Still sucking
Jul. 19th, 2007 06:11 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
maderrI have no energy for anything this week x_x It's kinda sad, really.
But alot of it is that all this week J has been out, next week the boss is gone, and then I just found out C is leaving...and the week after she's gone E is out for an entire week x___X
Megan is tired.
Sadly, I have no story stuffs to offer. Chaos hates me, the various short stories I've tried starting hate me, Sandstorm hates me. About the only thing working at all is stupid Meant and I've only just started the next chapter =_=
Another story is a gift for someone, and speaking of gifts would like Alice's story to start cooperating again please kthx.
Don't get me started on SMP.
Boo hiss I say.
And must go grocery shopping. My days would be a lot better if I didn't spend them mostly starving.
*yawn*
Umm....lessee.....there's a night story I'm working on. It's really fracking hard to get the tone right. Also it sucks not being able to use contractions and it's been so long since I've done this I can't quite get the manner of speech down.
Sammikins suggested starting the story in an earlier spot, so I probably will go back and addtoo man fucking pages why can nothing I write be SHORT a few pages. But here is two feeble pages for now ^__^
Always There
It was the noise that bothered him, Lyon realized in annoyance.
Rather, the lack of noise.
Outside he could hear the bustle and clanking as the servants woke to start breakfast and the morning chores. A colorful curse as someone tripped in the dark.
These sounds, however, were only what he heard after he woke.
Since Chastaine's departure three weeks ago Lyon had woken every morning confused and annoyed. It was only a couple days ago that he had put the foul mood to Chastaine's absence. That perturbed enough, because it made no sense.
Well. Perhaps it did. They had been working together for nearly ten years now. It was, he conceded, only natural that things feel strange and wrong when so long established a pattern was broken.
Still, Chastaine's confounded racket every morn drove him mad. To miss that made no sense.
Yet miss it he did, and Lyon scowled as the realization only continued to infuriate.
It was, however, plain as day now that he had discovered the source of his early morning ire.
There was no creak as Chastaine climbed from bed, the rustling as he dressed, the scuff of his boots on stone, the clatter of dishes as he ate the cold breakfast he always set out the night before.
Early morning and the opening of the castle had long been Chastaine's duty, and Lyon had ever managed the evening and closing of the castle.
Missing was the grating of wood as he opened his door, the sound of his boots louder as he passed Lyon's door on his way to the great hall.
A hesitant rap at his door dragged Lyon from his thoughts. "Enter."
The page boy who stumbled in looked scared half to death. "Come, come, boy," Lyon said, trying to sound as though he were in a good mood rather than foul. He failed in the effort, to judge by the way the boy barely gave him the small scroll before bolting again from the room, calling a "Message for you, Sir Lyon. Message bird to take your reply."
Rolling his eyes, honestly he was not that frightening unless truly provoked, Lyon turned his attention to the scroll.
It was the seal which caught his eye.
The castle seal, set into the blue wax Chastaine always used.
He had not expected a missive at all, though he had hoped to hear some word.
Lyon,
We are at Shenan awaiting a ship to take us across the channel. The soonest even honest gold could manage was dawn. The journey goes as well as such a journey can be expected to go. We hope to locate her nearly as soon as we are landed.
The weather has been poor, but the sailors say it will not impede us upon the waters. I am rather inclined to believe them, so by the time this message finds you we will in fact be well on our away across.
Hopefully this message also finds the castle still standing, not felled by your temper.
Do not permit them to brew the summer ales according to that foul recipe you favor.
Chastaine.
Grunting, Lyon stood and finished dressing, combing impatiently through his short, black hair. Snatching up his cloak, for the castle was always miserable in the winter, he strode from his room and through to the great hall.
"Bring me writing implements," he told one of the servants darting about. "Breakfast, please. Whatever is ready so early."
"Just a bit of porridge, Sir Lyon. Sausages be ready in another moment."
Lyon nodded, waving her away, and quickly dispersed orders to all who approached him, wishing he could go back to his routine of the past several years.
But Lady Wendy and Chastaine were gone, and until their return all fell to him.
When the writing implements were brought – the lad nearly crashing into the girl bringing his breakfast – he had already decided what he would pen in reply. Hopefully, the letter would cross the channel without too much trouble.
AHAHAHAHA. Look what I just found. More of my stupid King Arthur crap. >_> it's not finished, I warn you right now. It may be that I decided to scrap it, I don't remember anymore.
Also, wtf is my cat doing? He has this weird need to crawl under furniture he can't actually fit beneath. Stupid cat -_-
Okay, bad!King Arthur and then I have to go get ready for work *siiiiiiigh*
Return to Me
“They’ve got this story all wrong, you know.”
