Bustin' Out the Johnny Cash
Okay. Meme stealage from princess_dexter and yousogaisaki.
When you see this, post a little weensy excerpt from as many random works-in-progress as you can find lying around. Who knows? Maybe inspiration will burst forth and do something, um, inspiration-y.
This is so not going to be a complete list.
This is a fic that's been running around in my head for months...this would be the exposition...although I will definitely finish it sometime, so it is interesting.
Several people shuffled into the auditorium, chatting in subdued voices. Pulling their notebooks out of their book bags they sat noisily down, casting glances towards the stage every now and then.
The man, seated behind the lectern looked down on them, smiling now and then to students he recognized. Dapperly, he pushed up his glasses and shuffled his notes, the movement seeming to stir up the crowd.
They looked down at the course description: “The Psychology of Serial Killers,” wondering what this was, in fact a euphemism for. Dr. Yamazaki was a well known rogue within the college department - whatever his course descriptions stated could almost always be counted as a clever ruse to put a much more controversial topic past the university administrators.
Some students signed up for his courses just to see how audacious he would be next.
Dr. Yamazaki stood up, causing the room to take on a tense, expectant silence.
“I see,” he said rather easily, sweeping his gaze over the packed auditorium and the students sitting in the aisles, “That my reputation is very much intact.”
There was a murmur of humorous agreement.
“So, I suppose you are wondering what indeed I have in store for you this time…you, I hope, shall not be disappointed. And yes, the course description given to you by the academic department has been completely revised, probably much to your satisfaction.”
He shuffled his notes again and turned on the digital projector.
As the blue screen behind him counted down as the device warmed up, he continued, “Please disregard most of the texts noted - doubtless those who have taken courses from me prior to this will not have purchased any of them yet.
“From here,” when the screen indicated it was ready, he clicked a button, “We shall jump firmly into the land of conjecture.”
The emblazoned word behind him alternatively caused gasps and shudders in the assembled students.
In fifty foot tall letters, written in a stylized and untidy scrawl was only one word:
Kira.
A really old, never going to be completed or actually shown in full form (this is a completely amusing excerpt from the very beginning) based somewhere around season 5...I mean, I still have the team divided into swing shifts here...Oh. The aforementioned incident is based on a factual one that happened in my dorm building, btw. Dear me, my style has changed. This fails.
Two figures stand illuminated in the blue light of the doorframe. The sound of rain softly emanates through the dark room.
“419 Homicide. Originally the cops were called in concerning a young man who lit his nether regions on fire for a $50 bet. The rain killed the power in the residence halls and most of the campus for about two hours. When the rest of the girls who lived in this suite came back they found this.” Captain Brass gestures brusquely for his counterpart to step into the small room.
A single flashlight beam pierced the darkness of the room slowly and deliberately illuminating the room’s small interior. A middle-aged man, with a composed, serious expression moves the small beam slowly, scanning for even the minutest detail. Slowly, the nervous officer motions to turn on the light.
“Don’t,” he said simply, beginning to pan his flashlight over the scene. It encounters a pair of bare feet, crossed over at the ankles. The man pans up the girl’s body slowly, to her orange gauzy dress, the red flowers all the more red, and finally the light illuminated girl’s torso.
“Hey Gris, I think we missed the party,” says a younger man, strolling into the room, his already chaotic blonde hair all the worse for the torrential rain.
Grissom inclined his head briefly, looking at his youngest CSI with the look of annoyance that a father gives his child when he interrupts his work. “As far as you’re concerned, Greg, this is the only party you’ll be attending tonight.” Handing his new CSI the flashlight, he asks casually, “What do you see?”
“Blood stain on the couch…victim has obviously been posed and moved to her current position. Someone obviously meant her to be found, there’s no attempt at hiding her body…Which means our killer left us a little message.”
