Nikkicub Writes!

HP Fanfiction: Before The Test

Mon, 18 Jun 2007 19:50:29 GMT

I know, I know. I've been really bad about updating.

Here's a drabble - part of a gift exchange over at hat_sorting. Lily begins to get an inkling at what her relationship with James might mean as far as the Marauders go!

Lily smiled faintly at the three boys standing before her, brow raised as each of the four waited for someone else to speak first. Sirius Black, at the center of the group, was the only one who met her stare; shy Remus Lupin kept dropping his eyes to tattered loafers, shamefaced, while Peter Pettigrew simply looked to Sirius as he always did.

“Yes, Sirius?” she said at last. (Remus looked even more embarrassed at the gentleness of her tone.) “You wanted to see me?”

Sirius smiled a bit; he felt he had some small advantage, now that Lily had been the first to break the silence. “Why yes, Evans. You know, you’ve been spending a lot of time with James.”

“I have.” She widened her own smile, both brows raised. “Quite charming, James. At least when the lot of you aren’t terrorizing first years and loners.” (Remus went positively crimson at this, mumbling something Lily couldn’t quite catch.)

“Oh, someone has to keep them on their toes,” Sirius replied airily, spreading his hands. “And really, that’s not why we’re here. You see, Lily, this James thing. Cutting into our activities, don’t you think? People will think we’ve gone soft.”

“Perhaps they’ll think you’ve grown up.”

“Not at all, they know us better than that.” Sirius offered his most charming grin, only faltering slightly when Lily refused to melt as most of the Gryffindor girls did. “Anyway,” he continued with a faint cough, “this is a bit of a problem. So I suppose you’re going to have to convince me you’re not just stringing poor senseless James along, finding a bit of fun with us for your own popularity, that sort of nonsense.”

“I think you know better than that, Sirius. You act stupid, but you aren’t. Besides,” she added, turning that faint smile on Remus, “what are you going to do? Lure me to the Shrieking Shack, perhaps?”

Remus went from crimson to white at a rather alarming rate. Sirius dropped the smile entirely, glowering at Lily from beneath lowered brows. Lily thought he looked positively Cro-Magnon.

“Now look here, Evans, if you think—“

“Not at all. And no,” she added more softly, “James never said a word, Remus. I’m no fool, at least no more than you are a beast.” Remus thought that over a moment and then nodded, finally relaxing a bit. “Well, Sirius,” she continued, “just what are you planning to do about it?”

“Nothing at all, Lily my sweet,” he said a bit too quickly. “I only wanted you to be aware of the situation.”

“Do I detect a bit of sportsmanship?”

“When it suits me.” He grinned, looking far more wolfish than Remus ever had. “Well, take care then. Tell James I said hello, some days I think I’ll never see him again.”

“Of course.” Lily strolled away, thinking that the ‘meeting’ had gone rather well.

She had a feeling it was going to be a very long term.

Mm, cookies.

Sun, 06 May 2007 14:26:58 GMT

I've crossed over to the Dark Side, and am happy to report that they DO have cookies and they are delicious.

That's right: I'm revisting early adolescence and writing Sonic the Hedgehog fanfiction, focussing on the old Saturday morning cartoon and starting here. Please go read and offer compliments, complaints, contructive criticism, and whatever else.

Seriously, knothole is a great community with lovely people. Please go poke around, post, join discussions, whatever. We can use fresh blo..er... faces. Yes. Fresh faces.

Visual DNA?

Mon, 23 Apr 2007 20:26:44 GMT

From lapifors.

Read my VisualDNA™ Get your own VisualDNA™

An Attempt At Organizing My Philosophy

Mon, 23 Apr 2007 18:51:36 GMT

All right. I, as a person, cannot stop religion/science squabbling. What I can do, however, is lay out my own views on the matter, and hope I've done so in a way that makes sense.

First: I must tell you, and emphasize, that I hold your opinion to be valid and valuable if you have thought it through carefully. That is a very big "if". For example, religious faith that you hold because the preacher said so, because the sacred text of choice said so, or out of fear is useless. So is reactionary atheism--that is, you are an atheist because something bad happened to you, because religious people have mistreated you, et cetera. I know people who believe in God 'because the Bible said so'. I know atheists who claim atheism because religious people have "been mean to them". I know a woman who claims to be an atheist because her mother died--no, dear, you're not an atheist, you're a grieving woman who is angry at the God you still believe in deep down, and are trying to 'get back at him'. None of these have put any real thought into these beliefs, and so they're not so much believers as parrots.

