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 Posted: Thu Jun 09, 2005 9:30 am
You enter a room that is shaped like an attic. At the far end there is a small window and spider webs hang all over the place. There are a few chairs and a red, probably broken sofa. Next to one chair, a lamp sits shedding murky yellow light around the room, and in that chair sits Ed (or sybex, or bex, or whatever).
Heh, um... just a thread where I'll post my stories and scripts and stuff. I like drawing comics so I write scripts for them, so a lot will probably be in script format (plus that format is just easier for me). So... er, if you want to read them or rate them or comment, go ahead.
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Posted: Thu Jun 09, 2005 9:48 am
Chapter Ones
(insert completely random title here)
Chap. 1
Any Star Wars references are purely coincidental. They have nothing to do with the actual storyline. Besides, Jedi Orders are no fun.
War has broken out between the nations of Yasria, Pailce, and Kailain. Kailain, the military nation, launched the first attack in it's plain to conquer the Northern region of the globe with it's vast military technology and manpower. Yasria, the farming nation, produces most of the world's livestock and produce. Yasria covers two-thirds the Northern continents with it's farmland, and has little technology besides that for farming. Pailce, the pacifist nation, is in the Southern region of the world below Kailain. Pailce covers two-fifths of the Southern region and is known as the Source of All Knowledge, as it is home to the majority of the world's libraries and research centers, as well as having a free 15-year education system for it's citizens.
Our story starts in Yasria, as a Pailce enters the Yasria capital to arrange an alliance between Yasria and Pailce, in effort to defeat the Kailain forces.
Onyx Polaris, the Pailce, is twenty-six years old. His hair and eyes are onyx, glistening like polished stones. He is thin and gawky for a man of any age, but his demeanor is graceful and surely. He is the representative of the Pailce, a high ranking ambassador who stays out of the public eye if possible for reasons unknown. He is dressed in a black tailored suit and lavender button-down shirt, his ruffled hair ruining the professional look.
Yasria capital is about the size of two two-story houses. For a capital, small. For the Yasrians, big. The building is brick and sturdy, not built for looks.
Polaris walks towards the front entrance. Above the entrance reads, "THOU SHALL REAP WHAT THOU SOWS", a stone engraving. Polaris flashes a surely smile into the security camera by the sign and announces his presence.
POLARIS: I am Polaris, Ambassador of Pailce to Yasria.
Polaris bows, steps back and the door slides to the side. Not a very impressive appearance for a building, but it has all the right technology in the right places.
The capital's interior is warm yet classy. Corridors spring from each side. The walls are oak and the floors are shining wood. A long burgundy rug featuring a lion stretches across the octagonal room and into the corridors. A chandelier hangs from the ceiling.
Polaris enters the capital, and is greeted by two people. One is obviously security, with his wrestler's body, black sunglasses, and earpiece. The next, who speaks, is an aging woman of about 62, looking older and wiser than her actual age. Her graying blond hair fails in curls just above her shoulders, and small glasses sit on her nose. She is the President of Yasria.
POLARIS: Ms. President, the Pailce people send the utmost gratitude you would allow this meeting.
The President says nothing but hums, nods and motions towards a flight of stairs. Polaris follows her to the stairs where she stops.
PRESIDENT: Ambassador Polaris, so grand to meet you. We will speak in my office.
The President nods again and walks up the stairs. The President, Polaris took note of, does not wear a dress. Polaris walks behind the President, as was custom for officials to do in Pailce when walking with any sort of higher-rank, up the stairs. The stairs are short, but the hall to the President's office is long. The office is at the end of the east hall and before reaching it Polaris notices it is heavily guarded, with guards and a security system surrounding it.
The President, reaching her office, nods to the guards and punches in a 15-digit security code. The machine makes a light bing and the lock on the door releases.
PRESIDENT: Ambassador Polaris, did I welcome you to Yasria?
The President opens the door with one hand and motions Polaris in.
Working Title - Winter
Chap. 1
-Stupid pop-ups make it hard to write.-
-Ran Ad-Aware. Less pop-ups.-
As I open the door the wind blows snow in behind me. I knew the snow would be stuck in my hair no matter what hat I was wearing, it always did. Instead I rush to close the door because Norman never even installed a heater in the old place. Had to use a fireplace, Norman. Said Alice thought it was romantic when she was alive.
Good ole' Alice. Never met her, she died of colon cancer that spread to the rest of her body at 52. Her life expectancy was apparently very low nonetheless, practically a chain smoker and her idea of breakfast was half a cake, and we are not talking carrot cake. Not to rag on a dead gal who can't defend herself, since she was probably a good person if Norman liked her. Then again, Norman likes almost everyone, possibly an acquired skill he developed to gain some business to this bed and breakfast of his.