Grissom, deep in concentration, didn’t respond, but continued to train the flashlight on the girl, concentrating on her torso. Greg followed his lead and also studied her more carefully. She laid there, her hands crossed over her torso, resting in the middle her textbook cradled under them. A knife’s through both the textbook and is lodged in the middle of the victim’s chest. The night shift supervisor kneels down next to the victim in order to inspect the victim’s blood smeared necklace. Side by side sit a crucifix and Saint Bernadette medallion. He sighs and pulls himself wearily to his feet. He turns to Brass slowly.
The whole exposition is actually f-locked to specific people for this one (this is an excerpt from that beginning...I will finish this one.
“Kyouya!” Tamaki was far too easy to manipulate with the faintest suggestion. “This weekend let us have a Host Club Soiree! With, perhaps, an Egyptian theme! I could be a Rameses! Tutmoses! Tutankhamen!”
Treasures of the Nile had served its desired purpose. This part of his plan had consisted of the utterance of only a single syllable.
“No.”
Unfortunately, Tamaki was not often one to be limited to such monosyllabic succinctness.
“Kyouya~~!”
Expecting this and the pleading eyes that would follow, Kyouya steeled himself and made to go over the club’s profit projections on his laptop.
“Absolutely not.”
“But, Kyouya, what am I to do with all of these visions of pyramids and desert finery and lotus blossoms?”
“Console yourself with them rather than spewing them at me…I have better things to do in my free time.”
He pouted. “You’ll just stay at home, your skin’s only light source being the glow of your laptop screen when you might have the brilliant glow of the hot desert sun to keep you company along with the company of several flower beauties of the Nile and -“
“Tamaki, I have a date.”
He stopped mid pose and mid thought and looked at him first in horror, than disbelief, than pure, undiluted glee.
“Mon Ami! This - this is trés bien! You’ve finally crawled out of your hermetically sealed hermitage of a soul to open your mind and heart to the dazzling loveliness that is the constant companionship of real human beings!”
Suddenly he stopped - completely oblivious to the annoyed expression on Kyouya’s face…the idiot had apparently added two and two together and gotten five.
“But Kyouya~! You’ve nefariously kept this from me! We have no secrets…Who is she? Jounichi-san? - or, or - perhaps…Renge-kun! No, it couldn’t be! You initially lied about your engagement, didn’t you! Oh! What a depressingly egregious act of betrayal…my soul aches at the mere thought of - ”
He had stopped suddenly as Kyouya’s notebook made sharp contact with the top of his head.
“Stop taking idiotic liberties with my life.”
“But you didn’t tell me about Renge - ”
“ - That’s because it has nothing to do with her.”
He stopped short and Kyouya could see that more stupidly romantic notions were blooming wildly in his head. He sighed as Tamaki had begun an entire litany of names that Kyouya didn’t even care to dignify with an answer…”
“Tamaki,” he cut the rampaging blond off with even tones, “It’s someone we both know quite well.”
The other boy froze and blinked at him, his vivid imagination short-circuited for a moment. However, Kyouya was fairly certain that the rare moment of silence would soon have torrents of nonsensical information vomited into it if the situation wasn’t controlled.
“Haruhi,” Kyouya said simply.
Something clicked off - or maybe on? Kyouya could never be sure with him - in Tamaki’s brain.
“H-H-H-Haruhi, Kyouya?”
Tamaki blinked at him. Kyouya was waiting for some longwinded “Daddy doesn’t approve!” nonsense. Surprisingly, none was forthcoming…an unexpected break.
Tamaki merely remained staring for a moment before repeating, “H-H-H-Haruhi?”
Letting out the barest wisp of a sigh, Kyouya closed the cover of his laptop and gave a curt “Yes” and turned to go, leaving Tamaki to himself.
He thought over the entire process while looking in the mirror, finally straightening his tie and pulling on the cuff of his jacket a bit.
Now, only one question remained…
…Would everything, indeed, be enough?
I...don't even know where this is going. But it has an OC! Shinra Experiment who can absorb materia into her hands (this was actually prior to Advent Children, so I got a kick of that when it happened in canon). The writing is really bad and those who I beta for can look at it and realize that there is ample room for improvement. I, however, will continue to cringe. I have no idea where I was going with this.
