oswulf: (Default)
 And snowflake day 7 challenge was to talk about a fannish thing you've experience that was awesome.

I was watching M*A*S*H re-runs and seriously responded to this scene:

 

Preventive Medicine )

 

And yes, I adore that B.J. is willing to take a stand on principle. But even moreso… I was reminded of my surge of pride at a Doctor Who scene of all things.

 

A Town Called Mercy )A Town Called Mercy )

 

This had me nigh yelling at the TV—‘Really? You make me love Pond *now* when she’s down to her last couple of episodes?’

 

Anyway, reality is just far too filled with folks demanding cruelty toward “bad guys” as if the words were anything more than a label which could easily be applied to anyone. It’s so refreshing to find a break from that in fiction. Of course, finding a break from that in real life is even better.

 

And of course, the first think that had leaped to mind was this:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D7vS4z6ngQo

Which… just listen to it, it’s intoxicating beauty. And if you’ve seen Firefly, I don’t have to tell you how awesome it is. If you haven’t then I envy you the first-viewing experience that still lives in your future.


meanwhile, cut text is not working.

oswulf: (Default)

Snowflake 6: The Challenge of Challenginess er... Challenge

I have never read DM of the Rings. I have read (a majority of) Darths & Droids. In both cases, however, webcomics were made from screenshots of movie series, reworking the plots/characters to bring new meanings &/or connotations to old scenes. So this is my challenge unto you, in a format you’re comfortable with of course. Webcomics, literary/scriptwrighting (Yes that’s spelled correctly. Like a wheelwright, from “building scripts” not “writing scripts”.) Perhaps writing up a concept—which is about as far as I got with the “hey, Kirstie Alley stops being Saavik—could she be the one the funeral’s for instead of Spok?” Someone who knows photography/photoshopping/etc can no doubt find more creative re-works of things that wouldn’t have occurred to me. 

oswulf: (Default)
Note: Far from complete--this is the first of (3?) parts of the introduction to the actual story so... yeah...
Note Note: Clunky first draft. I welcome constructive criticism.
Note Note Note: I notice I'm calling the droid "it" through human eyes and "him" through its' own. Raises questions about both "what value a droid" and "why male rather than female?"

Star Wars Episode 6.28318: For Want of a Sonic Nail

"For want of a nail the shoe was lost.
For want of a shoe the horse was lost.
For want of a horse the rider was lost.
For want of a rider the message was lost.
For want of a message the battle was lost.
For want of a battle the kingdom was lost.
And all for the want of a horseshoe nail."--Old Proverb

"Qui-Gon: Let's see. Electro-axe. Energy mace. "Plasma bow"?? You just took a D&D equipment list and stuck techy words in front, right?
GM: Don't be stupid.
Qui-Gon: Ten foot laser pole..."--Darths & Droids

Randolph absently ran a hand along the crease of his uniform, the only construction worker's uniform on the Death Star to retain such a crease into a day's work. His focus remained on the careful process of securing the walkway.

"If I may," noted the droid at his side, "A more efficient process could have completed to project..."

"Picio," Randolph intomed with bored resignation in the thick Coruscant accent so out-of-place on the construction team, "I take pride in my work. It is not sufficient that we meet minimum standards of quality, stability, functionality. A job must be done right or not at all."

The droid gave that infuriating head-tilt that couldn't be practical and serves only to push it toward the uncanny valley. "By that logic a job could never be completed. Diminishing returns are still returns and the recursive..."

"There is a sweet spot and a true architectural artist can feel it."

"I suppose," PCO allowed, if possible still more emotionlessly and deadpan than usual, "that I am not an architectural artist."

"Such an insightful little hammer," Randolph muttered. Carefully, he worked his way along the platform, every sonic nail in place, every surface perfectly smoothed. He assembled. He perfected. He admired.

Then he started, dropping his ionic resonator at the volume of an unexpected voice.

"MacGai!" snapped the officer from the entryway.

"Yes?" Disdain and annoyance was not properly absent from Randolph's voice. He saluted only slowly and sloppily. Two of many reasons he never would have made it as an officer himself.

