kaliko_star

LTNW (Long Time No Write)

Mon, 02 Feb 2009 14:00:57 GMT

Yeah, It's been YEARS. HAha. I've been so busy not writing anything. I've been thinking about it lately and mght even do it, but ya never know. I don't know if these accounts get deleted without periodic updates, but now this one won't, for a while, anyway.

Wed, 04 Jul 2007 17:14:34 GMT

Probably the first thing he truly remembered was his grandmother calling his name, her lilting voice a distant echo beyond the clouds that had been stuffed in his ears and the terrifying keening that was both inhuman and familiar. When he sucked in another lungful of air to scream again she cupped his cheeks in her hands, the skin still firm and smooth with youth, and blew into his face, a wash of cool air that smelled like the forest and fresh water, a thousand wind chimes all singing at once with a deliberate chaos. He remembered how a bit of her dark brown hair, only just beginning to silver at the brow, had pulled free from its plait to float about her face, the shimmering strands sparking when they caught the light, and how the cry welling up inside him collapsed upon itself, like the bridge down in the park had done that same day during the storm.

He had closed his eyes then, just for a moment it seemed, but when he opened them again it was because something was stabbing his ear. The light had gone, and the grass, he'd been lying in grass, he recalled it being grass, but only because it wasn't anymore. He saw her again, his grandmother, and she looked older, even older than before to his child's eyes, and she was talking very rapidly to herself has she held him down, sitting on his as she focused on whatever it was she was doing to his ear, but he couldn't have moved anyway, even if the breath had not been lost during that long, long blink. They weren't alone, though none of the others wandering about seemed to notice the strangeness of his situation, as they kept flying back and forth behind his grandmother's back or darting they hands before his eyes, the fingers curling, beckoning to him before being snatched away again, as if burnt. He followed one with his eyes for a few moments, fancied he saw it pop its fingers in its mouth to cool them ,but then his grandmother reached behind her head and tore something free from her hair so that the plait fell apart and fell about her face. He tried to cry out again, because the sound of the screaming, cacophonous sounds of those chimes grown past chaotic, driving him away into madness even as they drew his attention, calling him. He stared blindly at her hands and, somehow, began to struggle. He almost threw her off despite her being so very much bigger than he and the fact she was sitting on him, a vicious, desperate need to stop it filling his thoughts but then she flumped over him, grasped his head in both hands and turned it forcefully sideways, talking faster and louder and he thought he even heard his name this time - "Adrian!" - and her elbow was on his chest and she leaned on it to keep him down. His ear stung all over again, and the noise was deafening, and again that stinging, and the chaos receded all at once, the air cool and fresh again, the chimes still quite loud and scary yet comforting, and these too faded, until there was silence. Adrian lay still under his grandmother's weight, saw her face sag in relief and then grow flat and empty as her eyes filled with a darkness he could not understand, but he felt a bit like crying, and then she turned her face away.

The time after that was vague, and if he had been asked what happened next Adrian could not have said, except that his grandmother had dropped out of his life and he had not seen her again for nearly eight years, on his twelfth birthday. He had discovered then that his mother and grandmother hated each other, or at least it seemed that say, and he simply chose to ignore what happened that day. He remembered, but did not understand, and so he assumed he had forgotten and let it lie.

It was generally at this point, when he said "eight years later", that people would look at him funny and say "I meant your next memory, not your grandmother" and Adrian would grow hot and a bit queasy, and mumble "I don't remember". Or so he imagined he would have, had he ever told anyone about his real first memory. He had once tried to relay during a school field trip, got so far as waking up again, and decided perhaps he better not mention his grandmother sitting on him. So he stopped it there, and they looked at him askance for about five seconds before going on to the next person.

Well enough that they did not ask. It was all so hazy, kind of like playing in the last afternoon in August, when the sun has just begun to consider the possibility of setting and the air is hot and muggy and the cicadas begin to cry. He had no memories to share, for eight years, not until his grandmother came back into his life and his mother couldn't make her go away again.