Second: Science and faith. They are not mutually exclusive--but neither are they meant to be mingled. Faith must not interfere with science, and the truly faithful do not allow science to interfere with their faith--they only recognize that the laws of science indicate that the particular myths of their chosen religion are not always correct. The fact that science and faith are not mixed leads to another thing that seems obvious to me: you cannot use natural law to prove or disprove that which transcends nature. There are religious people who believe a sunset proves God exists. No. It proves that the sun and particles in the atmosphere exist, though you can say what you like about an evolutionarily useless ability to appreciate beauty. They will also say that the occasional case of spontaneous recovery from seemingly hopeless illness proves God exists. No. It proves that there are facets of the human mind and body that we do not yet understand. Similarly, atheists will claim that the proof of evolution and the fossil records prove that God does not exist. No. It proves that God did not create the world in seven days(substitute any religious creation story you like). There are phenomena that are still not explained by science; perhaps someday they will be, but perhaps they won't. If it is truly supernatural, then natural law does not apply, and there is no proving or disproving. Belief or disbelief, therefore, is reduced to a question of personal choice, not of intellect, and no one has a right to criticize another's choice in the matter. You've thought long and hard and decided you don't believe in God? Good for you! You've thought long and hard and decided you do believe? Good for you! You've thought long and hard and decided take the agnostic stance of 'it can't be known'? Good for you! Just don't be a jerk, share your beliefs calmly and with understanding, listen to those you want to listen to you, shut up if asked, and keep debates civilized. (Curiously, the peculiar irrationality of "science disproves the supernatural" is clung to most fiercely by those who claim to be completely rational. I have far more respect for the agnostic, or the atheist who is certain he is right yet open to the possibility of being wrong, than I do the "science proves my stance" crowd.)

Third: religious texts. They were written by humans with agendas, translated by humans with agendas, and interpreted by humans with agendas. Say what you like about 'inspired by an infallible God'--the fact remains, humans wrote this down, humans are fallible, and in any of these texts you can find passages that are self-contradictory or utterly wrong. The Bible, Torah, and Qur'an are all rife with the immorality their adherents claim to eschew. What's that you say? It's not fair to judge the texts by modern standards? Yes it is--it's completely fair. After all, we judge and condemn geocentric theory based on modern findings. This is no different. This isn't to say that the texts contain no good ideas--they have some very good ones. "Do unto others as you would have them do unto you", for instance. They are not, however, Life's Little Instruction Book, and I fear and pity those who live by them. Faith in an idea is one thing. Faith in stories thousands of years old is another entirely.

Fourth: similarities among different traditions. Look at them. They're fascinating. Let's start with, say, Christianity and Hinduism. Different, right? Monotheistic versus polytheistic, Heaven versus reincarnation. But let's dig deeper. Look beneath all the cults and sects of Hinduism, to the core, the original, the purest version. You find that there is ONE god, who takes on different aspects(Kali, Ganesh, et al)in order to interact with humans in the way that they best understand and that is best suited to the situation. Sounds quite a lot like angels and the Holy Trinity, don't you think? Then--the reincarnation issue. Keep being good, basically, and you are reincarnated into better and better lives until you achieve perfection and are reunited with the Godhead. On the other side, be a good and faithful believer, and your conditions improve until... you are reunited with God! Hmmmm. (Jesus and Buddha, by the way? Same guy, different regional trappings. Read Living Buddha, Living Christ by Thich Nhat Hanh if you're interested in such things beyond putting up with my rambling.) In the end, you are given the choice between (A)something is going on, and different regional quirks get attached to it, or (B)there's something to the theory of collective consciousness.

Lastly, afterlife, if any. It is determined by morality, not what you believe as far as spirits, angels, invisible old men in the sky, and so on. Morality. Religious, spiritual, agnostic, or atheist, morality is the key. The religious will leap from there to "but where does morality come from?" It comes from common sense--from being able to say "I don't like it when people do this to me, so I won't do it to them either". What you do with the fact that feelings can be hurt as well as bodies, with the fact that we have emotion and feeling as opposed to being completely rational creatures focussed only on survival, is up to you--and I respect your views on that. Morality and respect, my friends--make whatever informed, thought-out choices you will as far as belief, unbelief, and not knowing, be open to being wrong, and respect other's choices as you do their other human rights. That's all anyone should ask of anyone.