"You and this N-unit go meet up with your supervisor for reassignment."

"I am doing a fine job of my current assignment."

"New priorities. We're to get this battle station operational immediately, the niceties and creature comforts can wait." The officer's face was stern and uncompromising. That was all Randolph, his mind ever focused on things mechanical could see. PCO on the other hand had been programmed to detect subtle shifts in human expression and syntax, the better to facilitate communication and comprehension. He noted the hidden undercurrents of terror, the third-hand evolutions of "I can find new ways to motivate them" and "The Emperor is not as forgiving as I am." PCO was also programmed not to comment on such cues and held his peace.

"Idiocy," sighed Randolph. "You don't leave a job half-done. At least let me finish out current structures. A few more connections. A few more sonic nails."

"You will report this instant," the officer snapped, "and you will go on report for your insolence."

Without another word, Randolph stormed out.

"Two different uses of 'report' can be confusing," noted PCO. "Perhaps selecting different terminology would..."

"Out, droid."

They exited, leaving the room empty save for MacGai's abandoned resonator.
oswulf: (Default)
Day 03

In your own space, post a rec for at least three fanworks that you have created. It can be your favorite fanworks that you've created, or fanworks you feel no one ever saw, or fanworks you say would define you as a creator. Leave a comment in this post saying you did it. Include a link to your post if you feel comfortable doing so.
----
I suppose I should limit this to things that actually still exist & are in some form accessible so...

1. "Haley Resplendent" Order of the Stick. Tried to retain the humor and complete disregard for the 4th wall. Plotty.
https://www.fanfiction.net/s/7844764/1/Haley-Resplendent

2. "Dungeons and Polyhedrons" Big Bang Theory. It really gnawed at me that I hadn't seen them playing D&D. At the time this was written. Talky.
https://www.fanfiction.net/s/8400834/1/Dungeons-and-Polyhedrons

3. "Soul Food for Thought" Yes, I'm guilty of Twilight fanfic. Stop judging me. Exploration of philisophical/theological/ethical issues is what actually drew me through the books. Haven't destroyed this because I think it may actually represent some of my better work. Warning: have attempted to replicate the painfully saccyrine dialogue. Talky.
https://www.fanfiction.net/s/7844771/1/Soul-Food-for-Thought

4. "The Ends Justify the Means" Doctor Who (Pertwee) Feels like a moment in search of a story. But my kind of moment. Righteous indignation.
https://www.fanfiction.net/s/5985775/1/The-Ends-Justify-the-Means

5. Videos??? It didn't occur to me I could include that. "Librarian What 001: The Message of Import"
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DbSSNdvEAYI

wishlist

Jan. 2nd, 2016 09:53 pm
oswulf: (Default)
Day 2

In your own space, create a list of at least three fannish things you'd love to receive, something you've wanted but were afraid to ask for - a fannish wish-list of sorts. Leave a comment in this post saying you did it. Include a link to your wish-list if you feel comfortable doing so. Maybe someone will grant a wish. Check out other people's posts. Maybe you will grant a wish. If any wishes are granted, we'd love it if you link them to this post.
---
Ack. I'm no good at this. My feeble excuse at a list.

1. Expect. I think a key to writing again is knowing someone is there expecting and anticipating the next 'installment' or what have you.

2. Befriend. Babble with me.

3. Empower. I'm thinking... seeing other people talking about getting pod-whatevers of their stories. That sounds so me. When I was young I used to think reading for audiobooks would be the best job ever. So... do I have the technological wherewithal and competence to pod-whatever?
oswulf: (Default)

Fandom Snowflake Challenge banner


Day 01

In your own space, talk about why you are doing the Fandom Snowflake Challenge? What drew you to it as a participant? What do you hope to accomplish by doing these challenges? Leave a comment in this post saying you did it. Include a link to your post if you feel comfortable doing so.
---
So this is me, in my own space. And here are my happy-go-lucky, oh-so-oswulfian responses:
1. Why--I need to write and haven't been. Way back in days of yore I used to belong to a contest/challenge/something community or two which spurred me toward writing so this is me attempting to reignite that spurrage. Which is a mixed metaphor ending in a made-up word. But as the goth character in that show I never watch said, "All words are made-up words."
2. What drew--lj is where I encountered said group in the past, so I went to dw & searched for "challenge", finding the snowlake near the top of results.
3. What accomplished--As mentioned above, the spark of creativity. The impetus to write. Most importantly, perhaps, the incentive to keep writing. I want to live in that zone. But getting myself to go there is paradoxically like pulling teeth.

