Boo.”
-----
2 - Daniel being a creepy perv in college; not worksafe. Untimed, uncounted.
“So the thing about vampires is,” Daniel was saying, not at all slurred, not at all, “is, is, is boredom, is what. They’re just goddamn bored. That’s why they kill. Plus if they’re hungry.”
“But the allure of the vampire is all in the fact that they need you to live, right? Need your blood?” The boy was breathy, cheeks flushed with color, glassy-eyed but not rendered stupid by the alcohol and the drug he didn’t know about. Not at all stupid. Daniel didn’t like stupid people, under any circumstances, and what was college worth if the casual fucks you picked up couldn’t even argue a little philosophy?
“Not live,” Daniel corrected sharply, because he was particular about these things. “Continue to exist. They need blood to continue to assi, esist, exist. Existence. But no, that’s not it. It’s all ‘cause they’re bored.”
The boy laughed. “Like, like Louis is the ultimate vampire? ‘Cause he’s a wuss and he hates eternity? Lestat could kick his ass. Lestat was never bored.”
Daniel was getting annoyed with this boy -- unfortunately, because he looked so good lying flat-out drugged on Daniel’s ratty twin mattress disguised under high thread count sheets, looked so good drugged and drunk and still able to clearly pronounce words like “existence” and “exsanguination.” Daniel didn’t want to be annoyed right now; it ruined his good mood. But there were certain concepts he would defend beyond the point of reason, and vampirism was one of them.
“No,” Daniel said, maybe louder than he’d meant to. “Listen to what I’m saying. Vampires, see, a vampire lives forever. And he’s not human, they’re not human. So, see, all they’ve got to do for eternity is listen to fucking human whining and warring and fucking human relshon, relationshit, relationship shit. Hah. Human fucking, yeah. And all of that’s boring, ‘cause he’s not human, he’s this immortal inhuman thing and he lives on this one big round food supply, so that should be great, right? But it’s not. ‘Cause how would you feel, you know, you wouldn’t want to live forever surrounded by cows with no other people to talk to. Right? So he’s bored. And that’s why he kills. He’s got forever to perfect the art of death. And he can’t, well, if he’s not stupid then he knows he can’t make more of his own kind, ‘cause, food supply, right? There’s a few billion now, but they won’t last forever. So he doesn’t create, he just destroys. ‘Cause he’s not human, he’s a monster, and he knows it.”
The boy had worked a hand under his waistband and was touching himself, mouth slightly open, eyes glassier than before, not really listening to Daniel’s words, just his voice. “Yeah?” he breathed. “You got a thing for monsters, then?”
“Maybe.” Daniel stretched out in his desk chair, swiveling slightly back and forth as a way to relieve nervous tension, like the way he would normally tap one foot except that he couldn’t keep a steady rhythm right now. Probably should’ve stopped before that last shot. Or two. He watched the boy in his bed getting harder, unzipping his jeans to get a better angle, rolling his head to the side to look at Daniel in the chair, questioning, inviting.
“We gonna do anything?” the boy asked, a glint of greed in his eyes as he swept them low over Daniel’s body, which was far from unpleasant despite his lack of exercise recently. Daniel shifted again, absentmindedly suggestive.
“Depends,” he said. Having made one speech already, he was feeling more and more monosyllabic. Damn kid. Daniel decided to invent telepathy, if only so these incredibly thick college boys would know what he wanted and when he wanted it. “Depends,” he repeated, “on how good you are.”
“At what?” The boy laughed again, seemingly out of nowhere, and Daniel regretted that drugs were the only way to get people to go along with things like this. God, anything for a real vampire. No, not even a vampire, he didn’t want a real vampire, they scared him, boredom scared him, but that was why he loved the idea so much, the idea of an offhand killer, it was so goddamn creepy that it just gave him shivers in all the right places. No, he didn’t want anywhere near a real vampire. Just wanted someone who would go along with the idea, listen to the idea, find the idea as compelling and arousing as he did. He’d never met anyone like that before and expected that he probably never would.
Daniel sighed, shifted again until he was practically horizontal in the chair, short dark hair splayed wild against the backrest, legs wide open and inviting; and then Daniel bit one finger lightly, and smiled. “Depends on how good you are,” he repeated for the last time, “at playing dead.”
I've got myself all wrapped up in Daniel now when I really ought to be planning Jesse and Thad, since they're the MAIN CHARACTER and the main character's best friend. Durr. But, since I had Daniel (and Hellsing) on the brain, I made the best of it. Here's a couple of backstory/character development pieces I wrote to keep my itchy-fingered self from cheating and writing on the actual book.
No titles for either of them.
-----
1 - Based off today's NaNo word prompt, "spook." 14 min, 324 words.
By the time Daniel Cormier turned twenty-three, he had killed a man. By the time Daniel turned thirty he had killed six men, and he himself had been legally dead for four years.
The details of the first kill were not important, unremembered except in dreams, and Daniel didn’t dream often. He saved the pleasure of dreaming for times when he would remember; he daydreamed and plotted and pondered, sat in the glow of his central computer monitor, the big one Nat had brought him from Atlanta along with samples from the CDC because Daniel liked to be prepared, and he drifted in thoughts of soft breath and sharp teeth. He didn’t like blood. It was sticky, and hard to wash off. In his daydreams Daniel turned blood to satin and curled up in it, drowned in it, thought about every other time but the first.