----

Adrian knew he had been sleeping when he noticed that the neon lights he had been gazing at last night had given way to sunlight flashing off water. It was the flashes had woken him, and little raindows colored the vinyl back of the seat in from of his, periodically flicksering out and back into existence as trees lining the road cast shadows. A faded green sign emerged ahead, partially blocked by the abundant foliage crowding the space between road and lake, and the white lettering seemd to jump out in the morning light.
"Welcome to Windhaven".

---

"He should live with me" she told his mother in a quiet, reasonable voice that was an unmistakable command. "Or at the very lest you should move nearby".

His mother always grew angry when told what to do regarding Adrian. "No" she aid, her voice flat, solid, and he knew she was angry. "We aren't moving just to satisfy your whimsy".

The door had been open, to let in the cool April air, and they had not noticed him come in. Adrian crept closer to the kitchen, where they were speaking, not bothering to take off his shoes or drop his school bag in its customary place by the front door, only gently cupping his right ear and silence the bells. g

Sun, 26 Feb 2006 17:38:15 GMT

I really REALLY need to work on some writing at some poit in the near future. The Brenda/Nick (or Jeremy, who knows) story will just have to wait until I come up with an actual plot for it.

I think I should work on the Magical Girl ~~Anime~~ Novel for a while. I mean, Danny's reverted to a college kid by now, and Terry's just itching for some sparkle action. And I've been sort of glutted on shounen anime lately (Well, like 80 episodes of Hunter x Hunter) and like half a year's worth of shoujo beat titles, so I've got a lot more to work with than when I originally started this idea. A lot more CONCENTRATED material, that is. As I recall, I came up with this stupid idea not long after an extended anime dry spell filled largely with manga and I think scrapped princess. The pots been filled since then.

Blah Blah Blah. . .

Latest Story, doesn't have a title or anything yet.

Mon, 18 Jul 2005 04:25:29 GMT

So it took me hours to write this much. I admit, at least half that time was spent playing minesweeper and spider solitaire, but still. And I decided to wear the Ed coat for inspiration. Or because it's comfy. Whichever. The scene isn't finished yet, not nearly, and there's a couple more paragraphs after what's here, but I'll save that for later.

Oh, and it hasn't been spellchecked or anything, so it's chock full of typos and bad grammar goodness.

***

Brenda flung herself back in her seat, biting her lip in frustration as she fixed her gaze out the window. No matter how nice her hair looked, or how elegantly her makeup had been applied, the high school uniform gave her away, stole the years and maturity cosmetics gave her and revealed the truth. She was just a child, and the Interdome Travel Commision wasn't going to listen to a teenager, no matter how good her grades were or how many big words she used.

The situatin might have been different a year ago, maybe even six months, but the sudden increase of airship piracy had shut down nearly all recreation travel between domes. The only people recieving authorization were those with legitimate reasons to travel outside; funerals, weddings, medical emergencies. The tunnels runs were over booked, and train ticket prices had skyrocketed.

Today was special; all the top students in Farhaven's high schools had been invited for a one day symposium in the Skylark, a small airship far too old for long distance tavel and converted to be a floating convention center, retrofited with weindows all around to give a 360 degree view of the sky and the city below.

Normally hovering near the apex of the dome, the Skylark's passengers could almost imagine themselves in the open sky, for the world beyond the dome was visible all around, rolling hills to the north, south and west, and to the east Lake Jory stretched as far as the eye could see. Sometimes Brenda sat on in the coarse sand oat the lake's shore and stared at the distant bank, hazy and indistinct beyond the curved wall of the dome. Sometimes she pretended it was the wakening sun, rising eternally in the eastern sky.

"Ah, the one who would be a wanderer" a familiar voice said, bringing Brenda out of her reverie. Ryan, also from her school. The white top and pale aqua skirt that made her look about twelve didn't do much more for him, but at least with pants he looked like someone to be respected. And he was tall. Tall went a long way. "Always longing for what she can't have."

"I'm not asking much, you know." she said dully, then gritted her teeth as her brief calm was replaced once more by frustration. She glared at her classmate, wondering again why she had accepted the invitation at all. The view she told herself unconvincingly. I came for the view. "I didn't even ask to go outside, just for some insight into the current situation."

"Pirates is the current sistuation, Brenda, and that's all the commision representatives are telling anyone. I asked the same questinos you did, and got just as little back."

