Snippets and Stories: (WtI) Whimsical

"There comes a point, where they just don't get better."

Snippets and Stories: (I) Alright

The brunette was nodding solemnly, but a snide voice inside snorted at the cliched plastic words of comfort.

Snippets and Stories: (I) Logical Reasoning

"Why?"

Shir frowned.

Why search for what was never there to begin with?

Why must there be a reason to everything?

Snippets and Stories: (R) Lucky

There is nothing better to ruin one's day than a game of chance.

Luck has never been in my favor, even when the odds point towards a favorable outcome.

I hated it more than anything else.

Because it never happens.

And I watch everyone else get lucky and so happy. And I wonder why it never happens to me. You're suppose to smile and shrug it off.

I'm too old to be upset about these things, to be bothered. But it still does, and so I avoid it. Because it's no fun to get your hopes up for nothing.

Everyone always wants to hear things about themselves. There's never any room for me.

I listen to my friend talk to everyone, play with everyone. Yet never with me.

I want to be done.

I want to be through with it without regrets.

But I always remember their company and miss them all the same.

No different than if I were with them really.

And so I stay.

Because whether I'm there or elsewhere it makes no difference. I'm miserable through and through.

But at least with them there's a chance that maybe they will play with me.

I guess I play with luck every day.

I just never get lucky.

Snippets and Stories: (R) Falsities

It was a distant memory, but one that wouldn't fade.

Displeasure and disappointment both, showed in her disapproving frown, and she asked me to raise my head.

"Hold up your head, that others may respect you as you do yourself."

And so I did.

She taught me how to walk, to talk, to dress, though we had our disagreements.

"Do not linger in a crowd. Put your faith not in people whom you know little and less of, for though altruism is well and ideal in utopia, ours is not the making of."

She looked me square in the eye, "You're far too naive, and a bleeding Heart besides."

It was an epithet which in itself was not derisive, but I had long since learned to hear it for what it was. Naivety, foolishness, immaturity, a lack of common sense, acumen, worldliness. I had long thought far behind me.

Character Profile and Analysis: Silas N. Curse

Name: Silas N. Curse

• Profile:
• hair: ?
• eyes: dark green
• height: 8'4"

Personality: Jaded and sarcastic, speaks with a monotone
Dress Style: protective clothing, Autumn dress. Comfortable, warm, and classy.
Quirks:

Background: The Invalid was once one of 8 Founders of the Academy, and the pinnacle of the scientific frontier. Due to a debilitating illness that has taken more of his strength than his pride would allow, Silas has since withdrawn. Having grown weary of petty human strife, the Invalid disappeared from the Academy to a small rural town, intending to live out his days in quiet comfort. There he would stew, jaded. For all his brilliance, there was nothing that would compensate for a hale body. Once unmatched in intellect and wit he has since been locked in a stalemate fighting with the inevitable slow decline of failing health. Where he was once known for his sharpness, age and sickness has since fogged his mind. Though he remains (to the best of his ability) as meticulous a man and perceptive, he no longer sees with the same ease that his younger and keen self once did. His only comfort is Neiro, a strange young man who sought shelter in the Tea Shop during one seasonal downpour. Though he tolerates few attachments, Silas grudgingly accepted the albino's presence as one to stay.

Analysis: Frustrated with the illness that plagues him and cripples his corporeal form, the prideful invalid left the Academy nearly a decade before he meets Neiro. Silas is frustrated by several things, the pettiness of human emotion, and his inability to overcome the one most crucial thing, to name a few. He's just tired of dealing with things that no longer mattered. Or perhaps that he just didn't want to matter.

Snippets and Stories: (R) Living Lives

"You would don on yet another mask? When you cannot even find your own?"

I smile and flip through the script. Mine was but a simple part. A small part, "Come Neskyii, it would be fun wouldn't it?"

Peering over the odd scythe on his right temple, he shrugged, "Why so keen on acting?"

Setting the papers down I give it a moment's thought. "A person lives but one life, but an actor lives many, if but for a moment."

"Pretend then if you will, to be what you are not. I understand little why one would revel in such foolishness."

"For fun Neskyii. Know you not of such?" I chided in a mockery of his archaic tongue.