Brian heaved a long suffering sigh and lifted his head from his book to glare at his partner.
The one he hadn’t wanted. Who had been foisted upon him because nobody else could stand the obnoxious loud mouth. “You know King Arthur better than the hundreds of scholars that have been studying for years and years, even though I’m pretty sure this is the first time you’ve so much as even looked at the story?”
“I don’t need to look at it.”
“Man, you are—“
“My name isn’t man. Nor is it ‘asshole,’ ‘jerk,’ ‘loudmouth’ or ‘that guy.’”
Brian opened his mouth, then closed it again with a snap. He ducked his head, feeling his cheeks heat. “Sorry. I was having a bad day, but…it wasn’t your fault so I shouldn’t have used you for a punching bag.” He did look up to glare. “But you’re not helping by goofing off instead of actually working on the damned paper.”
“I’m working, I’m working,” Astor said, rolling his eyes and blowing a large bubble with his gum. He snapped it and started chewing again as he leaned forward, over the table, jabbing the open book with his finger. “This is all wrong.”
Brian rolled his eyes and wondered what he’d done so wrong in a past life to get stuck with Astor for a partner on their finals project. “Then do enlighten me, oh wise and knowing one.”
“Merlin’s the smart one,” Astor said absently as he began flipping pages until he landed on the chapter about Arthur himself. “First off – Arthur? Never a King. He was just in charge of the knights. Guinevere was Queen, ol’ Lancey was her consort.”
Rather than roll his eyes again, Brian merely gave Astor a tolerant look. “And what? Mordred was her dear, dear sister?”
“Nah, those psychos hate each other. Seriously, I’m not sure which one is scarier when riled – maybe Guinevere, but only because she looks nice and then BAM – you’re on the ground and your buddies are laughing at you.”
Honestly, he should be rewarded for all the times he managed not to roll his eyes. “Do tell how they’ve ruined Gawain and the Green Knight then. You also need to tell me why you’re not in the fictional writing section of the English Department.”
“It’s not fiction!” Astor said, and Brian was suddenly enthralled by the way his green eyes blazed.
Great. His partner was certifiable. Well, lunatics were best tolerated, right? “So what’s the real story?”
Astor frowned. “Forget it. I know when I’m just the idiot being tolerated. What’s the assignment again?”
“Oh for the love of—“ Brian wanted to throw his pencil at him. And the book. And his entire book bag. “Do you ever pay attention in class?”
“Not really, no. I’m more into doing things, not sitting around.”
That was certainly true. He was amazed Astor had sat still this long. He was the type who always tapped his foot or drummed on the desk, whistled and hummed. Even now he was playing with a pencil, keeping his hands busy.
Screw it. Astor would get bored soon enough and take off to go play or whatever. Then he could work on the assignment in peace and just make Astor do the bulk of the presentation. Brian hated presentations. Loathed and despised.
Besides, the idea of Guinevere losing her temper and laying out a knight was sort of funny, once he actually thought about it. Astor was insane, but he was creative insane. “You can’t stop now. Violent Guinevere, Arthur not a king – so what’s the reality with the rest? Did Gawain not actually fight the Green Knight? Was the Green Knight a chick?” That would be sort of cool…though something about it didn’t seem quite right.
Astor snorted. “Hell no, the Green Knight was not a chick. When he first arrived at Arthur’s court – seeking refuge from a nasty winter on his way home – no one knew who he was. They’d never heard of him. Seemed a nice enough guy, though…” Astor’s expression turned suddenly sad. “By the end of winter, he’d become a fast friend of the Knights…he belonged…Arthur entreated him to stay and join the round table…” Brian hadn’t thought it was possible for an expression to cause pain, but the look of misery that briefly flickered across Astor’s face cut him like a knife.
Something flickered in his head, like a candle that fluttered for a moment before the wind snuffed it out. Gone too fast to shed any light. Brian shook his head. “So he didn’t stay?”
“No. He wouldn’t be swayed, even by Gawain.”
“What made Gawain so special?” Brian asked, unable to help himself. Something about the story just drew him, as ridiculous as it was.
“They were lovers, and Gawain foolishly believed they were in love. Despite his entreaties, his begging, the Green Knight rode off alone when the snow melted.”
“Gawain should have gone with him.”
“He tried,” Astor said bitterly, and it was sort of creepy how much the story affected him. Like he was taking it personally. “The Green Knight begged him not to, with the promise that he would return in a year and never again leave Gawain or the Knights.”