...and this is my more morose response from the hidden me that I am so determined to keep secret I am publically telling you all about it. Oh... um... never mind. Forget I said anything.
oswulf: (Default)
There is a war. Always a war. And the details change. The sides change. Everything changes but the war remains. The same war fought over and over and over. And we mock the people fighting over the things and using the excuses that we did yesterday, mocking their backdrop even as we continue the same behavior. Scenery doesn’t change the nature of the beast.

Doctor King said that the arc of history is long but it bends toward justice. And I believe that—usually. But as the issue of the day passes into yesterday, as we feel so superior to our ancestors over classism or papal indulgences, slavery, genocide, mutilations, women’s suffrage, anything. Time and again, individual wrongs evolve from a given to heatedly contested to horror-inducing and disdained. And yet the same battle will rise and play out again.


Well here’s a pattern. Very different things but parallel… wossname… way I am sort of thing.

Need to make better food choices… so stop an unhealthy choice. But if you don’t *replace* it with something, you’re setting yourself up for failure.

And now unhealthy monkey choices. But if I just cast them aside, if I stop unhelpful ‘zone 4’ activities but I don’t REPLACE them with anything… I’m still not getting anything zone 1 or 2 done—just… setting myself to stumble across some other zone 4 activity for the monkey to play with.


Random typing. Throwing thoughts onto paper. Thoughts of at best questionable value. Is there any reason to keep it? And if I do… where? And what chance that I ever even look at it again? So often writings and stories and whatnot become part of some mess, looked at only while cleaning & faced with the decision to keep or discard… then again ignored until the next cleaning after that.


Trigorin (I am almost certainly spelling that wrong) speaks of the trials of writing. Feeling that he should put forth about “life and science and the rights of man” and worrying that he is only a scenery painter. I see that. I want to write stories—at least I think that’s what I want. Flights of fantasy, tongue-in-cheek repartee awash among fantastical worlds. But then… I want to write meaning. Perhaps addressing cruelty and compassionlessness is the fuel I need, perhaps I simply despair of value in my life when I am not adding something productive toward a better future. “I am Ozymandius, King of Kings. Look on my works, ye mighty, and despair.”


“What if my greatest disappointments
Or the aching of this life
Are the revealing of a deeper thirst this world can’t satisfy?”
--Blessings, Laura Storey


It’s not just the conflict, it is how we deal with the conflict. The ends does not justify the means. In the long run, the means ARE the end. As fervently as I maintain that the true path lies not in picking a side and valiantly raging against the other, but in seeing how we can all work together and do better by everyone—that same philosophy should apply to how I carry forward that argument.


And sooner or later, is this whole line of babbling just another zone 4 plaything of my procrastination monkey? Am I genuinely progressing toward resolving something, toward some breakthrough of… something… or is this just the same old cycle?
oswulf: (Default)
Some things you just want to say but figure it would be impolitic to actually say them in the moment so instead I can vent here. So...

Context:
Facebook post about Atheist conspiracy against Christians. 'related sites' link below includes scopes debunking the post. So OP comments that (s)he doesn't trust scopes, believes that it is anti-Christian, anti-conservative, pro-socialist, etc.

So:
I want to respond "Conspiracy theorist doesn't trust a site that debunks conspiracy theories? Imagine my shock."
oswulf: (Default)
[url=http://drewacircle.blogspot.com/]Time to get serious.[/url]

It's New Years day and a lot of people will soon be laying out New Years Resolutions to passionately stick to for a week or two before getting caught up in life and letting them fall by the wayside. That's probably what will happen with this as well. Although I hope not.