Daniel’s name online, infamous in the right circles, was Kyuketsuki -- vampire. He was not dead in the cold, still sense, of course, but had erased himself from all records, leaving no trace of his existence. Dead to the world. He was an absentminded genius, too lazy to be alive in this apathetic bloody world, always moving but going nowhere. He liked it this way, living in the dark. Kyuketsuki was his last and only concession to life, the only quantifiable existence he led.
But it was Daniel’s thirtieth birthday, if he had a birthday anymore -- did it still count if the files were gone? -- and he wanted something tangible. Wanted the teeth and the satin from his dreams, wanted to remember, somehow, some way, that he was still alive in the here and now, and that he was more than just a name.
So he went out. Left his own dark for the dark outside, and wandered, until he found what he wanted.
And when he had number seven where he wanted him, all Daniel said was, “Boo.”
-----
2 - Daniel being a creepy perv in college; not worksafe. Untimed, uncounted.
“So the thing about vampires is,” Daniel was saying, not at all slurred, not at all, “is, is, is boredom, is what. They’re just goddamn bored. That’s why they kill. Plus if they’re hungry.”
“But the allure of the vampire is all in the fact that they need you to live, right? Need your blood?” The boy was breathy, cheeks flushed with color, glassy-eyed but not rendered stupid by the alcohol and the drug he didn’t know about. Not at all stupid. Daniel didn’t like stupid people, under any circumstances, and what was college worth if the casual fucks you picked up couldn’t even argue a little philosophy?
“Not live,” Daniel corrected sharply, because he was particular about these things. “Continue to exist. They need blood to continue to assi, esist, exist. Existence. But no, that’s not it. It’s all ‘cause they’re bored.”
The boy laughed. “Like, like Louis is the ultimate vampire? ‘Cause he’s a wuss and he hates eternity? Lestat could kick his ass. Lestat was never bored.”
Daniel was getting annoyed with this boy -- unfortunately, because he looked so good lying flat-out drugged on Daniel’s ratty twin mattress disguised under high thread count sheets, looked so good drugged and drunk and still able to clearly pronounce words like “existence” and “exsanguination.” Daniel didn’t want to be annoyed right now; it ruined his good mood. But there were certain concepts he would defend beyond the point of reason, and vampirism was one of them.
“No,” Daniel said, maybe louder than he’d meant to. “Listen to what I’m saying. Vampires, see, a vampire lives forever. And he’s not human, they’re not human. So, see, all they’ve got to do for eternity is listen to fucking human whining and warring and fucking human relshon, relationshit, relationship shit. Hah. Human fucking, yeah. And all of that’s boring, ‘cause he’s not human, he’s this immortal inhuman thing and he lives on this one big round food supply, so that should be great, right? But it’s not. ‘Cause how would you feel, you know, you wouldn’t want to live forever surrounded by cows with no other people to talk to. Right? So he’s bored. And that’s why he kills. He’s got forever to perfect the art of death. And he can’t, well, if he’s not stupid then he knows he can’t make more of his own kind, ‘cause, food supply, right? There’s a few billion now, but they won’t last forever. So he doesn’t create, he just destroys. ‘Cause he’s not human, he’s a monster, and he knows it.”
The boy had worked a hand under his waistband and was touching himself, mouth slightly open, eyes glassier than before, not really listening to Daniel’s words, just his voice. “Yeah?” he breathed. “You got a thing for monsters, then?”
“Maybe.” Daniel stretched out in his desk chair, swiveling slightly back and forth as a way to relieve nervous tension, like the way he would normally tap one foot except that he couldn’t keep a steady rhythm right now. Probably should’ve stopped before that last shot. Or two. He watched the boy in his bed getting harder, unzipping his jeans to get a better angle, rolling his head to the side to look at Daniel in the chair, questioning, inviting.
“We gonna do anything?” the boy asked, a glint of greed in his eyes as he swept them low over Daniel’s body, which was far from unpleasant despite his lack of exercise recently. Daniel shifted again, absentmindedly suggestive.
“Depends,” he said. Having made one speech already, he was feeling more and more monosyllabic. Damn kid. Daniel decided to invent telepathy, if only so these incredibly thick college boys would know what he wanted and when he wanted it. “Depends,” he repeated, “on how good you are.”
“At what?” The boy laughed again, seemingly out of nowhere, and Daniel regretted that drugs were the only way to get people to go along with things like this. God, anything for a real vampire. No, not even a vampire, he didn’t want a real vampire, they scared him, boredom scared him, but that was why he loved the idea so much, the idea of an offhand killer, it was so goddamn creepy that it just gave him shivers in all the right places. No, he didn’t want anywhere near a real vampire. Just wanted someone who would go along with the idea, listen to the idea, find the idea as compelling and arousing as he did. He’d never met anyone like that before and expected that he probably never would.
Daniel sighed, shifted again until he was practically horizontal in the chair, short dark hair splayed wild against the backrest, legs wide open and inviting; and then Daniel bit one finger lightly, and smiled. “Depends on how good you are,” he repeated for the last time, “at playing dead.”