It's too bad human nature makes this so hard.

Sorry for the boring ramble. Feel free to argue--just be civil.

The Easter Dragon

Sun, 08 Apr 2007 07:06:36 GMT

Notes: Saint Francis de Sales is the Patron Saint of Writers--it's a fictional church, but it should be obvious why I chose the name. Eostre is an Anglo-Saxon goddess whose traditions are seen in Christian Easter. Aaron Norfair belongs to engelhund and this story is a gift for her.

Happy Easter!

The Easter Dragon

In the basement of Saint Francis de Sales Catholic Church, three teenagers were etching magic circles in chalk.

More accurately, two of them were doing the etching while the third looked on. At the center of the room crouched small, elegant Madeleine Murray, long dark hair caught in one small hand as the other delicately traced symbols. Further out stood the tall, fastidious Russian Ilya Ivanovich Ilatovsky, armed with compass and notebook as he drew precise, intricate loops about Madeleine’s emblems. Presiding over the scene was scruffy, impatient Aaron Norfair, idly tapping his heel against the defunct pew he was perched on. As his friends finished and turned toward him(Madeleine remaining crouched with chin resting pensively on the back of her chalking hand), Aaron rolled from the pew, landing awkwardly with a soft grunt before getting to his feet.

“Finished? Finally?”

“Finished, finally,” Ilya agreed, squinting through his glasses at his neat circles. After a moment he nodded to himself, pleased, and moved carefully to Aaron’s side.

“Great! So why couldn’t I do this myself?” Both boys turned to the slightly older Madeleine for the answer. She was quiet a moment, ordering her thoughts as she straightened and dusted her hands.

“Well. A good bit of it is probably baseless tradition, like silver for exorcism. Partly to save your mental strength for the actual summoning. And partly,” she finished, tucking her hands behind her back to lean forward a bit as she smiled up at him, “because you get off track more easily than Ilya or I do, and you’d get impatient and mess it up.”

Aaron rolled his eyes. “You have a lot of faith in me, don’t you?”

“In some ways,” she told him mildly. “Anyway—the symbols need a certain magical charge. You two are smart. Very smart. Magically, however….”

“Duds,” Ilya finished cheerfully, plopping onto the pew.

“Exactly. I see you’re getting the hang of slang.”

“Yes. A wonderful variety you have. If I have no slang, I make one up and am understood.”

“Great. Wonderful.” Aaron settled beside Ilya, peering accusingly up at Madeleine. “You still think this is a bad idea.”

“I’m helping under protest. Like Ilya said—dud.”

“Too kind.”

“Hey—I’m supposed to be incapable of lying.”

“Supposed to be.” Aaron leaned back against the pew, frowning. “Time yet?”

Madeleine sighed and obligingly checked her watch. “The bells should start any minute.”

“Excellent.” He got to his feet, striding into the center of the circle, and Ilya slowly rose as well.

“Do we wish to be present?” he muttered to Madeleine. She shook her head but stood her ground, frowning as she watched Aaron.

“Hey,” the would-be summoner called over his shoulder. “It’s fine. It’s me!”

Madeleine and Ilya exchanged a long look. Then they wordlessly dragged the pew to the large safe in the corner and climbed behind both as the bells started chiming. Aaron puffed his cheeks childishly, bit back a sarcastic thanks, and drew a long strait-edge razor from his pocket. A deep breath, and he carefully cut a long, thin line in his left palm—the dominant hand—allowing the blood to drip onto Madeleine’s strangely dainty sigils, pattering in time with the churchbells. No words were necessary for the summoning, and they would have died in his lungs if he had them; the bells and the faint phut of his blood on chalk and stone seemed to be slowly, powerfully amplifying, the sound pressing against him until he felt caught between turning gears. At his feet all of the chalk, bloodtouched or not, began to run red.