After shutting the door and throwing my coat and hat on a stool next to the door, I walk slowly to the room next to the entrance, a living room for anyone who happens to be in the building to congregate. My legs are numb from walking through a couple feet of snow. One would think my legs would be used to it by now, considering I walk almost everywhere no matter what the Michigan weather throws down. Norman's sitting next to the fireplace. There's another chair, green armchair, next to him. Throwing myself into it, I prop my feet up on the automin, right up next to the fireplace. The chair would be soaked with snow water when I got up. Knowing the owner has it's perks. I just abuse them sometimes.
"The poor chair..." Norman chuckles to himself.
Thought he was funny, as usual. Oh well, humor the old man you've known for seven years, Cory. Did I mention my name is Cory? Never met a girl named Cory? Now you have, and she also has her dark brown hair in a bun that was messed up by the wind, and she has pale brown eyes that look like the color of chocolate milk when someone didn't add enough syrup.
"Yeah, poor chair. It has to sit in here while a snow storm is going on outside, and it has to be by this warm fire..." I mumble.
"Cory, I didn't tell you how glad I was to see you! Let Norman say hello to his dear young friend!" Norman grins like nothing happened and opens his arms for a hug. I throw a pillow at him. Twenty-six year old women do not hug seventy-four year old men. At least, this one doesn't.
Norman yawns and rests his head on the back of his chair. Maybe it's past his bedtime.
"Fine, then I won't tell you why I wanted you to come over here when the weather's in the negatives. Be that way."
"I'll just pout, then." And I do. Because pouting works whenever force doesn't.
"Well... I don't want this bed and breakfast anymore, Cor." Norman sighs, shakes his head. I blink and stare at him.
"Y-you what?"
"I don't want it. Bad memories, bad... things..."
"I know Alice died here, but bad things? Come on, was meeting me all that bad?" I grin and laugh, but he's serious.
"Ghosts. Demons." He shakes his head like there are gnats swarming him, but there's nothing. I look at him and can barely not laugh.
"Demons. And why, pray tell, would demons and ghosts haunt your little place?"
Demons don't exist. I learned that in first grade. Ghosts don't exist. I learned that in fifth. God doesn't exist, I learned that in tenth. You're on your own, I learned that in twelfth. Damn, went of the spook path with the grade-school thing. Sorry.
"About that, Cor... they do." He looks at me, with a little smile, like it's just some common sense thing I hadn't picked up. I glare at him.
"Come, come. I will show you. I'm afraid I... I'm a bit old, you know, so..." He shakily tries to get up.
"Aw, just tell me, Lucy."
Lucy is Norman's name whenever he's being absurd. Yes, he's being absurd. No questions.
"Do not call me Lucy! You will not believe me without seeing it, I know you. If I must explain first and then show you..." he mumbles, more to himself than me.
"Explain, explain." I encourage. Well, maybe it was a little sarcastic.
Norman gets up, arthritic knee and all, and hobbles to the kitchen. I get up and follow him. He can't hardly walk anymore because of his knee. It stiffens up when he walks for too long. He's limping toward his room, fast as he can go.
"What's the hurry, Normie?" I ask, joking but curious.
"Told you. Demons." He looks serious, slightly paranoid. Is he going insane? Surely not. Okay, hopefully not.
He limps farther to his bedroom. Fumbling with his pockets, he pulls out a key. It's not his room key. He starts searching for another.
"Eh, it's in your shirt pocket..."
Ah, paranoia, then memory loss. As he pulls the key out, he trips a little. Multi-tasking with a bad knee? Bad idea. I steady him, arm around his narrow shoulders. Even for a man, Norman's tall, but his shoulders are narrow and make him look gawkier than the average old guy. A real challenge, that is, when you look at it.
Norman struggles to his door and jiggles the key in the lock. He turns the knob quickly. His palms are sweating, his forehead's sweating... strange. He pushes open the door. As he walks through, suddenly calmer, I notice there are markings on the sides of the door and the doorway. They're intricate, black, beautiful probably if I'd had more time to look but I keep walking. Norman is already at his bed, struggling with the heavy mattress. Suppose he needed it for his back problems. Ah, the joys of getting old.
Something stuck out from the mattress. He pulled at it until it started to move, and stumbled when it slipped out all at once. It was a book. Old, by the looks of it, with markings on it vaguely similar to those on the door. He laid the book down on the bed.
"Close the door, lock it." He throws me the key.
After locking the door, I join him at the bed. He sits, I stand. As I look down at the book, I see the markings are writing. Probably a title.