"At least they didn't call you cute, smile patronizingly, and walk away."

"No, they called by 'a fine young man', smiled patronizingly, and walked away." Ryan thumped down in the seat opposite hers and slumped back, arms behind his head and feet on the little glass table between them and nearly upsetting the potted plant and empty glasses already occupying the minimal surface. "Ah-ah" he sighed loudly, staring straight up at the sky through the ceiling glass. "This is the life. Don't you think?" Brenda slumped forward, face in her hands as she sighed her own discontent.

"I think you're on to something, though." he commented a few moments later, voice subdued to the extent Brenda almost didn't hear him. "They aren't telling us the whole story. I've heard rumors."

Brenda looked up, wondering which rumors Ryan had heard, and if they were the same ones she had heard, but hadn't dared ask the Commision reps.

"Rumors. . . like. . ."

"You know the Striker?"

"The cargo airship that got hijacked last week? Of course I know. It was on the news."

"I heard. . ." He took his feet off the table and leaned forward conspiratorially, his voice dropping to barely a whisper. ". . . they were transporting weapons. You know, those kind of weapons."

Brenda's breath caught in her throat. It was an involuntary response; she shouldn't have been surprised, she'd heard similar rumors, but to hear someone else actually say it. . .

Weapons.They had been used during the last great war, the one that devestated the continent and made the air unbreathable in most areas, devestated cities and towns, leveled forests and poisoned lakes. For years people had been crowded into what liveable areas remained or underground, until the dome cities were constructed. Brenda didn't know much about the weapons themselves, just that they had incredible destructive power.
Brenda shook her head, looked Ryan in the eye. "That's impossible" she said, or, rather, whispered fervently. "They were all destroyed after the last war."

"Liar, you believe it just as much as I do."

Tentative belief, at best, and they both knew it. "Well, maybe it's some other kind of weapon, or maybe it's just rumors, afterall."

"Probably."

They sat in silence after that, reassured that they were on the same wavelength, and when they spotted waiters with trays laden with finger food they left the relative privacy of their chairs and rejoined the gathering. Ryan, not one of Brenda's normal companions or really even someone she considered a friend, didn't even wave goodbye as he vanished into the throng.

Brenda selected a few items and a glass of water and approached one of the windows where a group of students had gathered, obviously lured by something happening out in the dome As she crossed the room the little group gained numbes and their volume of conversation rose, both in volume and intensity. Carefully slipping between small knots of classmates from different schools, Brenda reached the window just in time to witness an airship, obviously violating dome airspace regulations, burst into flames.

"You have got to be kidding me."

Above the shrieks of the Skylark's passengers and the buzz of the shipwide intercom, more explosions could be heard as the burning ship was bombarded and two or three smaller ships flew into view, circling the crippled ship. There was a massive detonation as the air tank under one of the wings exploded, and the Skylark rocked violently as heated air washed against her. The flaming shipteetered in the air but did not loose altitude, but it was heading for the Skylark.

Brenda joined the general exodus fleeing the horror on display, but there was another deafening explosion as a second air tank exploded and again the Skylark rocked with the blast of air. Brenda was thrown back against the windows, with a front row view of the oncoming ball of flaming timber, boueyed by its one remaining air tank and set on a collision course with the Slylark.

". . . evacuation shuttles to the rear of the ship, please proceed calmly to . . ."

The intercom's laughable instructions filled the ominous, relative silence as all those left in the open watched with terrified fascination as the fiery wreck crashed into the bank of windows. The sound of shattering glass filled the air and a barrage of glass shards and chared, splintered wood rained down on Brenda. She could hear people screaming, pounding feet and crackling flame, could smell burning wood and tar. The impact forced the ship to dip, throwing Brenda against the wall again, trapping her.

Time slowed to a crawl as the wreck careened past an armspan away, creating a pathway accross the chamber as crushing chairs and tables and potted plants until it finally lost momentum and ground to a stop near the center of the wide chamber. Brenda was certain it would have continued to roll right out the opposite bank of windows had the ship been level, but the Skylark had not returned to the horizontal, and she had to crawl on hands and knees to get away from the wall.