The room went entirely black, a strange, reverberant thump rattling through their bones. Madeleine and Ilya dared to peek over the top of their shelter, and were rewarded by a pair of luminous red eyes, peering down on where they though they had last seen Aaron. They both tensed, Madeleine fumbling for her rosary as they prepared to leap forward to retrieve him.

Then the lights came back. Aaron was sitting perhaps five feet from where he’d been standing, staring up at the owner of the eyes.

It was perhaps the size of a housecat, and with light restored its eyes were simply lustrous brown. Feathered wings spread from its shoulders, fanning gently to keep it in place while long ears swiveled to and fro, the motion of the wings disturbing the luxuriant ruff of fur on its chest.

It looked like nothing so much as a rabbit, dyed lavender and somehow in possession of wings.

“Does the summoned beast not reflect the heart of the summoner?” Ilya managed after a few moments. He and Madeleine both ventured out into the open, the girl lowering her gaze and biting her lip.

“It does not!” Aaron snapped back, trying not to notice Madeleine’s silent mirth. “I was trying to summon a dragon,” he said a bit more meekly, turning to the rabbit again. It blinked its large, mild eyes, head tilting.

“But I am a dragon.” The voice was sweet, bright, and distinctly feminine.

“You are not!” Aaron retorted, sounding oddly offended. “You’re a refugee from my little sister’s toybox!”

“I think I know what I am!” She was rather more offended, and showed it by gnashing her long incisors.

“She has you there, Aaron,” Madeleine said sensibly. “Besides, if she’s not a dragon, what is she?”

“I don’t know.” He glared at the little beast a moment and then shook his head. “Fine. You’re a dragon.”

“Thank you, Master!” the rabbit chirped, all sweetness again. “I knew you’d see it my way! Could I have something to eat? Being summoned takes a lot of energy.”

“Yeah, so does summoning.”

“Not that he did the work at all,” Ilya muttered. Then he headed for the stairs. “Come, I still have donuts.”

They filed out one by one, the rabbit flying cheery loops about her disgruntled Master’s head.

“This is what I get for trying this in a church on Palm Sunday, isn’t it?”

**

After feeding himself and the rabbit, Aaron’s next step was to sneak her out of the church and into the parochial school’s dorms. She refused to hide under his shirt, which was too closefitting to hold her in any case, and so he found himself creeping through as unobtrusively as he could with the leashed dragon bobbing behind him like a balloon. It was still early, and few parishioners had come to the first Mass of the day; he had a few hours before crowds began to arrive for Palm Sunday services.

The only real obstacle was Madeleine’s older brother, Father Justin Murray, and the fact that his office door was usually open. Aaron had the feeling that, while congenial Justin would probably not mind the rabbit’s presence in itself, he would certainly disapprove of summoning an obviously sentient creature with no real preparation or forethought. Aaron already regretted it himself; he hadn’t known that his ‘dragon’ would actually be intelligent, or resistant to efforts to banish her.

He peeked into the office and smiled a bit at the sight—Justin, who had seemed so cheerful, lively, and awake while preparing for and saying Mass, was now staring blankly and blearily into his coffeemug. Nothing unusual, and absolutely perfect. Aaron strolled calmly by, even waving a bit to the priest.

“Morning, Justin! Good Mass?”

“Mm.”

“Good morning, Father!” the rabbit chirped. Aaron flinched and hurried down the hall, hardly hearing Justin’s response.

“Hi.”

It took five seconds for Justin’s eyes to report what they’d seen when he looked up at Aaron’s greeting. When they did, he snapped to attention, blinking rapidly at the empty doorway.

“Aaron? What are you doing this early?”

“Oh, just coming from Mass, haha! I’d better get back to the dorms, see you!”

Justin could now hear Aaron actually running, and the strange voice—the purple thing—squealing in response. He stared sadly at his coffee a moment and then reached for his glasses and got to his feet to follow.

Sometimes I hate being the responsible adult around here.

**

“Yes, that’s a dragon all right,” Justin sighed, absently scratching the rabbit behind the ears and smiling at her pleased little squeak. He’d been surprised to actually find Aaron where the boy said he was going; all the better to investigate this. “What made you call her?”

“Scientific curiousity?” Aaron offered his most winning smile. Justin didn’t smile back; he simply stared unhappily at Aaron, who found himself wishing the usually merry young priest would just yell at him like a normal authority figure. “Look, it was stupid, okay?”