He grimaced and vanished. Retreating to the hazy recesses of my dream.

Snippets and Stories: (R) Empty Promises

"You promise stability, even while you waver still. An empty promise, that you can fallback on should you fail. How very like you."

"It is with all seriousness that I pledge myself."

"And it is with the same genuine Heart that you will lash out and loathe them in that moment of Time in which you break your promise."

When I whirl on him he is already gone, his mocking laughter fading, "Your heartfelt words mean nothing."

But it isn't his cackling laughter that stings at my pride, nor his words that cut deep, that blur my eyes.

But a single thought then.

What do you do when you're a writer, but your words mean nothing?

Snippets and Stories: (I) Running

"With my physique I am not capable of running myself so ragged as to incapacitate myself. So I say 'one foot in front of the other' and 'just keep going', because it's not like it'll kill me to do so. I'm surrounded by civilization, what's the worst that will come from pushing the limits, if at all I am? If you've got the energy to be angry or sad, then you've got the energy to run."

North Star: En-Raptored (1 of ?)

The multitude of colors and throng of people bustling to and fro certainly painted a lively atmosphere.

Rain hummed to herself as she meandered by the vivid stalls, admiring the scenery as she pushed her bike along. It was a lot of fun seeing all the games she had enjoyed at the occasional carnival that passed by her town.

But it wasn't the passing festivities that brought here there. She had come, chasing after what would be at best, a questionable source. It was purely coincidental that the fair happened to be in town.

She sighed, glancing around and humming a nostalgic lullaby. 

"First is Poor Will, that sends the Night aJar, in echo the Harbinger. Of songs by and by, will the mockingbird cry, that sings a prelude to starlight true."

There were a lot of people. Perhaos another day.

But as she turned to leave, was there a panicked shout, "Lookout!"

It hadn't yet registered as she turned around, to see a thick band from the bungee attaction hurling in her direction.

She threw herself at the ground, and the loop whistled past--around the seat of her bike.

All too suddenly the whole world lurches as the metal frame slams into her side, and both are hurled bodily into the air.

The rush of air and blur of colors she couldn't see made her eyes water, and she closed them in the vertigo, teeth grit against the sickening lurch in her stomach.

This was going to hurt.

Snippets and Stories: (R) Starry Night

I reach for the star that twinkles above me, and cup the small mote in my hands.

But the moment I touch it, does its brilliance shatter into a fine scintillating dust. It is beautiful, and oddly poignant as it disperses, drifting with the passing zephyr.

He turned to me then, a disapproving frown on his visage, "Look, but don't touch. They're far too delicate to be handled."

As he turns to walk away he calls one last Time.

"Just let them be."

So I walked across the starry lake, a mirrored sky of stars.

They twinkled so, and I longed to touch them.

Now, I walk the same hall, and across the same starry night that is both above and below.

I want to touch a star, its pretty light so enchanting.

But I learned long ago, such were not meant to be touched.

Dreams were meant to be, but dreams.

Snippets and Stories: (R) Deadweight

It's easy to get along with people when you don't care much for them.

When you don't talk.

It's what I should have done. The signs were long there.

"Not now."

Neskyii grins and settled down beside me, "Another mess up?"

"Of course."

He always knows what to say.

"Your own fault."

A nod, "Isn't it always?"

"Oh course."

No one made the decisions for me. Though it seemed my judgement wasn't satisfactory.

I did what was asked of me. Didn't I?

Maybe not.

My memory wasn't known for its clarity.

An exchange of thoughts, and then back out. Because anymore and it would lead to confrontation. I made my thoughts known.

Seeing his stubbornness in having his way though.

I wanted someone to talk to.

"You always want someone to talk to."

"Go away Neskyii."

Fanfiction: (Final Fantasy XIV) By Design - Bad Start

There was no greater sense of helplessness than that moment when he held his hand and watched as the light left his eyes and the devastating reality hit him in full.

He had failed. And nothing he could do now would rectify that.

Even as the knight locked eyes with him and searched so desperately, emotions welled up with the things he had yet to tell him. All the things that he had wanted to say, but which had never quite been the right Time for.

And now it would never be.