It was irony that preserved her. She had been a prisoner in a room deep under Midgar that could withstand a plate collapse since she was 8 years old. Meteors fall can done little more then collapse the reinforced roof overhead in some sections of the laboratory. This ironically fortunate twist of events had preserved her; albeit with minor wounds do to falling shrapnel. And most fortunate of all, perhaps, was the fact that her gloves remained intact.
“Hey Lunatic P!”
She shrank away from the voice. It was a boy, with rumpled mousy brown hair that she had only seen through the slat in her room. He was wearing his Shinra Company uniform and poking through the surrounding rubble. Everyday for the last 9 years he had given her a tray of food everyday. He, like most of the scientists and lab technicians, called her not by her actual name, but by that asinine nickname: Lunatic Pandora.
That is what they all called her. It had been a long time before anyone had ever called her by her real name, Ella Arpano, and because of her unique abilities, she was known among the Shinra scientists as a kind of Pandora anomaly. The name had stuck and everyone in the compound had long ago forgotten her real name. Shinra had tried every possible way and experiment on her to be able to manipulate her abilities, but to no avail.
The boy did not reach for her hands, but then again most people didn’t. Not if they knew what she was capable of doing. Ella merely gave him and annoyed look from the foot of the girder he was perched on and held up her hands to show her gloves remained intact. It didn’t really matter though; nobody was actually in danger…contact with her just made other people so damn nervous.
She was surprisingly nimble as she crawled her way up the girder to the research planter. Looking up she could see the smoke over the small crack in the upper shields, and smell the scent of burning…burning who or what she wasn’t sure.
“So, how do you propose to get out of here Pietro?”
“With a shiny wire of hope…..heh.” She followed his hand to see where he was pointing at to a copper-cooling pipe that traversed the entire length of the 12 floor complex.
All she could respond was a sarcastic, “That looks safe.”
“Least you’ll avoid any of the left over Blue Crew.”
The Blue Crew was the name which they used to refer to the blue suited security guards posted at every stairwell, cell door, and pretty much any intermediary locations between those two points.
“And,” he continued, “I think the rest of the lab mice and pretty much everyone in Midgar either wisely fled for their lives or are probably dead now. Thanks to Meteor, we should have an extra surge of energy to power our plants.” He said the last part of the sentence with a dark scowl. He had no lover for Shinra, but they allowed his mother and him to eat, so he couldn’t complain too much.
It was risky, she knew, for him to take one of Shinra’s most valuable assets, mainly herself, out of the cell. But if it was as he said and some massive calamity had indeed wiped out most of Midgar, she had better get out.
Ella had no idea of the state of upheaval of the outside world. Avalanche, Cloud, Jenova, and Sephiroth were merely names she heard in whispered voices from scientists barely within her earshot. They were not the main components of her daily life. Even the threat of Meteor did not make a dent in her world: if she was to die in this hole, there wasn’t a thing she could do about it. She still heard rumors of a girl who had escaped the clutches of the scientists some years before that the Turks still were looking for. It was because of her she was down here, otherwise she could have come up with an escape plan and lived a somewhat normal life.
Damn that girl.
Oh well, she supposed that she could never have had a normal life anyways. She looked down out her hands again, marked by their gloves. Yep, normality was certainly out of the question for her. In fact, it hardly even seemed strange that she was climbing up a small pipe with a 12 story drop beneath her. The top world, a distant memory of childhood, was all the more alien. Meteors crash had littered debris and pockets of flame everywhere. The ground was littered with those who either did not have the sense to evacuate, or never had the monetary means to do so.
Midgar was a wasteland.
(Sci is still cringing)
Onto Stuff from Notebooks!
Made for the lj Halloween contest, I believe. This is one of my most crackpot Ouran ideas: Tamaki performing an exorcism on the spirit of his dead grandmother. *shakes head* Don't ask...it's really better you don't. Also, draws heavily from the novel The Haunting of Hill House by Shirley Jackson...dude, where my brain was I do not know. Ouran + horror = FAIL. For the record.