If only I had a rice cooker. . .

Wed, 25 May 2005 01:19:59 GMT

Oh, oh, they provide the recipe and instructions for making the fuwa fuwa pan! Anyone have a rice cooker?

Then again, maybe not. It takes like 4 hours to make. And Im lazy. But wahh! It's fuwa fuwa bread!

Pointless yakitake stuff

Wed, 25 May 2005 01:17:32 GMT

I want some fuwa fuwa fuwa ja-pan ni go! Whinewhinewhine

Tue, 24 May 2005 00:39:48 GMT

One of the problems I've discovered when writing slash (and there are many, many problems) is that I can't just refer to the characters by their pronouns. Because, well, "he licked his nipple and he moaned in delight" is just too confusing. And editing it is embarassing.

Mon, 28 Mar 2005 01:37:21 GMT

I can't stand it how often FMA author's refer to Ed as Roy's Young Lover, from Roy's point of view. Maybe once, sure, but I really don't think that's how people think about their SO's. At least, I hope that isn't how they refer to them in their heads. How about by the name you think of them as? As far as I can tell, it's the sign of a writer who isn't fully into the character, like it is their words in the POV's head and not the POV character's. Feh. Im by no means a wonderful author, but I do feel like my character's POV is from within their own self. Assuming that a characters thoughts are their internal dialogue, if I read it out loud, it should sound in character. Im not making any sense here.

Did I mention that it is REALLY IRRITATING to change POV in mid story? Just who's hand was that, anyway?

The Clove

Tue, 08 Mar 2005 04:34:19 GMT

Ah, an FMA fanfic. I can't believe it. . .

(Roy-Ed)

The Clove

"Fullmetal, take this." Ed held out his hand automatically and a sizable lemon was dropped onto his palm.

"What the hell's thisfor?" he asked, examining the fruit. "And what are these things stuck in it?" he asked, pointing at the grayish-brown stick like things poked through the tough yellow skin.

"Cloves." the Colonel said helpfully. Ed waited for further explanation, but none was forthcoming. However, the Colonel wasn't leaving; in fact, he seemed to be waiting for Ed to do something.

"And I'm supposed to do what?" he prompted, tossing the lemon into the air. He thought he saw the Colonel smile one of those smiles, and he nearly missed the fruit as it dropped down. Mustang's face was a smooth mask. Ed wanted to slap him.

"Well, if you want to. . ." he said, his words heavy with a double meaning Ed didn't grasp, "you should take one of the cloves and chew it."

Um, right. Was the Colonel fucking with him? He wasn't drunk, so clearly he was being obstinate on purpose. Ed looked around, wondering if maybe he'd lost a bet with one of the men and this was a dare of some kind, but the Colonel didn't need an excuse to be an enigmatic bastard.

Ed shrugged, plucked a clove from the lemon and popped it into his mouth. The sharp flavor of the clove filled his mouth as he chewed.

"Now what?" he asked after swallowing the remains of the clove, both impatient and curious to learn the meaning of this bizarre choice.

Mustang smiled, and it was that smile. Ed gaped as Mustang put his hands on his shoulders and leaned down to plant a gentle, lingering kiss on his mouth, his tongue barely crossing the barrier of lips. The lemon fell to the floor with a soft thud

Roy straightened and met Ed's eyes, feeling inordinately pleased with himself as the boy gaped, a bit like a fish out of water, before turning tail and fleeing. Kneeling he retrieved the precious lemon and wandered off, wondering who his next unsuspecting victim would be.

Fullmetal Alchemist meets Pennsic War!

Mon, 28 Feb 2005 00:26:47 GMT

What would happen is the cast of Fullmetal Alchemist accidentally found themselves at the SCA's Annual Pennsic War?

I'm probably going to shoot myself for doing this, but. . . FMA/Pennsic Crossover!!!!!!

Ed. Roy. Riza. Hughes, Grecia and Alicia, Scar. Furher, Al, Winry, some OC's eventually.

To be updated irregularly. Potential plot, and the plot is a spoiler for the second season, so there.

Ed stared around him at what he would have sworn was a refugee camp, only the tents were way to big, and the refugees were, were. . .