Silas woke up with a start and rubbed at his bleary eyes, cracking one open only to be greeted by the full brunt of the unfiltered morning sun. He groaned to himself. Of course it was his one good eye that he opened to the blistering inferno.

How he loathed the glaring light with a passion. Silly as it was it felt but a mockery in its flickering light.

How easily the world moved on and left its true heroes but forgotten in its shadow.

He who cowered behind his kin had lived, and was so showered in praise. Praise won in blood and sweat of not his own.

He was no warrior of light. Clumsy hands trembled with the adrenaline rush, struggling to draw the quill with which to cast his arcane magic.

Whereas most followed reason, he heard but his Heart. A romantic notion to most. Inconvenient at best. After all, those driven by the brash were not the most tactful, and to this he was no exception.

Now though he was taking a step back, as his acquaintances had insisted he do.

He fished, he mined, he reaped the bounties of the forest, and he tended to the garden.

Away from the frontlines.

There would be other heroes to rise up to the challenge, there always would be. No longer did he desire to struggle.

It wasn't his fight. Not anymore.

Silas pulled a grub off of the glazenut bush, tossing it into the morning glory vines that were creeping along the trellis.

He didn't want to outright kill them. And the floral plant would suffer less than the crops anyhow.

It wouldn't be long now. Soon it would be Time to move on.

His stay had been longer than he thought it would, at the very least.

It never lasted long.

Wasn't worth staying for, too many disagreeances, the company had grown distant if not deserted, there were plenty of reasons.

Certainly he could try for once to make it work, but it felt too forced.

Don't push it. If they didn't like him, they didn't like him.

Silas closed his eyes as he relished in the morning sun. In his mind he called for one of the many minions.

The poppet appeared in a swirl of green teleportation magick before ambling about.

If we could not bring with him the knight that was so fond of the oddities of what lay beyond the walls, he would at least honor him by doing so with the small poppet of his likeness.

His fellow acquaintances roused at their own pace, and Nash as always, dropped by with a smile on his face and a hug in his arms.

This Time though he hesitated, glancing between Silas and the minion as it ran around.

"How are you doing that?"

Silas blinked and it dawned on him, "Mammeteer. You learn a couple tricks after obtaining a number of--"

"Oh no, I know about that. But you're not wearing that title!"

Oh.

Silas didn't much care for the achievements nor glory boasts, and had long ago turned off the function for his headset to display such information.

What was he wearing at the moment?

Apparently the makai title. Right. It had been quite a tumble in Carteneu yesternight.

He glanced back at the poppet, puzzled, and not unlike his visitor.

Nash quirked a brow and poked the mammot, "You think it gained sentience? Like Gigi?"

No response from the wind-up Haurchefant.

The thought brought a grimace. He sure hoped not. Gigi had put him off sentient mammets for the long haul.

"Maybe it's residual aether. My anima maybe." He speculated. It was plausible as he'd left the Mammeteer shebang on for the past few weeks and had grown accustomed to manipulating the mechanical minions. So much so that it became second nature to him, almost as one would with drawing breath. Silas beckoned and it came to him.

He hugged the poppet close, ignoring the cold bite of its metal surface.

He hoped not.

The lalafell didn't know if he could handle having a poppet gain sentience and meander about with Haurchefant's likeness.

Too many memories.

Snippets and Stories: (I) Friends Today

Shir waved their farewell.

People didn't make sense to her. They never did.

But before they left one of them lingered to talk with her privately.

"I'm not saying don't just say nothing."

"Okay."

"But don't just walk away from it either. If you don't like something talk it out."

Shir chuckled and shook her head.

She had tried, but they were too forceful. Too insistent. To argue more would  lead to full on confrontation.

There was no point talking with those who wouldn't listen.

But it was a very diplomatic thing for them to say, and she could commend them for that.

Snippets and Stories: (I) All In Your Head

Shir knew what it was. It was all in their head.

There was nothing holding them back but the chains they clapped upon their own wrists.

It's all in your mind.

And yet he couldn't shake them off.

Couldn't--or wouldn't?

Was this what they wanted?

The throbbing worsened and Shir raised a hand to rub at their temple wearily. It was tiresome.

