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maderrOf late, it's been like pulling to teeth to put anything to paper, and when I do finally get it out it's patently obvious I was losing the battle =_=
I don't know what it is. I can't land on anything I really really want to write. Often I can think of something new to get me going, but right now?
I just sit around sulking and glaring resentfully at my comp.
Alchemist isn't cooperating, Paradise isn't cooperating, Treasure won't, Stone Rose won't, I can't even work up enthusiasm for fairytales or DwtD.
Whine whine whine.
Something will strike eventually. It's just depressing I have all these things to work on, that I want to work on, and none of them will cooperate.
Aha, though speaking of which - sorry to have failed twice now to deliver Sandstorm. I'm kind of loathe to look at it until Iris rejects it.
Blah blah blah.
Mmm, pretty angsty icon. Kuro/Fai 4Evah!!111!! \o/
*notes* A rough sketch of a scene from book four. I'll flesh it out eventually, and I probably shoudln't have sketched it out, but it wouldn't leave my head. It's not really spoilery, I just happen to like these two a lot -- they were both meant to be minor, I didn't know until I'd written them that they were major players /notes
“You can’t make me,” Ailill said, folding his arms across his chest.
“I think he can, Highlander,” Luka said from where he reclined by the fireplace, boots propped on an ottoman that looked like it cost more than their yearly expenses. “The Boss is the only other one I know with a glare like that. No wonder you’re never intimated.”
“Luka,” Ivan said levelly.
“Yes, Boss.”
Ailill glared at his valet. “I’m fine. Go back to your den.”
“You look appalling, my lord.”
“Good.”
The valet merely lifted his brow. Around the room Ivan’s men started howling. He shot a look at Ivan, who leaned against the wall by the study window. Ailill never got tired of looking at his lover. Dark from head to foot, skin still tanned dark from all their time in Kundou, goatee lending much to the hard edge that made every describe him as ‘evil.’ He wished rather badly that everyone else would take themselves elsewhere.
“My lord…”
“Fine!” Ailill said, throwing his hands up, conceding defeat. “By all means let us strip me of my dignity.” He stalked from the room, painfully aware of the sudden silence, not daring to look at Ivan.
Queen grant him mercy, he hated being nobility. He just wanted to be Ailill. Why had he come back?
Ailill sighed as he reached his bedroom, and wondered morosely how hard Ivan would laugh. He’d tried a thousand times to get his blasted servants – servants! – to tone everything down, but that’s what he got for hiring the “upstarts” no one else wanted.
Though he’d had plenty of fun firing all the snots that had kept the house until a new White Panther appeared. He grinned at the memory.
Movement caught his eyes and he glared balefully at his valet. “It’s no wonder you were fired so often. What’s that word they always use for people like you?”
“Depends, my Lord,” his valet flashed a grin, “on whom you talk to. Insubordinate, maybe?”
“Mouthy,” Ailill said dryly as he began to strip, temped to toss his clothes everywhere but knowing that would just make him seem more like a petulant child.
The valet made a face as he picked up the discarded clothes. “Honestly, my lord, it’s undignified to go about like this. You’re a peer of the realm.”
“I’m a mountain boy who can turn into a white cat,” Ailill said shortly. “What did you put in this bath water?”
“If you’d taken much longer to cooperate, I was going to toss in rose petals,” the valet taunted.
Ailill grumbled and slid into the bath, beginning to scrub himself clean, determined to get everything over with now that he’d finally given in to the inevitable. “I don’t suppose the rest are being tortured?” He asked quietly as his valet began to lay out his clothes, humming softly – smug little ferret. “You’re awfully chipper.”
“We’re glad you’re back, my lord,” the valet answered, turning serious. “Even if you’re not.”
“I am,” Ailill said, wringing out his hair and climbing out of the tub. “Did you put lavender in this? I hate when you use flowers.”
The valet sniffed. “It’s all the rage, this season.”
Ailill made a face. “At least it isn’t primroses again.”
A soft chuckle was the only reply, and then Ailill was being attacked with superfine, lawn, silk and—“Put that lace down or I’ll skin you alive, ferret. With my teeth.”
“It’s the fashion,” his valet replied, and continued the assault. He stepped away when he was finished, bowing low – but not quite hiding his smirk. “Impertinent,” Ailill said, “that’s the word I was looking for.”
“Ah, yes. Shall I send for your man?”
“May as well get it over with,” Ailill said glumly, starring miserably at his reflection.
As a Beast of Verde, he was expected to wear white. Lots of it. A dumb idea, but most of the ideas in Verde were, in his opinion.