The rumors had always flown concerning the Suou family, but of course, as with any notable family, this is not a new story. What I will tell you is the story beyond the rumors...mainly concerning the Suou Mansion - the first of two - that has stood for many years and might, it seem, stand for many more.
But she who walks there now...walks alone.
The "For Sale" sign that has marked most of the Suou possessions from that period has long rotted away and an enormous, brooding home remained - in real estate terms - a white elephant. No one even wanted the land - even though the price was more than reasonable - because such an investment carried with it a spiritual risk, having nothing to do with mudane religiosity.
And rumor and stories persist.
Indeed, upon the untimely death of Suou Yuzuru - of an unanticipated heart attack - a total disaster had been set into motion.
The Suou Matriarch - now without male support - was left with the decision to continue her bloodline by acknowledging her son's bastard child. There are many versions of the tale at this point - some detailing mutual disagreement, some haughty distain on the part of the matriarch, and some mark the potential heir as nothing more than a pleasure seeking dandy, unfit to inherit the responsibility of his blood.
Whatever the story, it seemed as if luck had departed from among the Suous when Suou Yuzuru's son - in all outcomes spurned and disinherited by the old woman - utterly disappeared from Japan. The succesive heir, adopted from another affluent family, then proceeded to run the company into the ground financially causing the holdings to be sold of part and parcel.
The Suou Matriach presided over her rotted empire with proud, impoverished dignity and died in ignomy, leaving her stubborn, unhappy spirit to wander the halls of her once fine home.
But this is a well-known story (although told only in whispers). In reality the Suou Family does indeed live on.
Tonight, in fact, Suou Tamaki returns to his ancestral home.
Originally written as a beginning to a contest - I think the theme was "An Embracing Pain" - this has something to do with Tessa in her Whispered form detaching and unhinging from her brain and body...which is still kind of fascinating...
In a lower part of her conciousness - almost too unneccesary to pay the least bit of attention to - there was a leaden feeling of exhaustion. But, in the perpetual whirl of diagrams and equations, rations for the reduction of the power converter and optimum pressurizations for a Palladium reactor...whispered fragments barely fathomable to her weaker being, she forgot, for a moment, that she was human.
Indeed, the connection between the mellifluent voice and its seductive secrets and the young woman who desired nothing more than to sleep was growin ever more tenuous.
Michi requested this eons ago. I still haven't finished it or really done much work on it...I am sure I will hear how no one ever honors her requests for eons more now.
Kaname couldn't believe she had agreed to any of this...everything about this "mission" just...pissed her off.
...Starting with the fact that this place was so enormously large compared ti Jindai that she was having trouble finding anything...let alone where she needed to be.
Who the heck needed three music rooms anyways? They barely had enough rooms to house all of their clubs without resorting to far-fetched flirting contests!
This was note even worth the moment when Tessa had begged her to come in order to meet one of Mithril's more prominent financial backers...because obviously that military otaku did not have the delicacy necessary to do it alone.
But why he had insisted that she infiltrate the school dressed as an itchy yellow marshmallow to boot...she didn't know. But Sousuke was certainly not going to get away with it.
She turned back down another glittering hallway that was the size of one of Jindai's classrooms or at least small enough for an arm slave to perform close combat maneuvers in - now she was sounding like Sousuke...he'd really have to pay for that later as well.
And speaking of Sousuke...where the hell was he anyway?!?
Classes had just let out and she found herself in a sea of positively vapid feminity, herding themselves up a grand staircase. Looking up at the sign that marked the room that they were all gravitating towards, Kaname realized that she had unintentionally found the music room she was looking for.
Kaname let out a dejected sigh.
Great. More people for that misguided military moron to blow up.