Brian frowned and began to wonder if he shouldn’t change the subject – but he wanted to know what happened. Stupid curiosity. Call him a dead cat. “I’m gonna hazard a guess that he didn’t return.”
“No. Despite the promises, and the green sash he gifted to Gawain as a sign of his promise, the Green Knight didn’t return. Gawain waited until the year was well past and then struck out to find him.”
For the first time Brian noticed the green bandana wrapped around Astor’s head. If he were honest, half the reason he put up with Astor where no one else would was that for all his obnoxiousness, he was damned easy on the eyes. Tall, athletic build, dark blonde hair and bright green eyes, and a perpetual tan – the man seemed to just drink up the sun. He was dressed rather plainly in a white t-shirt and jeans. The only oddity was the green bandana wrapped around his head, keeping his hair from his face – at least Brian supposed that was the purpose. This was seriously turning creepy.
Still, he was nothing if not a dead cat looking for satisfaction. “So Gawain found him, right?”
“Yeah, he found him,” Astor said, bitterness growing. “Winter fell hard and that time it was Gawain who was in need of shelter. Just when he began to despair, he came upon a castle though he could remember a lord living in such a place. He passed out just inside the keep, and when he woke he saw he was being tended a fair and beautiful woman
“When he asked her where he was, and of the weather, she told him he was quite snowed in but that he was safe, for he had found himself in the home of her noble husband, called the Green Knight”
Brian winced. “Ouch. Poor guy.”
“Yes,” Astor said grimly. “No sooner had she said the words than Gawain went in search of his lover – former lover. He tore through the castle like a wild man, determined to learn the truth once and for all. Finally he came upon him in a chapel. The confrontation turned violent,” Astor’s faced tightened as he spoke, and Brian swore the man looked miserable, and he wondered why he seemed to take the story so seriously – so personally. “In the end, Gawain wound up killing the Green Knight though he had not intended to.”
“That sucks,” Brian said, wishing he could think of something more appropriate. Even if Astor’s story was the “real” version, he could see why everyone preferred the wrong one. Minus the gay that would freak a lot of people out, who wanted to hear that one lover had wound up killing the other in a fit of jealous anger?
Well, chicks probably would. His mother and sister loved that shit. Not him. He’d always secretly longed for happily ever afters. He wanted Gawain to know that the Green Knight had never once betrayed him, he'd been under a spell--
Whoa. Wait. What?
A shiver ran up his spine, and the hairs on the back of his neck stood up – he hadn’t thought that could actually happen, but he knew it was.
But alot of it is that all this week J has been out, next week the boss is gone, and then I just found out C is leaving...and the week after she's gone E is out for an entire week x___X
Megan is tired.
Sadly, I have no story stuffs to offer. Chaos hates me, the various short stories I've tried starting hate me, Sandstorm hates me. About the only thing working at all is stupid Meant and I've only just started the next chapter =_=
Another story is a gift for someone, and speaking of gifts would like Alice's story to start cooperating again please kthx.
Don't get me started on SMP.
Boo hiss I say.
And must go grocery shopping. My days would be a lot better if I didn't spend them mostly starving.
*yawn*
Umm....lessee.....there's a night story I'm working on. It's really fracking hard to get the tone right. Also it sucks not being able to use contractions and it's been so long since I've done this I can't quite get the manner of speech down.
Sammikins suggested starting the story in an earlier spot, so I probably will go back and add
Always There
It was the noise that bothered him, Lyon realized in annoyance.
Rather, the lack of noise.
Outside he could hear the bustle and clanking as the servants woke to start breakfast and the morning chores. A colorful curse as someone tripped in the dark.
These sounds, however, were only what he heard after he woke.
Since Chastaine's departure three weeks ago Lyon had woken every morning confused and annoyed. It was only a couple days ago that he had put the foul mood to Chastaine's absence. That perturbed enough, because it made no sense.
Well. Perhaps it did. They had been working together for nearly ten years now. It was, he conceded, only natural that things feel strange and wrong when so long established a pattern was broken.
Still, Chastaine's confounded racket every morn drove him mad. To miss that made no sense.
Yet miss it he did, and Lyon scowled as the realization only continued to infuriate.
It was, however, plain as day now that he had discovered the source of his early morning ire.
There was no creak as Chastaine climbed from bed, the rustling as he dressed, the scuff of his boots on stone, the clatter of dishes as he ate the cold breakfast he always set out the night before.
Early morning and the opening of the castle had long been Chastaine's duty, and Lyon had ever managed the evening and closing of the castle.
Missing was the grating of wood as he opened his door, the sound of his boots louder as he passed Lyon's door on his way to the great hall.
A hesitant rap at his door dragged Lyon from his thoughts. "Enter."