“Stupid, dangerous, and irresponsible. Well, you’re responsible for her now.”

“You mean, I can’t send her back?”

Justin shook his head, frowning. “No. You can’t send a kitten back if you change your mind, or a puppy, or a child. She’s no different.” He paused, removing his glasses and biting fretfully at the earpiece. “She’s tied to you by blood. She doesn’t have to obey you, but she is bonded. Of course, if you don’t name her to complete the bond—she’ll disappear.”

The rabbit stopped making her happy sounds at that, huddling silently beside Justin. Aaron frowned back at the priest, running a hand back through shaggy caramel hair.

“She’ll die?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never known of someone trying to resummon a vanished creature.” He stood, giving the rabbit one last pat. “I can’t make you keep her. But you need to think about this carefully, Aaron. It’s not a game.”

“I know it’s not! I just….” He trailed off, uncertain, and then sighed, gathering the rabbit into his arms. “I’ll think about it, Justin.”

**

Over the next week, having a dragon proved to be a world class nuisance.

The rabbit wasn’t stupid, to Aaron’s relief. It was easy to explain to her why she couldn’t come to class and why she had to hide from other students aside from Ilya and Madeleine and church staff aside from Justin. Her attempts to serve him, however, provided enough problems to make up for that small respite.

For one thing, the dragon was a rabbit in manner as well as form. Aaron quickly learned not to express anything more than mild annoyance at any possession, lest she chew through it in revenge for ‘insulting’ him. Her attempts at cleaning his clothes lent them an odd musty smell and occasional threads pulled free by claws. She was forever licking and nibbling at his hair, or snuggling against him to demand attention regardless of what he happened to be doing at the time.

Still, she was cheerful, earnest, and in the habit of stealthily nipping students and teachers he complained about in her earshot.

On Good Friday—five days after he summoned her—the rabbit grew restless and irritable.

“Master. Master!” She stared at Aaron a moment as he hunkered over a model kit. Then she snatched a part from his hand and reared up, thumping a hindfoot against the floor.

“Hey! What?” He glared at her, taking the part back and lifting her by the scruff. “Problems?”

“Something’s wrong, Master. Don’t you know?”

“Huh?” He released her, sitting back to consider. “Oh, right. You want a name, huh?”

“It’s not that!” The rabbit tilted her head, allowing one ear to flop to the side. “Well, partly that. But there’s something bigger.”

“Oh yeah?” He stood, crossing to the window, and frowned as he caught sight of Justin in the courtyard. The priest was perfectly still—something Aaron had rarely seen since meeting the man—and gazing out beyond the church and school with an air of intense concentration. “Maybe so. Let’s go see.”

**

Aaron wasn’t the only one who wanted to know what Justin was up to, but out of the curious gaggle of students and parishioners only he, Madeleine, and Ilya actually followed him into the office, with Madeleine carrying the rabbit as if she were a stuffed toy.

“It’s a Handmaiden of Eostre,” Justin told them in response to the unanswered question. “I’ve never seen one; they’re more common in Britain and Europe.”

“Dangerous?” Ilya asked. Justin shook his head slightly.

“Yes and no. I mean, they’re not evil, but—well, let’s see.” He made a halfhearted attempt at smoothing blonde cowlicks. “The thing is, not many people still worship Eostre, but the creatures called Handmaidens of Eostre are still around—and they still build up the energy that would traditionally be released during the original festival. It’s very positive in its correct form, and most Handmaidens manage to find substitutes for the festivals.”

Aaron nodded a little. “I get it. No pagans, and they go crazy.”

“It doesn’t have to be neopagans or druids or what have you. It can be Catholics or atheists for all they care—but you’ve got the idea. The energy keeps building, and stagnates, and the Handmaiden goes wild. The stagnant energy can also be very bad for animals and even humans.”

“So what do we do?” Madeleine asked.

“We try to purify the energy. With luck, we can find a place for the Handmaiden to release it normally next time; since she’s not a devil, she won’t be harmed. The problem is containing all that energy, but I’m sure we’ll think of something. Aaron, Ilya, you two stay here; neither of you have magic or much experience with this sort of thing, and your dragon isn’t made for combat.”