Because it's time to get serious. It's time to get serious about not just loving Him with all my heart and soul and mind and my neighbor as myself and recognizing that everyone is my neighbor but also that all that is necessary of evil to succeed is that good people remain silent. Serious about writing and acknowledging to myself that political ramblings and faith musings and--nonfiction generally--still counts as writing. Serious about... if this post fizzles out here is that the seriousness cracking all ready? It's time to get serious. (Because really, why shouldn't repetition be allowed to fuel the muse?) There is so much in this world that is all ready serious. It has probably always been this way--today just seems more vivid through today's lens. And darned if all of it doesn't boil itself down to connection and division.

I call the page 'Drew a circle' because that is such a large piece of the puzzle. Drawing bigger circles. Making ever-larger the circle of inclusion and love. It's time to get serious. And if you happen across this site poke me and remind me to be serious about daily posts.
oswulf: (Default)
So that didn't work so much. Though wonder if my biggest problem is that I lost track of my initial intention to write an hour per day. At any rate...

I have created oswulf.freeforums.org so we'll see if anything happens with that. Meanwhile they happen to have started a new writing game here on dreamwidth. Is this Him moving in mysterious ways? Seems like whenever I hear a sermon it seems oddly poignant. Am I drifting off topic?

What is my point? Why am I even writing this entry? And do I really think freeforums will get anywhere? Or that it will even not spontaneously disappear on me?
oswulf: (Default)
August goal was 12 days of writing. Achieved 12 days exactly, again including the last several. So… is the lesson that I’m pushing too hard or, more likely, that I need harder goals which I will continue just barely making? Also should really clarify what does and doesn’t “count” as a day’s writing. For the purposes of this month I have counted editing previously written material as “writing” for that day but not as adding to the word count total.

August goal was 4130 words. Total for August is 5366 words.

Hardly what I’d call “leaped with room to spare”. So…

For September let’s expand the goal to 15 days (which is essentially identical to the ‘6-days goal’ I started with for July.) And… maybe setting a 7500 word goal will encourage “days” that don’t challenge the definition. Again, I’ll let editing count against ‘days’ but not against ‘words’.
oswulf: (Default)
All right. Started the month with goals low enough I'm almost ashamed of them and just barely met them--which, I suppose is better than not meeting them.

Aimed for 6 days of writing and didn't set a wordcount goal.

And hit 6 days exactly (5 of them being 27-31)

I really don't want to admit to a 2065 word count because I'm embarrassed to even counting a sixth of that as writing. But... slow start, build confidence. Sigh.

So for next month... what is technically higher but in fact a lower hurdle: 12 days & 4130 words. (Double the results in triple the time.) Hopefully the lower hurdle will be leaped with room to spare. Especially the word part--more than half of last month's were in a single day, after all.
oswulf: (Default)
Let me simply beginning by getting out of the way the entirely unjustified and indulgent observation that it's all downhill from here. Pathetic whining about "what have I accomplished? Do I really expect to accomplish anything?" is just so much useless blather and really needs to be swept aside. From me I mean. If someone else is feeling that way I am far more inclined to be lenient and supportive. :)

At any rate, I said I need to set goals and commit to a schedule and yesterday is as good a time as any. Of course, it isn't yesterday anymore so today will have to do.

I'd like to declare an intention to write for a full uninterrupted hour every day. But in the interest of starting with low bars and building up early successes let's call the official goal a 50% success rate for the remainder of the month of writing 'something' on a given day (and 50% would be 6 days). 'Something' does not mean pulling out paper and writing "fish" and it does not mean writing speeches for my political game, but it does mean any writing on any story no matter how pathetic or pointless. And then I don't know, maybe double whatever I do in July and make that the goal for August. :)

There. I still haven't done anything. But I've decided to do something. And maybe that will have to be enough.
oswulf: (Default)
So Owlmoose has so utterly had the right idea for so long and I don't know why I have failed to emulate the wisdom.

I ought to post some sort of monthly accountability. Maybe... quantity of writing, maybe shoot for daily hour of uninterrupted pure creative output and track success rate with that.