The page boy who stumbled in looked scared half to death. "Come, come, boy," Lyon said, trying to sound as though he were in a good mood rather than foul. He failed in the effort, to judge by the way the boy barely gave him the small scroll before bolting again from the room, calling a "Message for you, Sir Lyon. Message bird to take your reply."
Rolling his eyes, honestly he was not that frightening unless truly provoked, Lyon turned his attention to the scroll.
It was the seal which caught his eye.
The castle seal, set into the blue wax Chastaine always used.
He had not expected a missive at all, though he had hoped to hear some word.
Lyon,
We are at Shenan awaiting a ship to take us across the channel. The soonest even honest gold could manage was dawn. The journey goes as well as such a journey can be expected to go. We hope to locate her nearly as soon as we are landed.
The weather has been poor, but the sailors say it will not impede us upon the waters. I am rather inclined to believe them, so by the time this message finds you we will in fact be well on our away across.
Hopefully this message also finds the castle still standing, not felled by your temper.
Do not permit them to brew the summer ales according to that foul recipe you favor.
Chastaine.
Grunting, Lyon stood and finished dressing, combing impatiently through his short, black hair. Snatching up his cloak, for the castle was always miserable in the winter, he strode from his room and through to the great hall.
"Bring me writing implements," he told one of the servants darting about. "Breakfast, please. Whatever is ready so early."
"Just a bit of porridge, Sir Lyon. Sausages be ready in another moment."
Lyon nodded, waving her away, and quickly dispersed orders to all who approached him, wishing he could go back to his routine of the past several years.
But Lady Wendy and Chastaine were gone, and until their return all fell to him.
When the writing implements were brought – the lad nearly crashing into the girl bringing his breakfast – he had already decided what he would pen in reply. Hopefully, the letter would cross the channel without too much trouble.
AHAHAHAHA. Look what I just found. More of my stupid King Arthur crap. >_> it's not finished, I warn you right now. It may be that I decided to scrap it, I don't remember anymore.
Also, wtf is my cat doing? He has this weird need to crawl under furniture he can't actually fit beneath. Stupid cat -_-
Okay, bad!King Arthur and then I have to go get ready for work *siiiiiiigh*
Return to Me
“They’ve got this story all wrong, you know.”
Brian heaved a long suffering sigh and lifted his head from his book to glare at his partner.
The one he hadn’t wanted. Who had been foisted upon him because nobody else could stand the obnoxious loud mouth. “You know King Arthur better than the hundreds of scholars that have been studying for years and years, even though I’m pretty sure this is the first time you’ve so much as even looked at the story?”
“I don’t need to look at it.”
“Man, you are—“
“My name isn’t man. Nor is it ‘asshole,’ ‘jerk,’ ‘loudmouth’ or ‘that guy.’”
Brian opened his mouth, then closed it again with a snap. He ducked his head, feeling his cheeks heat. “Sorry. I was having a bad day, but…it wasn’t your fault so I shouldn’t have used you for a punching bag.” He did look up to glare. “But you’re not helping by goofing off instead of actually working on the damned paper.”
“I’m working, I’m working,” Astor said, rolling his eyes and blowing a large bubble with his gum. He snapped it and started chewing again as he leaned forward, over the table, jabbing the open book with his finger. “This is all wrong.”
Brian rolled his eyes and wondered what he’d done so wrong in a past life to get stuck with Astor for a partner on their finals project. “Then do enlighten me, oh wise and knowing one.”
“Merlin’s the smart one,” Astor said absently as he began flipping pages until he landed on the chapter about Arthur himself. “First off – Arthur? Never a King. He was just in charge of the knights. Guinevere was Queen, ol’ Lancey was her consort.”
Rather than roll his eyes again, Brian merely gave Astor a tolerant look. “And what? Mordred was her dear, dear sister?”
“Nah, those psychos hate each other. Seriously, I’m not sure which one is scarier when riled – maybe Guinevere, but only because she looks nice and then BAM – you’re on the ground and your buddies are laughing at you.”
Honestly, he should be rewarded for all the times he managed not to roll his eyes. “Do tell how they’ve ruined Gawain and the Green Knight then. You also need to tell me why you’re not in the fictional writing section of the English Department.”
“It’s not fiction!” Astor said, and Brian was suddenly enthralled by the way his green eyes blazed.
Great. His partner was certifiable. Well, lunatics were best tolerated, right? “So what’s the real story?”
Astor frowned. “Forget it. I know when I’m just the idiot being tolerated. What’s the assignment again?”
“Oh for the love of—“ Brian wanted to throw his pencil at him. And the book. And his entire book bag. “Do you ever pay attention in class?”