"It's like being in a fairy tale!" Al said excitedly, helmet creaking as he swiveled his head left and right, over his shoulder and back again, taking in the bizarre collection of people wandering about.

"You're just happy because you fit in" Ed grumbled, tracking two men wearing chain mail and carrying other bits of armor. They carried staves on their shoulders, though Ed was dubious as to their efficiency in battle. they looked. . . artificial.

"I finally fit in!" Al said gleefully. "It's the first time since I became a suit of armor that I fit in!"
___

"Strangest refugee camp I've ever been in ." Roy said, settling in his camp chair. Riza took her usual place at his side, declining to sit. "These people don't seem to be suffering at all. What do you think, Hawkeye?"

"Sir, I thought you had noticed."

"Noticed what?" He watched idly as a pair of young women, a blond and a brunette wearing little more than bells and baggy pants jingled by. He caught the blonde's eye and winked at her. She winked back. He felt Riza roll her eyes.

"We aren't in Amestris anymore, sir."

A lovely maid, perhaps a bit plump, but still stunning, climbed out of her tent a few yards away, her assets plainly displayed by the high-waisted, low-cut gown she wore. Roy smiled graciously when she straightened and their eyes met. He returned the smile, but it was without promise or feeling. Sighing inwardly, Roy let his gaze drift elsewhere.

Riza was correct, of course. If this had been Amestris, that girl would have made a special trip just to slap him for his brazenness. There was no pint it letting her know that, of course. Riza was a tigress, and Roy enjoyed playing with fire.

"What do you mean, not in Amestris anymore?"
___

"He's on the move" Ed whispered, edging around Al's bulk just enough to track Lieutenant Colonel Hughes as he stalked his prey. "He's made contact, they've responded, he's going for the kid. . ."

"And this is Alicia, isn't she precious!? She's almost three, she's getting so big!"

"Oh wow, she's adorable!" said a girl sitting in a chair knitting. "Hi Alicia!"

"How old are you, Alicia?" another girl asked, dropping to her knees before his treasure.

"Um. . . " Alicia concentrated hard, biting her lower lip. "Two!" she exclaimed at last, holding up two fingers on each hand. Her admirer clapped in appreciation.

"Would you like to see a picture?" he asked the group at large, digging in his pocket for Alicia's 2nd birthday picture, the one when she had just shoved a heaping fistful of icing into her adorable mouth. "See?"

"Oh, she's so cute!" the troop of girls chorused, passing the photograph around. "Let me see!" Hughes' eyes gleamed as they met Ed's for an instant. "I have more."

"Edward-kun, have you seen Maes? I bought something called Ice cream for Alicia to try. . . are you all right?"

Ed said nothing, just swayed a bit as Al led him away from the impossible.

"Big brother will be fine, Grecia-san. He's just received a bit of a shock, is all."

"Oh? From what?"

Al laughed nervously. "Oh, nothing to worry about, I'll just take him back to the camp now. . ."

"De. . . demon" Ed whispered. "Monster. . ."
___

Scar trudged out of the woods and into an ocean of brightly colored metallic death. He stood at the peak of a hill, and stretching out in either directing lay an army of automobiles unlike any he had ever seen before.

"So this is what they were hiding" he said to himself. "This is the army that will finish off Ishbal." He looked beyond the cars, to the vast military encampment. Far, far away he could see a practice field, where the soldiers practiced battle maneuvers.

Shoving the sleeve on his right arm up Scar contemplated the forbidden patterns tattooed their, and knew what he must do.

"The fools. Their belligerence shall be their doom. And my freedom."

A soldier wearing an unfamiliar uniform trudged past, taking a long pull on a water skin as he headed down the hill towards the encampment. Scar followed.
___

Winry glanced over her shoulder at the tall man with the eye patch following sedately in her wake. He smiled benignly at her, but made no offer to guide or direct her aimless wanderings. She resumed her observations of the seemingly endless rows of merchants, bypassing the racks of clothes and displays of jewelry. With all of these shops, surely there must be at least one automail worker. . .

"Ah, an armorer." her hitherto silent companion stated.