Everything was his own fault and no one else's. But it didn't stop him from wanting to blame others. It was just so much easier to find fault in others than it was to find it in himself, though he knew better than anyone that they were there.

Looking in the mirror now he could see them.

Staring back at him was one who had lost their resolve.

But if he'd lost it, then maybe it wasn't all that strong a resolution to begin with.

Strange. What did he want?

The longing was still there, but missing was the motivation, the desire.

Sometimes, Shir thought, he must be insane. For nothing was making sense out of the nonsensical, except with the same absurdity itself.

Ludicrous, but with just enough logic to put the "sense" in "nonsense".

Snippets and Stories: (WtI) Nonsensical Things

Silas could not fathom why Neiro believed it a good idea, nor could he believe, was refusing to believe, the veritable mountain of balls of yarn sitting in a basket and piling over onto the couch.

"Neiro."

A ball of yarn shifted to reveal the inquiring face of his flatmate, "Hm?"

"Tell me again what the purpose of all this--" and he gestured with a grand sweep of his arm, "--this exorbitant pile of yarn, is for?"

"Oh that. Just a hobby I picked up." And then he was back to struggling with the... Whatever it was that he was trying to make.

At the moment it appeared to be a  lumpy bag of sorts. Or perhaps the beginnings of a mottled scarf?

Either way he was making a novice mistake. Many who began knew not how to manage the tension in their yarn, pulling too hard on the hook and the leading strand alike.

The nonchalance by which Neiro acknowledged the pile was infuriating.

Yet it didn't stop him from taking a seat beside the precariously piled yarn and stealing ball of yarn and a hook from the open case where the rest of his hook set was.

Neiro barked out an indignant, "Hey!" But was quick to fall silent as the man started crocheting.

"Relax your grip, lest you choke the strand that feeds the knot. That it weaves around your latter three fingers oft provides enough tension, you need not add to it by clenching it so." Silas's low monotone snapped Neiro to and he grinned, straightening up.

It wasn't often that Silas would impart his experience unto others, and to see the other so serious over a ball of yarn was enough to make his grin widen.

But he wouldn't poke fun at the man just yet. For now the albino leaned on his arms to observe with undivided attention.

After all, he did want to make him a nice cozy scarf for the winter, if to make the steadily colder night a bit more bearable. And even if it ironically gave his poor, troubled friend, a few more grievances along the way.

It was the thought that counts, right?

Snippets and Stories: (A) Simple Times

Leira was their senior by several years, this Sil knew to be a fact.

The way she held herself was full of grace and composure. Though her humility as she talked to them as peers betrayed none of it, and though she would never talk down to them, he could see it in her eyes that she was indulging them. Found them endearing.

She stood as a prominent maternal figure where many of them had been uprooted from their lives before.

Sil himself was no different in that regards, though it wasn't a particular happenstance, but rather his incriminating blood that justified his admission into Lacore. The public was growing restless and demanded ever greater vigilance over the Enhanced.

He clung to her side, for she treated him far better than any of his peers, both in and out of the academy. Besides, no one would mistreat him, not while Leira was around.

Leira herself found Sil an adorable character, who on occasion worried her. For he seemed in sparse moments, far wiser than was belied by his diminutive form. She saw his weary eyes, the fatigue that went beyond the mere corporeal form.

Sil was tired of life.

It was a dangerous thing to be, such listlessness, for those who have lost sight of the path, easily stray from the same and become lost.

Tragedy was abound everywhere, if one were to but look.

And it was the same deadly apathy that she had witnessed, and which had led to her admission into Lacore.

Snippets and Stories: (Freelance Shorts) Little Hen

She grew up in a crowded cage, amongst a throng of other hens. The ventilation was poor and there was hardly any rest to be had over the nigh constant squabble.

Still, she grew accustomed to the din, for they had no choice but to.

She pecked away at the grain, growing day by day until it came Time for her to lay.

Settling into a box of sorts, for though the small cubicle seemed awkward and confined, there were no other places with which to nest.

There she lay her first eggs, a lovely pure white. She nestled over them, clucking happily to herself, her feathers puffed with her pride and joy.

But a man came.