So... this is a thing I should do.
oswulf: (Default)
Hello. My name is [Insert Name Here] and I am a fictional character. You'd think this might me the right person to ask about what the life of a fictional character is like. I wouldn't. At least not as you understand identity. As you understand identity, asking me what a fictional character's life is like would be like asking a billionaire what a twenty-first century human's life is like. I am not a representative sample.

But that's your understanding of identity. It is, perhaps, equally legitimate to see identity not as a collection of disparate individuals with equal amounts of self but... part of a greater whole--and in that sense, Hamlet does legitimately have a lot more identity than Spear Carrier #3. In that sense, the experiences of the unusual individual around whom the narrative swings are more representative than the experiences of the many extras who even collectively have no more being than 'a large crowd gathered'.

You, incidentally, see identity this way too. You don't admit it, but in all honesty--every moment of your life includes you as a character. People have a tendency to inflate their own importance, even if they don't realize it. Paradoxically they also tend to underrate it. I'm not sure what to do with that.

But I am a fictional character. I am the main character in this story. You would think that being here in the middle of a superhero story would be trouble for someone who can't lift cars or fly or shoot energy beams or do anything more than anyone else. But it's not. I have the most powerful super ability of all. I am a fictional character. And I know I am a fictional character. I know that I am a protagonist. And I know how stories are told--once you have the rest of it, learning that is just common sense.

This is my story.
oswulf: (Default)
Beacon Street National Bank. Austin, Texas.

Beacon Street is a relatively local phenomenon. It is small, tends to a relatively limited base. And unlike busier locations it has not been deemed cost-effective to employ more than the one security officer. That had not been an issue in quite some time.

Today was different. Different as the breaks' screech heralded the arrival of the car. Different as the colorful figure burst through the doors. Different as the guard rose only to find himself struck in the forehead by... a yo-yo.

As the guard toppled, the strange man stood, replacing the yo-yo in his right hand as he continued attending to the yo-yo in his left. His goofy smile would have stood out like a sore... um... would have stood out had it not been surrounded by such a painfully gaudy outfit. From helmet to tights, he was completely covered in pictures of golden yo-yos on a blue background.

"I am the Yo-yo Man!" he announced, because these are the sorts of things that one announces in situations like this. His announcement was drowned out, however, by the sound of bullets.

One customer had withdrawn a concealed pistol and was firing, those bullets which found their mark completely failing to penetrate the outfit or to have any measureable impact. This customer soon joined the guard in unconsciousness.

Yo-yo Man squeezed his yo-yos and spikes emerged. He displayed them as he declared loudly to all assembled "You do not want to be the next to draw my ire."

The sharpened yo-yos shot out to the ends of their strings, slicing aside the glass which protected the bank employees as easily as the metaphorical hot knife through... well not butter. Perhaps like a hot knife through bread.

The interloper jumped, tucked and rolled his way through the shattering glass, landing on the staff side and tilting his head to indicate where the clerks shold relocate. He made his way quickly back to the vault, attatching yet another yo-yo to the vault and stepping back as it exploded, smiling at the valuables within. Um.. the man was smiling at the valuables. The shards of exploded yo-yo were not smiling.

"Yo-yos?" asked a voice behind him. "Really? What kind of a holliday is this supposed to be?"

"June 6 is national yo-yo day," Yo-yo Man answered, turning slowly.

"Scraping the bottom of the barrel a bit, aren't we?" asked the white-clad ninja. He was tall. His stance seemed a bit stereotyped--left hand on his hip as the right held aloft his katana.

"It's legitimate," he answered a bit defensively. "Try reading Chase's Calendar of Events sometime." A yo-yo snaked out, wrapping itself repeatedly around the sword before its' spiked end pierced the target's right hand.

"Ow! Dangit, ow!" The white glove covering the ninja's right hand began to stain red. With his left, he tossed a shuriken. Like the bullets, it failed to penetrate the yo-burglar's outfit. Unlike the bullets, its' impact was accompanied by a burst of electricity.