"Wh-what?" Winry backtracked to where the Furher stood, examining a suit of finely crafted chain mail. "Oh. Nothing special about that."

"That's right." he said, contemplating her with that irritating calm smile. "You prefer mechanical gadgetry. Forgive me."

"Um, no, that's okay" Winry stammered. "I didn't mean. . ."

"This is the second Armory I've seen thus far. They have hidden them well, within this installation." the tall man mused to himself. He seemed to have forgotten Winry's presence.

"Um, okay, I'll just wait over here. . . hahhah" Winry gave up, sighed loudly, and trudged to the next booth, one filled with all manner of glittering jewelry. Why'd she have to get stuck with King Bradley? HOW had she gotten stuck with him? Where were they, anyway? And there weren't even any mechanics here. . .

"Greetings, Milady!"

"Huh?" Winry looked up at the shop owner, a short woman with a broad smile. "Were you talking to me?"

"Indeed I was, Milady. And I was noticing you noticing that gentleman over there, as well. Ain't he a bit old for you?"

"Wh-what!" Winry felt the blood rush to her face as she realized that woman thought she had the hots for the Furher. She could hear bean boy now, making fun of the misunderstanding. She could feel the wrench in her hand, how she would use it to wipe the smirk off his face. . .

"It's nothing like that!" she protested at last, but the woman was already gone, helping a girl try on one of the belts of strung coins. She watched in fascination as the girl shook her hips experimentally, the ripple of music the rattling coins made.

"Adorable." a familiar voice said behind her. "I think it would suit you." Before she could stop him the leader of the Amestris army selected one of the belts and knelt before her, to fasten it about her hips. "It'll catch Hagane's eye, don't you think?"

"E-Ed!?" Winry squeaked, jerking away from the Furher as he straightened. The coins jangled loudly, attracting the shop owner. "Wh-why'd you bring him up?"

"I'd like to purchase this for the Lady" he said to the woman, ignoring Winry completely. "Doesn't she look lovely?"

"Of course, Milord. A lovely young lady."

This time it was Winry who followed the Furher, the mellow jingle of coins the only sound she made.
___

"Al, look at this, this place has its own school! Though, I've never seen courses like these before."

Al took the bound pages from him, flipping carefully through the listing of classes being offered in the camp. "Introduction to basket weaving." he read. "Persona 101. So you've always wanted to throw an ax."

Ed took the book back, flipped to another page. "Raising Silkworms. Siege weapons. OOPs and GOOPs for everyone." His brow furrowed at that last one. "What the hell is a GOOP?"

"Maybe it's some kind of game? Al hazarded.

The brothers stared at the listing for a while longer, noting the common themes. It seemed that the people in the refuge camp were really hung up on dancing and making clothes, with a fair dollop of identity crisis and self discovery thrown in. When Ed expressed his heartfelt confusion, Al offered his theory.

"Maybe a lot of them lost their memories in the battles, and now their trying to get them back."

It wasn't a great explanation, but it was the best they could come up with.

Sat, 29 Jan 2005 13:47:27 GMT

Thinking about The Summer Country (Hetley) when Maureen says she will create a third choice, become Steward, keep the balance.

Balance is gray, but we can't all become gray, because nothing will change or move forward. Overall we should be gray, but individually we must be varing black and white. I thought of Penguion Brothers, Blacks and Whites, and the Grays that became the common in the school. Was it the right thing to do?

"Yuu Watase" meets "Soukyuu no Fafner"

Tue, 18 Jan 2005 19:41:17 GMT

So I've got about 3 ideas on this one so far.

It's like Yuu Watase. Female MAgical Girl MC

There's two student teachers who are more than they seem, and they become the MC's bishounen harem.

She hears a voice saying "Are you there?" (Soko ni imasuka?)

Tue, 18 Jan 2005 16:54:01 GMT

Some pretty rotten stuff happens to Trance. And Toby. And, well, most of my characters. But last night and this morning it was Trance's misadventures that occupied my thoughts, and much of this morning, as well.