Okay. There are more. But I am tired of typing and now in the mood to pursue other modes of distraction now. ^_^
This has been a message from fandom's Sci has never officially written for and "the reason they are unfinished is because of high degrees of suck." Enjoy a laugh at my expense. XD
When you see this, post a little weensy excerpt from as many random works-in-progress as you can find lying around. Who knows? Maybe inspiration will burst forth and do something, um, inspiration-y.
This is so not going to be a complete list.
This is a fic that's been running around in my head for months...this would be the exposition...although I will definitely finish it sometime, so it is interesting.
Several people shuffled into the auditorium, chatting in subdued voices. Pulling their notebooks out of their book bags they sat noisily down, casting glances towards the stage every now and then.
The man, seated behind the lectern looked down on them, smiling now and then to students he recognized. Dapperly, he pushed up his glasses and shuffled his notes, the movement seeming to stir up the crowd.
They looked down at the course description: “The Psychology of Serial Killers,” wondering what this was, in fact a euphemism for. Dr. Yamazaki was a well known rogue within the college department - whatever his course descriptions stated could almost always be counted as a clever ruse to put a much more controversial topic past the university administrators.
Some students signed up for his courses just to see how audacious he would be next.
Dr. Yamazaki stood up, causing the room to take on a tense, expectant silence.
“I see,” he said rather easily, sweeping his gaze over the packed auditorium and the students sitting in the aisles, “That my reputation is very much intact.”
There was a murmur of humorous agreement.
“So, I suppose you are wondering what indeed I have in store for you this time…you, I hope, shall not be disappointed. And yes, the course description given to you by the academic department has been completely revised, probably much to your satisfaction.”
He shuffled his notes again and turned on the digital projector.
As the blue screen behind him counted down as the device warmed up, he continued, “Please disregard most of the texts noted - doubtless those who have taken courses from me prior to this will not have purchased any of them yet.
“From here,” when the screen indicated it was ready, he clicked a button, “We shall jump firmly into the land of conjecture.”
The emblazoned word behind him alternatively caused gasps and shudders in the assembled students.
In fifty foot tall letters, written in a stylized and untidy scrawl was only one word:
Kira.
A really old, never going to be completed or actually shown in full form (this is a completely amusing excerpt from the very beginning) based somewhere around season 5...I mean, I still have the team divided into swing shifts here...Oh. The aforementioned incident is based on a factual one that happened in my dorm building, btw. Dear me, my style has changed. This fails.
Two figures stand illuminated in the blue light of the doorframe. The sound of rain softly emanates through the dark room.
“419 Homicide. Originally the cops were called in concerning a young man who lit his nether regions on fire for a $50 bet. The rain killed the power in the residence halls and most of the campus for about two hours. When the rest of the girls who lived in this suite came back they found this.” Captain Brass gestures brusquely for his counterpart to step into the small room.
A single flashlight beam pierced the darkness of the room slowly and deliberately illuminating the room’s small interior. A middle-aged man, with a composed, serious expression moves the small beam slowly, scanning for even the minutest detail. Slowly, the nervous officer motions to turn on the light.
“Don’t,” he said simply, beginning to pan his flashlight over the scene. It encounters a pair of bare feet, crossed over at the ankles. The man pans up the girl’s body slowly, to her orange gauzy dress, the red flowers all the more red, and finally the light illuminated girl’s torso.
“Hey Gris, I think we missed the party,” says a younger man, strolling into the room, his already chaotic blonde hair all the worse for the torrential rain.
Grissom inclined his head briefly, looking at his youngest CSI with the look of annoyance that a father gives his child when he interrupts his work. “As far as you’re concerned, Greg, this is the only party you’ll be attending tonight.” Handing his new CSI the flashlight, he asks casually, “What do you see?”
“Blood stain on the couch…victim has obviously been posed and moved to her current position. Someone obviously meant her to be found, there’s no attempt at hiding her body…Which means our killer left us a little message.”