**

As was natural for teenage boys, Aaron and Ilya did not take Justin’s command seriously; the Murray siblings hadn’t been gone for more than ten minutes before the pair set out after them, using the rabbit’s keen senses to track their friends. They found them in a swampy area of a park outside of town, already battling with the Handmaiden—a womanlike creature with unusually broad curves and the head of a hare.

“Always rabbits lately,” Aaron muttered to Ilya. “’Tis the season, I guess.” The Russian boy looked at him blankly, and Aaron shrugged. “Never mind. Now what?”

“I do not know; they seem to have it well in hand.”

Ilya was right; the Murrays had succeeded in ringing the Handmaiden of Eostre with charms and were working at opposite sides of the loop to drive out the stagnant energies plaguing her.

“How can they disappear the energy?”

“Dissipate. I dunno—maybe draw it in. They’d get sick, I guess, but they’re not Handmaidens.”

“Perhaps that would be the problem.”

“I don’t know if it can be contained,” the rabbit said nervously. “It has to be discharged. They can drive it out of her, but they can’t destroy it.”

“Neither created or destroyed, right.” Aaron frowned, creeping a bit closer. “Maybe it just has to disperse like any other toxin.” He moved still closer, trailed by the nervous rabbit, as Ilya moved around in another direction for a better look at the charms. Aaron was within perhaps twenty feet when the Handmaiden suddenly squealed and fell in a burst of holy energies, the stagnant energy roiling from her like yellow-green smog.

It didn’t disperse as a normal gas might; instead, almost as if sentient in its own right, it seemed to seek a new host. The charms protecting the Murrays pushed it back easily, and it sped for the next nearest creature: Aaron Norfair.

The rabbit-dragon was quicker.

She lunged forward in a white haze, little lavender form seeming reduced to a mere outline as she drew in a deep breath, chest expanding and ruff flaring. Then she expelled it, as smoggy as the stagnant energy but white with stormy purple linings. The haze about her faded as she attacked, and as the two clouds mingled and vanished with the scent of heather mingled with sulphur the rabbit fell to the ground, gasping—and fading.

“Hey!” Aaron moved forward, thinking his dragon was injured. Then he noticed the strange translucency and stopped, blinking.

He still hadn’t named her. Her time was up.

He lunged forward, faster, and simply blurted the first name that came to mind.

“Isabel!”

She flicked her ears and half-turned toward him. Then she was gone.

**

It was late the next evening before Aaron came out of the dorm room he shared with Ilya, and then it was only to poke halfheartedly at soggy cafeteria food.

It was his fault Isabel was gone. His procrastination in naming her and his stupidity in moving close to the Handmaiden. The strange creature had tried to thank him for Isabel as she thanked the Murray siblings for initially freeing her, but he’d hardly heard her.

The pencil he picked up to start his homework didn’t have any bitemarks at all. He tossed it across the room, not even thinking to apologize when it struck Ilya across the head, and curled into bed.

He awoke Easter Sunday with a strange weight on his chest.

“Geddoff, Chelsea,” he muttered, in his more-than-half asleep state immediately thinking of his sister. The weight shifted only slightly, and then mouted lightly at his fingers, sharp incisors surprisingly gentle and affectionate. “Knock it off.”

After a moment, he realized that Chelsea didn’t have teeth like that, and that large brown eyes were blinking companionably at him from a lavender-furred face.

“Isabel!”

Aaron scooped the rabbit into his arms and squeezed her until she squeaked. “I thought you were gone! How did you get back?!”

“Gone, Master?” She tilted her head, ears flopping in their familiar way. “You named me.”

“Yeah, but you were. Gone. I thought you were dead, or just, you know, trapped.”

“You named me,” she repeated, snuggling under his chin. “If I died, I would be dead here.”

“Then why?”

“I’m not made for combat. Like Father said!” She nipped him, and he tweaked her ear in return. “So, I did too much. I had to rest where I came from. But you named me, and I’m not dead.”

“Good.” He hugged her again, more gently this time; she squirmed free and settled in his lap, peering up at him. “I won’t let it happen again. No ‘combat’. And your name is Isabel, got it?”

“Yes, Master.”

“Just call me Aaron, will you?”

A Brief Interlude

Tue, 27 Mar 2007 15:18:19 GMT

Just a quick meme. I've been arranging the sequence of events for a few stories(two Murray siblings, one prequel to Song of the Phoenix, and one about a different Ephresian, Quartz, in another country). I'll probably put up a few character data sheets too.