There would be no permanent harm, but for the moment the crumpling yo-burglar was as unconscious as the security guard.

"Okay, gotta tie him up. I should start bringing a rope with me. Um..." he glanced toward the uncertain faces of all assembled. "Can I borrow someone's belt?" Then he caught the first hint of sirens in the distance. "Oh, never mind. He'll still be unconscious when the police get here. Uh..." he struck another heroic pose. "All in a day's work for... uh... one small step for... hang on...." and with that, the white-clad ninja vanished as suddenly as he had appeared.
oswulf: (Default)
I don’t dream anymore. Or I constantly dream. I suppose I could go into some sort of sleep clinic Earthside to find out. But I doubt that the semantics of it are important and I need to keep the in-the-loop circle small.

December 21, 2012. Lots of people joked about the end of the world. Scientists easily disproved predicted catastrophes. Historians clearly showed that the Mayan calendar was being misinterpreted and had predicted no cataclysm on this date. The day was quite significant, however, at least for me. That was the day I started dreaming. Or stopped dreaming. Or began doing whatever it is that I do.

People say that they see me sleep. I suppose that my body does… my bodies do… At first I thought timing mattered, that going to sleep earlier might cause me to awaken earlier—but there is no connection. One reality just closes when I fall asleep and in that moment I awaken. The amount of time I sleep in one has no impact on the time I spend awake in the other or vice-versa.

So am I a butterfly dreaming he is a man or am I a man who once dreamed he was a butterfly? Am I a humdrum professional who has found himself improbably thrust into a life of adventure with dreams of a fantastic world? Or am I a warrior maiden in a fantastic world who has written her yen for excitement into a tedious dream of clerical work?

All this, however, is supposition and stage-setting. Philosophy and flibber-flabbering. Yes, I made that word up, it didn’t come from either side. And perhaps this is demonstrative of why *someone* ought either to shun the first person or to learn to use it more wisely. But in any case, I live in two worlds, falling asleep in one and awakening in the other. And this is the tale of how I found my new equilibrium, sneaking common commodities from one world into the other where they are rare, building fortunes both literal and figurative, and striving to make both worlds a better place for my time spent there.
oswulf: (Default)
In the beginning, everything broke.

We have such metaphors that allow us to comprehend the world. We accept imprecision as the price of that comprehension. And so we have stories and metaphors. We are told of a beautiful garden, of the fruit which launched us into descent, and it is perhaps only natural to understand the allegory sequentially, to imagine that ‘there was a time’ when things were better.

But that’s not what time is. There was not a time before the shattering because prior to the shattering there was no need for time to exist at all. Time was merely one of the little demons that escaped the opening of Pandora’s box. It is no co-incidence that everything broke in the beginning. Because the breaking of everything is an inseparable part of the beginning.

In the beginning everything broke. Broke, fractured, separated. Since the beginning, stars have moved further and further from one another. Entropy has slowly worked its’ insidious dance tearing apart and winding down all life, all motion, all connection, all that is was or ever shall be. We are dying. Dying too is an inseparable part of beginning. Life, be it metaphorical or literal, is a terminal disease. If there is a beginning then there is an end.

It is not about returning to a time before everything broke. There is no time before everything broke. It is about mending the rifts that can never be mended. But ‘never’ is a limitation which becomes meaningless when time is transcended. It is about achieving a state that never existed. But when time is cast aside then it need no longer be a hinderence.

In the beginning everything broke and began to fall apart. And we exist in time where everything unravels. Why then, do we have hope? Why then do we imagine that there can be escape? Is it not because everything that is descends to us from before the beginning? Is it not because there is still that within us which denies the facts we see in favor of the truth we know? Is it not because we are all intimately connected to that which is beyond the reach of time?

Invisible threads descend throughout all that is. Invisible thread that unite, that barest shred of preserved unity boldly defying the shattering. There is nothing in time’s purview that will not fall before its’ great and horrible inevitability. But the very core of us is not within time’s purview. And it rests within us to build that core, to nurture that core, to seek the impossible goal of driving out completely the virus of time and in fighting the unwinnable fight we aggrandize our inevitable victory.