Grissom, deep in concentration, didn’t respond, but continued to train the flashlight on the girl, concentrating on her torso. Greg followed his lead and also studied her more carefully. She laid there, her hands crossed over her torso, resting in the middle her textbook cradled under them. A knife’s through both the textbook and is lodged in the middle of the victim’s chest. The night shift supervisor kneels down next to the victim in order to inspect the victim’s blood smeared necklace. Side by side sit a crucifix and Saint Bernadette medallion. He sighs and pulls himself wearily to his feet. He turns to Brass slowly.
The whole exposition is actually f-locked to specific people for this one (this is an excerpt from that beginning...I will finish this one.
“Kyouya!” Tamaki was far too easy to manipulate with the faintest suggestion. “This weekend let us have a Host Club Soiree! With, perhaps, an Egyptian theme! I could be a Rameses! Tutmoses! Tutankhamen!”
Treasures of the Nile had served its desired purpose. This part of his plan had consisted of the utterance of only a single syllable.
“No.”
Unfortunately, Tamaki was not often one to be limited to such monosyllabic succinctness.
“Kyouya~~!”
Expecting this and the pleading eyes that would follow, Kyouya steeled himself and made to go over the club’s profit projections on his laptop.
“Absolutely not.”
“But, Kyouya, what am I to do with all of these visions of pyramids and desert finery and lotus blossoms?”
“Console yourself with them rather than spewing them at me…I have better things to do in my free time.”
He pouted. “You’ll just stay at home, your skin’s only light source being the glow of your laptop screen when you might have the brilliant glow of the hot desert sun to keep you company along with the company of several flower beauties of the Nile and -“
“Tamaki, I have a date.”
He stopped mid pose and mid thought and looked at him first in horror, than disbelief, than pure, undiluted glee.
“Mon Ami! This - this is trés bien! You’ve finally crawled out of your hermetically sealed hermitage of a soul to open your mind and heart to the dazzling loveliness that is the constant companionship of real human beings!”
Suddenly he stopped - completely oblivious to the annoyed expression on Kyouya’s face…the idiot had apparently added two and two together and gotten five.
“But Kyouya~! You’ve nefariously kept this from me! We have no secrets…Who is she? Jounichi-san? - or, or - perhaps…Renge-kun! No, it couldn’t be! You initially lied about your engagement, didn’t you! Oh! What a depressingly egregious act of betrayal…my soul aches at the mere thought of - ”
He had stopped suddenly as Kyouya’s notebook made sharp contact with the top of his head.
“Stop taking idiotic liberties with my life.”
“But you didn’t tell me about Renge - ”
“ - That’s because it has nothing to do with her.”
He stopped short and Kyouya could see that more stupidly romantic notions were blooming wildly in his head. He sighed as Tamaki had begun an entire litany of names that Kyouya didn’t even care to dignify with an answer…”
“Tamaki,” he cut the rampaging blond off with even tones, “It’s someone we both know quite well.”
The other boy froze and blinked at him, his vivid imagination short-circuited for a moment. However, Kyouya was fairly certain that the rare moment of silence would soon have torrents of nonsensical information vomited into it if the situation wasn’t controlled.
“Haruhi,” Kyouya said simply.
Something clicked off - or maybe on? Kyouya could never be sure with him - in Tamaki’s brain.
“H-H-H-Haruhi, Kyouya?”
Tamaki blinked at him. Kyouya was waiting for some longwinded “Daddy doesn’t approve!” nonsense. Surprisingly, none was forthcoming…an unexpected break.
Tamaki merely remained staring for a moment before repeating, “H-H-H-Haruhi?”
Letting out the barest wisp of a sigh, Kyouya closed the cover of his laptop and gave a curt “Yes” and turned to go, leaving Tamaki to himself.
He thought over the entire process while looking in the mirror, finally straightening his tie and pulling on the cuff of his jacket a bit.
Now, only one question remained…
…Would everything, indeed, be enough?
I...don't even know where this is going. But it has an OC! Shinra Experiment who can absorb materia into her hands (this was actually prior to Advent Children, so I got a kick of that when it happened in canon). The writing is really bad and those who I beta for can look at it and realize that there is ample room for improvement. I, however, will continue to cringe. I have no idea where I was going with this.