“Not really, no. I’m more into doing things, not sitting around.”
That was certainly true. He was amazed Astor had sat still this long. He was the type who always tapped his foot or drummed on the desk, whistled and hummed. Even now he was playing with a pencil, keeping his hands busy.
Screw it. Astor would get bored soon enough and take off to go play or whatever. Then he could work on the assignment in peace and just make Astor do the bulk of the presentation. Brian hated presentations. Loathed and despised.
Besides, the idea of Guinevere losing her temper and laying out a knight was sort of funny, once he actually thought about it. Astor was insane, but he was creative insane. “You can’t stop now. Violent Guinevere, Arthur not a king – so what’s the reality with the rest? Did Gawain not actually fight the Green Knight? Was the Green Knight a chick?” That would be sort of cool…though something about it didn’t seem quite right.
Astor snorted. “Hell no, the Green Knight was not a chick. When he first arrived at Arthur’s court – seeking refuge from a nasty winter on his way home – no one knew who he was. They’d never heard of him. Seemed a nice enough guy, though…” Astor’s expression turned suddenly sad. “By the end of winter, he’d become a fast friend of the Knights…he belonged…Arthur entreated him to stay and join the round table…” Brian hadn’t thought it was possible for an expression to cause pain, but the look of misery that briefly flickered across Astor’s face cut him like a knife.
Something flickered in his head, like a candle that fluttered for a moment before the wind snuffed it out. Gone too fast to shed any light. Brian shook his head. “So he didn’t stay?”
“No. He wouldn’t be swayed, even by Gawain.”
“What made Gawain so special?” Brian asked, unable to help himself. Something about the story just drew him, as ridiculous as it was.
“They were lovers, and Gawain foolishly believed they were in love. Despite his entreaties, his begging, the Green Knight rode off alone when the snow melted.”
“Gawain should have gone with him.”
“He tried,” Astor said bitterly, and it was sort of creepy how much the story affected him. Like he was taking it personally. “The Green Knight begged him not to, with the promise that he would return in a year and never again leave Gawain or the Knights.”
Brian frowned and began to wonder if he shouldn’t change the subject – but he wanted to know what happened. Stupid curiosity. Call him a dead cat. “I’m gonna hazard a guess that he didn’t return.”
“No. Despite the promises, and the green sash he gifted to Gawain as a sign of his promise, the Green Knight didn’t return. Gawain waited until the year was well past and then struck out to find him.”
For the first time Brian noticed the green bandana wrapped around Astor’s head. If he were honest, half the reason he put up with Astor where no one else would was that for all his obnoxiousness, he was damned easy on the eyes. Tall, athletic build, dark blonde hair and bright green eyes, and a perpetual tan – the man seemed to just drink up the sun. He was dressed rather plainly in a white t-shirt and jeans. The only oddity was the green bandana wrapped around his head, keeping his hair from his face – at least Brian supposed that was the purpose. This was seriously turning creepy.
Still, he was nothing if not a dead cat looking for satisfaction. “So Gawain found him, right?”
“Yeah, he found him,” Astor said, bitterness growing. “Winter fell hard and that time it was Gawain who was in need of shelter. Just when he began to despair, he came upon a castle though he could remember a lord living in such a place. He passed out just inside the keep, and when he woke he saw he was being tended a fair and beautiful woman
“When he asked her where he was, and of the weather, she told him he was quite snowed in but that he was safe, for he had found himself in the home of her noble husband, called the Green Knight”
Brian winced. “Ouch. Poor guy.”
“Yes,” Astor said grimly. “No sooner had she said the words than Gawain went in search of his lover – former lover. He tore through the castle like a wild man, determined to learn the truth once and for all. Finally he came upon him in a chapel. The confrontation turned violent,” Astor’s faced tightened as he spoke, and Brian swore the man looked miserable, and he wondered why he seemed to take the story so seriously – so personally. “In the end, Gawain wound up killing the Green Knight though he had not intended to.”
“That sucks,” Brian said, wishing he could think of something more appropriate. Even if Astor’s story was the “real” version, he could see why everyone preferred the wrong one. Minus the gay that would freak a lot of people out, who wanted to hear that one lover had wound up killing the other in a fit of jealous anger?
Well, chicks probably would. His mother and sister loved that shit. Not him. He’d always secretly longed for happily ever afters. He wanted Gawain to know that the Green Knight had never once betrayed him, he'd been under a spell--
Whoa. Wait. What?
A shiver ran up his spine, and the hairs on the back of his neck stood up – he hadn’t thought that could actually happen, but he knew it was.