His staff had outdone themselves in his absence. His pants were white superfine, and fit well enough he wondered how hard they’d worked to fit everything to his measurements so soon after his arrival. His jacket fell to mid-thigh, white embroidered with palest gold, buttons to match. The lace at his throat and the ends of his sleeves were also threaded with gold, drawing out the color in his pale hair and eyes. The pale colors were stark against his tanned skin, but overall the effect worked. He was once again the Marquis le Blanc.
The opening of the door dragged his attention from his reflection, and he watched anxiously as Ivan approached. It looked like the servants had indeed gotten a hold of Ivan and his men. Though Ivan was always clean, refusing to look completely like a reprobate, he had obviously been forced into his own bath. Hopefully without the lavender. Ailill smiled at the thought even as he devoured the sight of his lover. Still dressed all in black, but the clothes were of better quality, lawn and superfine. His hair and goatee had been trimmed, and it looked as though they’d somehow manage to temporarily relieve Ivan of his weapons. A stunning feat – but Ailill knew he had a knife or two secreted away. His Vanya looked like a rogue, straight from one of the theatre performances.
A rogue who was looking at him but not saying anything. Those steel blue eyes had made it hard for Ailill to breath from the moment he’d first met Ivan. He wondered if anyone had ever told Ivan his eyes did that.
He tried not to show his nervousness as Ivan continued silently to stare. "Vanya?" He finally asked, hating the uncertainty he heard in his own voice.
"You look good," Ivan said huskily. "Real good. Like I probably shouldn't touch you good."
“Oh,” Ailill said.
Ivan flashed a grin. “Doesn’t mean I won’t touch you, just that I probably shouldn’t.”
“Oh,” Ailill repeated, returning the grin this time as he closed the space between them and bent to kiss his lover hard, possessively. “So you don’t mind me like this?”
Ivan stepped back and slowly looked him up and down, blue eyes growing heated. “Like I said, you look good. I can see where you wouldn’t like all this, lover,” he motioned to the room, “but you wear it well.”
“I’d prefer I wasn’t wearing anything,” Ailill replied, closing the space between. “I’d prefer you that way as well.” He dipped his head to nip at Ivan’s throat, which thankfully hadn’t been hidden by a neck cloth – his servants hadn’t been foolish enough to try and dress Ivan up.
Murmuring in agreement, Ivan tipped his head to the side to give Ailill better access. “Your valet might have my neck if I ruin all his hard work so soon.”
“He’s paid to suffer,” Ailill said, fingers going to his own neck cloth, his other hand moving to the laces of Ivan’s shirt. “Let me show you my bed.”
“Please do.”
I don't know what it is. I can't land on anything I really really want to write. Often I can think of something new to get me going, but right now?
I just sit around sulking and glaring resentfully at my comp.
Alchemist isn't cooperating, Paradise isn't cooperating, Treasure won't, Stone Rose won't, I can't even work up enthusiasm for fairytales or DwtD.
Whine whine whine.
Something will strike eventually. It's just depressing I have all these things to work on, that I want to work on, and none of them will cooperate.
Aha, though speaking of which - sorry to have failed twice now to deliver Sandstorm. I'm kind of loathe to look at it until Iris rejects it.
Blah blah blah.
Mmm, pretty angsty icon. Kuro/Fai 4Evah!!111!! \o/
*notes* A rough sketch of a scene from book four. I'll flesh it out eventually, and I probably shoudln't have sketched it out, but it wouldn't leave my head. It's not really spoilery, I just happen to like these two a lot -- they were both meant to be minor, I didn't know until I'd written them that they were major players /notes
“You can’t make me,” Ailill said, folding his arms across his chest.
“I think he can, Highlander,” Luka said from where he reclined by the fireplace, boots propped on an ottoman that looked like it cost more than their yearly expenses. “The Boss is the only other one I know with a glare like that. No wonder you’re never intimated.”
“Luka,” Ivan said levelly.
“Yes, Boss.”
Ailill glared at his valet. “I’m fine. Go back to your den.”
“You look appalling, my lord.”
“Good.”
The valet merely lifted his brow. Around the room Ivan’s men started howling. He shot a look at Ivan, who leaned against the wall by the study window. Ailill never got tired of looking at his lover. Dark from head to foot, skin still tanned dark from all their time in Kundou, goatee lending much to the hard edge that made every describe him as ‘evil.’ He wished rather badly that everyone else would take themselves elsewhere.
“My lord…”
“Fine!” Ailill said, throwing his hands up, conceding defeat. “By all means let us strip me of my dignity.” He stalked from the room, painfully aware of the sudden silence, not daring to look at Ivan.
Queen grant him mercy, he hated being nobility. He just wanted to be Ailill. Why had he come back?
Ailill sighed as he reached his bedroom, and wondered morosely how hard Ivan would laugh. He’d tried a thousand times to get his blasted servants – servants! – to tone everything down, but that’s what he got for hiring the “upstarts” no one else wanted.