"It says it's a book on demons." he announces, noticing my gaze.
"Oh." Simple, short, not entirely sweet.
Then a simple, short, sickening noise. The door knob rattling, turning.
"GRAB IT, LOCK IT! STOP THE RATTLING!"
I rush to the door and slam my weight into it. Using all the force I can, I stop the rattling. It jiggles under my fingers. Someone just doesn't give up. Norman's shaking on the bed, glaring wide-eyed at the door. His eyelids lower as the door stops shaking in it's frame. I let go and nothing happens, so I join him again at the bed. I don't even want to sit down now.
"And that was... who?" I ask. The hairs on my skin prickled my skin, but they were starting to go down. Starting to.
"Demons." Norman answers quietly. He seems afraid to say the word now. "That one thinks I'm calling him whenever I say the word 'demon'."
Now, I'm a reasonable person. So by now, I'm thinking of a million different things that could've shaken that door, and trying to think of ten of those things which would've scared Norman. Norman knew his home, no reason for him to be scared in it, right? Of course. Reason. Have to reason.
"I see the wheels turning. It wasn't some little brat trying to scare me. It wasn't a guest. Here, I-" He cringes and looks to the door again. "It's a book on demons. You must read it. These demons, they've been here quite a long time, but they aren't... on my side anymore, I guess you could say."
"Uh-huh. Right. As in, your little bed and breakfast was blessed... by demons... and now they hate you..."
There are pills for this kind of delusional thinking. Unfortunately, I left them in my coat. Damn, my coat. Whatever shook the door could take my coat. Wait, why would it want my coat? Stop confusing yourself, Cory...
"No, I am not going to take any of your pills!" Norman snaps.
I stared, then stared some more, and finally blinked.
"I didn't say that."
"You thought it!"
"You can't read minds."
"About that..."
I go silent. This could still be one elaborate joke. It was just getting freakier, was all. Okay, the camera has to be around in this room somewhere...
"I can. Anyway, you need to take control of these demons. Unfortunately, in my old age, I reek of death. It excites them, and I don't have the power to control them anymore, so, as my last remaining heir..."
"I'm not your heir!"
He definitely needs pills, plus some tranquilizers.
"Close enough. Alice is dead, Jimmy's somewhere I don't want to know about, you're all that's left."
"'You're all that's left.' Shock-value is high, but still a cliche. What's next? Don't tell me, I have a half-brother in Milwaukee who sacrifices goats."
"Uncle, actually."
"Bullshit. Where's the camera? I'm leaving."
Norman smiles a little. Smiling at an inappropriate moment, not a good sign.
"You are not leaving. I am. I'm going to Holland after this. Wonderful, isn't it?"
"Norman, you are not going to Holland, and there is nothing behind that door but a little kid looking for some cheap thrills."
Norman gets up, feeble as always.
"There's a blessing over the house right now. The demons won't try for you for a good five days, enough to learn how to control them if you try real hard. I think they'll like you."
I get up and walk towards the door Norman is heading for.
"You have a slight problem. Me. You're currently irritating the hell out of me, so kindly explain thi-"
Another door appears beside me. Another door. Just appeared. Problem. There is a perfectly reasonable explanation for that. In some other dimension, maybe. Norman walks through the new door and I blink at him.
"Be seeing you!" He waves and stumbles along. I trip out after him and look around the corner. Like a ghost, he went around the corner and disappeared. Ghost stories always have ghosts do that. It isn't really scary until it happens to you.
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Posted: Thu Jun 09, 2005 10:04 am
Lyrics
The Incredibly Stupid Altoids Song of Doom
Rated PG-13 for language and cartoon violence
Dedicated to Altoids, for they are the meaning of life
He rides in on a white horse
His back straight and his head held high
He presents to thy lady a tin
His tin
His tin
His wonderful Altoids TIN!
It's minty and sweet
It's shiny and grey
It's cinnamon and peppermint and it smells
It smells
It smells
You SMELL
He jumps off his horse
He runs from the smell
His lady is running after him
His lady
His lady
His lady is chasing HIM!
She's not in a frenzy of love
She's not a friendly white dove
She's going to kill him
She'll kill him
She'll kill him
She's going to kill HIM!
He runs for the hills
He runs to the mill
He smells her musky perfume in the air
He smells
He smells
He smells his death coming for HIM!
Her perfume is strangling him
She will find him dead
She won't have the pleasure of murdering him
She won't
She won't
She won't kill him for he'll already be DEAD!
He dies
He's dead
He was killed by his fair lady's perfume
His lady
His lady
His lady bellowed and cried to the NIGHT!