Avatar. Maron and Chiari. A summary of much of what happens

Tue, 18 Jan 2005 05:34:57 GMT

Avatar

Maron is a prince of Mystriora, but unlike his syblings who have affinity for the four elements, Earth, Air, Fire and Water, he has affinity for Fire alone and can never be eligible for the throne. Seen as inadequacy in his mother's and older brother Ganfere's eyes, Maron is somewhat of a nonentity. When he attends the annual masked ball as Katriel, the Spirit of Fire, he is mistaken for a girl by Chiari, the soldier-bodyguard of the visiting princess Evalin. After an altercation between Chiari and Ganfere on Maron's behalf, Ganfere tells Queen Athra of this development and she decides to punish Maorn for embarassing her in front of the nobility by using him as a spy, to determine if Eva's affinities and her claim tot he high throne are real.

As the girl Amarin, Maron must hide his true identity (and gender) from Chiari, and suffer the shame of being a woman, but Chiari's warmth and good nature draw Maron in, and he continues to meet with Chiari after his mother decides the game is up. Maron grows to depend on Chiari for emotional support and acceptance, eventually resorting to a forbidden charm to hide his true nature as their physical relationship enters dangerous territory. Just when his confusion over his feelings for Chiari reveal themselves to be love, Ganfere tells their mother of his growing concern and Maron is forbidden to meet Chiari again.

It is only a matter of time until Chiari must leave with Evalin, and he comes to the castle to ask Amarin to marry him, and come back with him. Believing Maron is a maid to princess Asriel, he asks in front of the royal family. Maron is revealed and Chiari leaves, embarassed and disgusted. Maron runs away that night disguised as Amarin to meet him and finds him. Vvery, very drunk and confused, Chiari rapes Maron, remembering none of it the next day. He returns home miserable, and everyone believes Amarin dumped him.

Maron returns to the castle and is informed by Ganfere he is no longer Athra's son. He becomes a shadow in his own home, and is assigned as a servant to a visiting nobleman. Rumors and gossip have a way of spreading, and the noble makes a play on Maron, who resists and runs away from the castle. He travels to Echar, Chiari's home and becomes a female servant in the castle. Finally he gets up the courage to find Chiari, who is on leave, and has the door slammed in his face. Miserable he takes to getting drunk when he's not on duty. A visiting priest from the Fire Temple notices the strange way the candles and such are reacting to Maron and requests to take him to the temple. With nothing to keep him in the Echar palace Maron goes without dissent.

Maron's life in the fire temple is much like life in the castle, and he lives quietly until Eva, with Chiari as her guard, come to the temple to pay homage to Katriel. They see each other and Maron runs, rushing into the flames as an escape and vanishes. He cries to Katriel, wishes for a way he can be with Chiari. If it weren't for her they would never have me. She makes him one of her avatars, andthe priest begs Chiari to become Maron's companion, because Maron will need someone to care for him as he carries out the goddess' wishes. Maron is comforted and supported by Chiari, who still is stil in love with Amarin and feels responsible for the state Maron is now in.

Katriel's mission for Maron is the erradicatin of the plague that has broken out. Maron and Chiari travel from one affected town to another, purifing them with her power. Chiari comes to a time when he can no longer deny that his loves Maron but he can't live with knowing he is in love with another man, and decides to leave for good. They spend one night together and he leave Maron asleep, to find a Secremancer to make him forget.

Maron wakes to find Chiari gone, with nothing but a note saying "I love you. Goodbye". He breaks, and gives himself fully to Katriel, who uses him mercilessly to purge the land of plague. Without a caretaker Maron is working dawn to dusk, from the moment he wakes until he passes out despite Katriel's need, wherever he is. Nina finds him in the street, taking care of him when he is despised for the method Katriel uses him to purify towns (he incinerates the bodies). She becomes his friend and, soon, his lover.

Don't know what happens after that yet, really. Silly, sappy, and pretty stupid. But fun. 'Cause I'm a freak.

Kaliko_Star Go!!!

Tue, 18 Jan 2005 04:02:48 GMT

I decided it was time for a writing journal. I mean, I want to write, I have all these ideas, but I'm too lazy to do anything with it. I come up with additional idas, don't write them down, and forget everything. What good is that?????

So maybe if I try to write about my writing, I'll actually DO some of the writing, ne?