It was irony that preserved her. She had been a prisoner in a room deep under Midgar that could withstand a plate collapse since she was 8 years old. Meteors fall can done little more then collapse the reinforced roof overhead in some sections of the laboratory. This ironically fortunate twist of events had preserved her; albeit with minor wounds do to falling shrapnel. And most fortunate of all, perhaps, was the fact that her gloves remained intact.
“Hey Lunatic P!”
She shrank away from the voice. It was a boy, with rumpled mousy brown hair that she had only seen through the slat in her room. He was wearing his Shinra Company uniform and poking through the surrounding rubble. Everyday for the last 9 years he had given her a tray of food everyday. He, like most of the scientists and lab technicians, called her not by her actual name, but by that asinine nickname: Lunatic Pandora.
That is what they all called her. It had been a long time before anyone had ever called her by her real name, Ella Arpano, and because of her unique abilities, she was known among the Shinra scientists as a kind of Pandora anomaly. The name had stuck and everyone in the compound had long ago forgotten her real name. Shinra had tried every possible way and experiment on her to be able to manipulate her abilities, but to no avail.
The boy did not reach for her hands, but then again most people didn’t. Not if they knew what she was capable of doing. Ella merely gave him and annoyed look from the foot of the girder he was perched on and held up her hands to show her gloves remained intact. It didn’t really matter though; nobody was actually in danger…contact with her just made other people so damn nervous.
She was surprisingly nimble as she crawled her way up the girder to the research planter. Looking up she could see the smoke over the small crack in the upper shields, and smell the scent of burning…burning who or what she wasn’t sure.
“So, how do you propose to get out of here Pietro?”
“With a shiny wire of hope…..heh.” She followed his hand to see where he was pointing at to a copper-cooling pipe that traversed the entire length of the 12 floor complex.
All she could respond was a sarcastic, “That looks safe.”
“Least you’ll avoid any of the left over Blue Crew.”
The Blue Crew was the name which they used to refer to the blue suited security guards posted at every stairwell, cell door, and pretty much any intermediary locations between those two points.
“And,” he continued, “I think the rest of the lab mice and pretty much everyone in Midgar either wisely fled for their lives or are probably dead now. Thanks to Meteor, we should have an extra surge of energy to power our plants.” He said the last part of the sentence with a dark scowl. He had no lover for Shinra, but they allowed his mother and him to eat, so he couldn’t complain too much.
It was risky, she knew, for him to take one of Shinra’s most valuable assets, mainly herself, out of the cell. But if it was as he said and some massive calamity had indeed wiped out most of Midgar, she had better get out.
Ella had no idea of the state of upheaval of the outside world. Avalanche, Cloud, Jenova, and Sephiroth were merely names she heard in whispered voices from scientists barely within her earshot. They were not the main components of her daily life. Even the threat of Meteor did not make a dent in her world: if she was to die in this hole, there wasn’t a thing she could do about it. She still heard rumors of a girl who had escaped the clutches of the scientists some years before that the Turks still were looking for. It was because of her she was down here, otherwise she could have come up with an escape plan and lived a somewhat normal life.
Damn that girl.
Oh well, she supposed that she could never have had a normal life anyways. She looked down out her hands again, marked by their gloves. Yep, normality was certainly out of the question for her. In fact, it hardly even seemed strange that she was climbing up a small pipe with a 12 story drop beneath her. The top world, a distant memory of childhood, was all the more alien. Meteors crash had littered debris and pockets of flame everywhere. The ground was littered with those who either did not have the sense to evacuate, or never had the monetary means to do so.
Midgar was a wasteland.
(Sci is still cringing)
Onto Stuff from Notebooks!
Made for the lj Halloween contest, I believe. This is one of my most crackpot Ouran ideas: Tamaki performing an exorcism on the spirit of his dead grandmother. *shakes head* Don't ask...it's really better you don't. Also, draws heavily from the novel The Haunting of Hill House by Shirley Jackson...dude, where my brain was I do not know. Ouran + horror = FAIL. For the record.
