tell a friendI am indeed home, and sweltering for more reasons than one! Work and the weather being the absolute bestest combination of things on earth. But, with the new year dawning and all sorts of interesting prospects on the horizon, I look forward to delving back into writing and stuff with a lot of ink, but mostly with my keyboard. :D
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And feel free to prompt me back. ♥
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Hm... My prompt shall be "antique."
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Sometimes, Genly wanders outwards, seeking food and companionship when the wind-howling numbs his ears. He returns quickly, sometimes with beer and sometimes with a book from the library.
Sometimes he does not seal the room behind him. The door, left even the slightest bit ajar, invites in the cold of Gethen, and also - sometimes, sometimes - Gethen's sons; Sorve, alone in his daring, pushing through the threshold, a quiet, solid wonderment in his eyes as he listens to Genly read, and watches Genly watching.
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xmas time; it has come again!
Character: Tseng, I choose you, since I ostensibly like bringing joy to others...okay, and since it also brings joy to my little heart.
Prompt: candle. You can take it literally or in the most abstract way possible (if you wish to take it at all, that is); whatever suits your fancy.
Correspondence via: er, longhand letter! Since it is now an archaic form of communication, it has the charm of the past, which I'm very partial to.
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APOLOGIES IF MY PROMPTS ARE MIND-TWISTY, THAT WAS NOT MY INTENTION.
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He wrote by candlelight because Midgar was electricity pouring light out from filaments through factory-blown glass bulbs. Writing by her light felt bizarre and unviable; a traitor writing with defector's tools. The frictionless pass of his brush over thin paper felt rough whenever he tried. So Tseng kept to fire and wax, old friends and older seals. He writes, but never long enough: he lacks the erudition, having lacked the education, but most of all he lacks the will. Who knows if his mother still lives, or if he wants her to know that he does still.
He seals his papers together with the remnants of his candles, pouring them bubbly and uneven over the edges and hoping, with little fervency, that his thin, thin letters will tear, should anyone try to open them to be read.
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'I'm always serious, Jon,' Stephen warns from the screen, shaking his head. 'I'm always a serious guy. I take things really seriously.'
'I can see that,' Jon agrees, and stares at the giant four-colour banner (red, white, blue and "the colour PATRIOTISM") in the background of Stephen's studio.
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