She took his Altoids tin
She sniffed in a long wiff
She realized right then
She realized
She realized
She realized, oh, how it was a wonderful Altoids TIN!
She married a man from Vancouver
She worried for his health
She thought her breath would kill him
She thought
She thought
She thought of her knight's PLIGHT!
She took the Altoids tin
She inhaled the minty scent in
She confidently strode down the aisle
She strode
She strode
She strode to find her Vancouver man's BODY!
Oh, the Altoids tin
If only she'd realized then
That the Altoids tin would not help her
For there was no Altoids gum in
Oh, the Altoids tin
It'd let her down once again
How she hated the Altoids tin
Her husband was dead once again
Oh, the Altoids tin
She realized about then
Her white knight was a wife beater
Her Vancouver man screwed whores on Wednesdays
Oh, the Altoids tin
What good it'd done her then
She never did marry but always kept her tin
HER WONDERFUL, WONDERFUL ALTOIDS TIN!
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Posted: Thu Jun 09, 2005 3:44 pm
sybex Shark The Incredibly Stupid Altoids Song of Doom
Rated PG-13 for language and cartoon violence
Dedicated to Altoids, for they are the meaning of life
He rides in on a white horse...HER WONDERFUL, WONDERFUL ALTOIDS TIN! altoids are the shiz-nite, and i love you bottom siggypic. can i have a copy of it?
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Posted: Thu Jun 09, 2005 3:49 pm
Please don't quote the entire peom. sad It stretches the page.
Which pic? It's on a randomizer, so there's like 10+ images in it.
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Posted: Sat Jun 11, 2005 10:54 pm
Poems
There aren't any poems here. Because I'm really bad at writing them. So far. Had to edit out the story I had in this post. Rearranged thread.
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Posted: Mon Jun 20, 2005 10:15 pm
Winter
Chap. 2- Finished
-Changing the tense. Writing play-by-play is just irritating.-
-Ha ha! I found a siamese cherry! w00t!-
-Finished chapter, might add in some filler later so it'll be longer.
I ended up huddled up in my usual room. It was just a square space with a bed, table, boxes, and let's not forget the cases of A&W root beer I had stacked in the corner. There weren't even pillows on the bed. I took all the fancy stuff out a while ago. Sold it off. Norman wasn't happy about that. For some reason, right now, I don't feel guilty about selling it off. I used to. Hm, am I starting to hate him this soon? Maybe.
I took a sip of my root beer. Ah, root beer. The only good drink besides water. A&W made the best root beer. Always tasted great, even if you were confused as a blindfolded cat and tired due to the fact it was one in the morning. I had the feeling I'd go through one carton of the things before I went to bed. If I went to bed.
The book Norman gave me was lying on the bed, open in front of me. I sat with my legs crossed and flipped it to the first page. In a fine script, the introduction was written.
Thou who hath read this...
Why were old books always written in that dramatic kind of tone? Eh, oh well. The introduction was close to six pages long. Essentially, it read, "Kill or be killed." Wonderful choices. Of course, what I would be killing were earth-bound spirits and demons. Demons I could understand, but I was under the impression spirits weren't physical beings. Surely that would be explained in the other chapters.
I read through as much as the book as possible, maybe a fourth of it, that night, or would that be early morning? The first few chapters explained the basics. Lead bullets rarely work on any demons over two hundred years old, crosses wouldn't ward them off, and running into the corner and curling into a ball wouldn't do a damn bit of good. Oh, and demons didn't do to well in broad daylight. For some reason, I was getting the feeling demons were a lot like vampires. I didn't read anything about it, but I had a feeling it'd say something about it in the next chapter or two. Just a hunch.
I took a sip from my sixth rootbeer and looked at the clock. The shining red numbers told me it was five in the morning. The sun would peak over the horizon for another hour or two, but why bother going to sleep and messing up my internal clock? Wait, the rootbeer. It sort of crossed-out the sleep option. Silly me.
Generally, I'm a fast reader, but this book was close to three inches thick. Even if I kept reading, I'd never read it all by the time Norman's spell wore off, whenever that would be. Besides, I didn't want to read about how there were demons who wanted to slit my throat, pour the blood into one of the empty rootbeer cans, and guzzle it down like it was Coke. Except, that might actually happen if I don't read about it. Read or die. That was supposed to be the title of an anime, not an actual choice for me to make.
But did death care about what it was supposed to be? Probably not. I chose to read.
Chap. 3- Unfinished
- I should really stop not sleeping.
- You know, I'm gonna write chapter one into a manga. For fun.
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Posted: Tue Jul 05, 2005 8:03 am
NYA! *pokes you* Finish Winter! Or at least the next chapter. . .
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