The rumors had always flown concerning the Suou family, but of course, as with any notable family, this is not a new story. What I will tell you is the story beyond the rumors...mainly concerning the Suou Mansion - the first of two - that has stood for many years and might, it seem, stand for many more.
But she who walks there now...walks alone.
The "For Sale" sign that has marked most of the Suou possessions from that period has long rotted away and an enormous, brooding home remained - in real estate terms - a white elephant. No one even wanted the land - even though the price was more than reasonable - because such an investment carried with it a spiritual risk, having nothing to do with mudane religiosity.
And rumor and stories persist.
Indeed, upon the untimely death of Suou Yuzuru - of an unanticipated heart attack - a total disaster had been set into motion.
The Suou Matriarch - now without male support - was left with the decision to continue her bloodline by acknowledging her son's bastard child. There are many versions of the tale at this point - some detailing mutual disagreement, some haughty distain on the part of the matriarch, and some mark the potential heir as nothing more than a pleasure seeking dandy, unfit to inherit the responsibility of his blood.
Whatever the story, it seemed as if luck had departed from among the Suous when Suou Yuzuru's son - in all outcomes spurned and disinherited by the old woman - utterly disappeared from Japan. The succesive heir, adopted from another affluent family, then proceeded to run the company into the ground financially causing the holdings to be sold of part and parcel.
The Suou Matriach presided over her rotted empire with proud, impoverished dignity and died in ignomy, leaving her stubborn, unhappy spirit to wander the halls of her once fine home.
But this is a well-known story (although told only in whispers). In reality the Suou Family does indeed live on.
Tonight, in fact, Suou Tamaki returns to his ancestral home.
Originally written as a beginning to a contest - I think the theme was "An Embracing Pain" - this has something to do with Tessa in her Whispered form detaching and unhinging from her brain and body...which is still kind of fascinating...
In a lower part of her conciousness - almost too unneccesary to pay the least bit of attention to - there was a leaden feeling of exhaustion. But, in the perpetual whirl of diagrams and equations, rations for the reduction of the power converter and optimum pressurizations for a Palladium reactor...whispered fragments barely fathomable to her weaker being, she forgot, for a moment, that she was human.
Indeed, the connection between the mellifluent voice and its seductive secrets and the young woman who desired nothing more than to sleep was growin ever more tenuous.
Michi requested this eons ago. I still haven't finished it or really done much work on it...I am sure I will hear how no one ever honors her requests for eons more now.
Kaname couldn't believe she had agreed to any of this...everything about this "mission" just...pissed her off.
...Starting with the fact that this place was so enormously large compared ti Jindai that she was having trouble finding anything...let alone where she needed to be.
Who the heck needed three music rooms anyways? They barely had enough rooms to house all of their clubs without resorting to far-fetched flirting contests!
This was note even worth the moment when Tessa had begged her to come in order to meet one of Mithril's more prominent financial backers...because obviously that military otaku did not have the delicacy necessary to do it alone.
But why he had insisted that she infiltrate the school dressed as an itchy yellow marshmallow to boot...she didn't know. But Sousuke was certainly not going to get away with it.
She turned back down another glittering hallway that was the size of one of Jindai's classrooms or at least small enough for an arm slave to perform close combat maneuvers in - now she was sounding like Sousuke...he'd really have to pay for that later as well.
And speaking of Sousuke...where the hell was he anyway?!?
Classes had just let out and she found herself in a sea of positively vapid feminity, herding themselves up a grand staircase. Looking up at the sign that marked the room that they were all gravitating towards, Kaname realized that she had unintentionally found the music room she was looking for.
Kaname let out a dejected sigh.
Great. More people for that misguided military moron to blow up.
Okay. There are more. But I am tired of typing and now in the mood to pursue other modes of distraction now. ^_^
This has been a message from fandom's Sci has never officially written for and "the reason they are unfinished is because of high degrees of suck." Enjoy a laugh at my expense. XD