It was broken from the beginning. But we are no slaves to the beginning.
oswulf: (Default)
"You worry too much, peck," says Madmartigan in Willow.

I do worry too much. But this comes up by way of.. I've been world-building, developing plot and character and elaborate intricacies of a world for a story and now I find myself at the precipice and... not particularly writing much. Slogging through, as it were.

It's just sort of striking me at the moment that I think a portion of my difficulty rests in the intersection of interest and importance. Anton Checkov's character Trigoran is himself a writer and opines that as a writer he feels it is his duty to write about "life and science and the rights of man" even if it doesn't interest him and whines about this in depth through a monologue.


I think I may have a tendency to find the interest and energy to write when I can be flippant and silly with the narrative, but then feel as if the work is just a self-indulgant romp whereas I want to write something "real" so must be set aside for more "grown-up" projects, but that "real" writing doesn't tend to capture my muse so thoroughly and peters out. Of course, I specifically worked to design this story to be precisely the thing to capture my muse. I decided that characters I want to write about were the key and began with the characters, developing setting and plot from there outward. And yet... stumbling out of the gate.

The solution, of course, is to stop worrying so much and just follow my muse.

Meanwhile, though, I toss now into the ether the beginning I managed to cobble together yesterday:
---
The shadow of Mount Nomett crept along the ground, enveloping greater and greater swaths of land like water under the inexorable force of a rising tide. As more and more of the sun slipped behind the lone geographical giant along the skyline. The shadow flowed forward, eerie yet commonplace, as it found its’ way to the doorstep of The Tipsy Priest and began to make its’ way slowly across the building.

The building had been in the Priest family since the founding of Ellegeia, but it had most assuredly not spent much of its’ life as a tavern, tipsy or otherwise. As was not uncommon in frontier lands colonized after Elven armies had fallen back, Ellegeia played host to strong representatives of both the Verrue and Aquan churches. Hezekiah Priest had stood very much at the forefront of the Verrues, investing his family fortune in building the church’s presence in Ellegeia, investing his life in keeping it vibrant.

Victor Priest had always kept his grandfather’s faith, but never with near the same passion and fervor. Once the church had moved to a larger building it only made sense to utilize it for his own profession even as his grandfather had. Thus was born The Tipsy Priest and thus was this particular place of business in this particular location and right there for the newcomer to stumble across.

She was not so remarkable visually, not in any readily quantifiable way. Nevertheless, Victor noticed her immediately as she entered. The shadow bisected her, shrouding her right side even as the light of the setting sun glistened off of her short, raven-black hair, almost forming a halo around the left side of her head. She walked with a regal precision, Victor thought, as she made her way straight toward the bar.
---
and we'll have to see whether I end up pushing that narrative forward or just abandoning it to explore Alexandria Everly's madcap adventures sideways through time or inconsistent machinations of the vampires of Tropesylvania.

And actually, looking at that again--way too much heavy-handed exposition, way to little things actually happening. grr.

oswulf: (Default)
What happens to a Browncoat deferred?

Does it babble about raisins and rotten meat? Probably not.

I'm not sure how legitimate my claim to the title of "Browncoat" can really be when I wasn't even aware of Firefly prior to Serenity, when it still took literally years before I actually went back and watched the series, when for all the delight that series may have sparked, the quest to track down any accompanying comics and even RPGs to catch any extra hint of the series' exquisite flavor... I haven't launched myself into any groups, haven't authored any fanfiction, haven't really taken beyond that. I did photocopy from the RPG several pages of profanities in Chinese, but have not gone on to use this list in any capacity. There are so many who have proven true devotion, is it really fair for me to don the metaphorical duster of the title "Browncoat"?

And in any case... how ridiculous is my lead-in question when all Browncoats, really, are deferred. Or as the old meme says--on its' background of Jubal Early looking out at the computer user--Firefly cancelled after one season, Jersey Shore still on the air, that seem right to you?
Page generated Sep. 25th, 2017 10:32 pm
Powered by Dreamwidth Studios