Though he’d had plenty of fun firing all the snots that had kept the house until a new White Panther appeared. He grinned at the memory.
Movement caught his eyes and he glared balefully at his valet. “It’s no wonder you were fired so often. What’s that word they always use for people like you?”
“Depends, my Lord,” his valet flashed a grin, “on whom you talk to. Insubordinate, maybe?”
“Mouthy,” Ailill said dryly as he began to strip, temped to toss his clothes everywhere but knowing that would just make him seem more like a petulant child.
The valet made a face as he picked up the discarded clothes. “Honestly, my lord, it’s undignified to go about like this. You’re a peer of the realm.”
“I’m a mountain boy who can turn into a white cat,” Ailill said shortly. “What did you put in this bath water?”
“If you’d taken much longer to cooperate, I was going to toss in rose petals,” the valet taunted.
Ailill grumbled and slid into the bath, beginning to scrub himself clean, determined to get everything over with now that he’d finally given in to the inevitable. “I don’t suppose the rest are being tortured?” He asked quietly as his valet began to lay out his clothes, humming softly – smug little ferret. “You’re awfully chipper.”
“We’re glad you’re back, my lord,” the valet answered, turning serious. “Even if you’re not.”
“I am,” Ailill said, wringing out his hair and climbing out of the tub. “Did you put lavender in this? I hate when you use flowers.”
The valet sniffed. “It’s all the rage, this season.”
Ailill made a face. “At least it isn’t primroses again.”
A soft chuckle was the only reply, and then Ailill was being attacked with superfine, lawn, silk and—“Put that lace down or I’ll skin you alive, ferret. With my teeth.”
“It’s the fashion,” his valet replied, and continued the assault. He stepped away when he was finished, bowing low – but not quite hiding his smirk. “Impertinent,” Ailill said, “that’s the word I was looking for.”
“Ah, yes. Shall I send for your man?”
“May as well get it over with,” Ailill said glumly, starring miserably at his reflection.
As a Beast of Verde, he was expected to wear white. Lots of it. A dumb idea, but most of the ideas in Verde were, in his opinion.
His staff had outdone themselves in his absence. His pants were white superfine, and fit well enough he wondered how hard they’d worked to fit everything to his measurements so soon after his arrival. His jacket fell to mid-thigh, white embroidered with palest gold, buttons to match. The lace at his throat and the ends of his sleeves were also threaded with gold, drawing out the color in his pale hair and eyes. The pale colors were stark against his tanned skin, but overall the effect worked. He was once again the Marquis le Blanc.
The opening of the door dragged his attention from his reflection, and he watched anxiously as Ivan approached. It looked like the servants had indeed gotten a hold of Ivan and his men. Though Ivan was always clean, refusing to look completely like a reprobate, he had obviously been forced into his own bath. Hopefully without the lavender. Ailill smiled at the thought even as he devoured the sight of his lover. Still dressed all in black, but the clothes were of better quality, lawn and superfine. His hair and goatee had been trimmed, and it looked as though they’d somehow manage to temporarily relieve Ivan of his weapons. A stunning feat – but Ailill knew he had a knife or two secreted away. His Vanya looked like a rogue, straight from one of the theatre performances.
A rogue who was looking at him but not saying anything. Those steel blue eyes had made it hard for Ailill to breath from the moment he’d first met Ivan. He wondered if anyone had ever told Ivan his eyes did that.
He tried not to show his nervousness as Ivan continued silently to stare. "Vanya?" He finally asked, hating the uncertainty he heard in his own voice.
"You look good," Ivan said huskily. "Real good. Like I probably shouldn't touch you good."
“Oh,” Ailill said.
Ivan flashed a grin. “Doesn’t mean I won’t touch you, just that I probably shouldn’t.”
“Oh,” Ailill repeated, returning the grin this time as he closed the space between them and bent to kiss his lover hard, possessively. “So you don’t mind me like this?”
Ivan stepped back and slowly looked him up and down, blue eyes growing heated. “Like I said, you look good. I can see where you wouldn’t like all this, lover,” he motioned to the room, “but you wear it well.”
“I’d prefer I wasn’t wearing anything,” Ailill replied, closing the space between. “I’d prefer you that way as well.” He dipped his head to nip at Ivan’s throat, which thankfully hadn’t been hidden by a neck cloth – his servants hadn’t been foolish enough to try and dress Ivan up.
Murmuring in agreement, Ivan tipped his head to the side to give Ailill better access. “Your valet might have my neck if I ruin all his hard work so soon.”
“He’s paid to suffer,” Ailill said, fingers going to his own neck cloth, his other hand moving to the laces of Ivan’s shirt. “Let me show you my bed.”
“Please do.”