What Be Your Nerd Type? Your Result: Literature Nerd Does sitting by a nice cozy fire, with a cup of hot tea/chocolate, and a book you can read for hours even when your eyes grow red and dry and you look sort of scary sitting there with your insomniac appearance? Then you fit this category perfectly! You love the power of the written word and it's eloquence; and you may like to read/write poetry or novels. You contribute to the smart people of today's society, however you can probably be overly-critical of works. It's okay. I understand.
Drama Nerd
Anime Nerd
Gamer/Computer Nerd
Social Nerd
Artistic Nerd
Science/Math Nerd
Musician
What Be Your Nerd Type? Quizzes for MySpace

(I have no idea where Drama Nerd came from. Granted, I was a lead in a school play once and I like to act out parts and make up voices for characters, but... hm.)

Song of the Phoenix

Tue, 13 Mar 2007 18:28:37 GMT

Look! Something NOT about the Murrays!

My girlfriend, engelhund, and I have an original universe called Ephresia. The races of this universe all consider themselves human, but are divided into various races with certain traits of animals. (Some, like my Hokai, lump several animals together.) In any case, this was more or less a gift for her, set in this world. The Tsing race and the characters Han, Xi, and Lady Xao are all hers.

Xao Zhou Xi crept furtively into the audience chamber where his mother waited, wings quivering with nerves as the heavy doors swung closed behind him. A summons from Lady Xao was easily the most frightening thing the young Tsing could imagine; the matriarch was by no means unpredictable, but the slaves who carried the summons were never privileged to know the reason and one never knew what the Lady had or hadn't noticed and what she made of it. One never knew whether one would be praised or punished. Xi knelt, placing his palms on the floor and spreading his wings to hold them low as he fixed his eyes on the great bird mosaiced into the floor and tried not to fidget.

"I have come, Mother, as you commanded."

It was a full minute before she replied. An itch took root between Xi's wings, growing steadily as he bit at the inside of his cheek.

"So, Zhou Xi. Today marks your eighth year." Her voice was unusually soft, nearly gentle, and Xi dared to look up(though not, of course, as far as her eyes).

"Yes, Mother."

"Rise, then, and approach. I have a gift for you."

It was only when he came within touching distance that Xi realized that there where two other creatures kneeling beside his mother's throne. One was his twelve-year-old brother, Han, smirking faintly as he clutched a long, ornately carved bone dagger. The other was one of the wingless beasts that served as slaves, a male near his own age with his forehead pressed to the floor. Xi frowned a little, considering the creature. Was this to be his gift? What was he to do with it?

His trepidation only grew when Han, eyes glittering, rose to press the dagger into Xi's hands. Lady Xao smiled faintly, raising a hand to gesture toward the wingless boy.

"This creature is called Chien. Your hours in the menagerie tell me that you enjoy animals; this one is yours to use as you please."

"A... wonderful gift, Mother," Xi murmured, eyes on the dagger's keen edge. "I am not worthy of such."

"Nevertheless, it is yours." Lady Xao was still smiling, but there was now a dangerous edge to her stare. Xi found himself preferring the dagger. "You must mark it, so that it knows and all who see it know. You know how to do this, do you not?"

Xi knew. The kneeling boy already had three notches in his left ear--one angling downward, one horizontal, and one angling upward--to mark him as property of the Xao. To complete the marking, two notches would be cut into his right ear to show that he belonged to the ruler's second child. Xi swallowed hard, moving to lift the creature's chin and lay the blade against the unblemished ear.

At the first cut, Chien made a small, agonized sound and Han chortled softly; Xi could easily picture his brother's face lighting with childish glee as his own ears twitched in sympathy. He tried to disguise his grimace of distaste with a snarl and, hands trembling, moved to make the second cut. Chien made no sound this time, though Xi could see the tears welling in his eyes. The young noble stood, swallowing again, and took the cloth Chien offered to clean the blood from his hands and the dagger. He moved to clean Chien's ear as well, but his mother stopped him with a gentle clearing of her throat.

"Very good, Zhou Xi. You may take your pet and go."

~

Xi was wandering the halls late that night when he became aware of a strange, lovely sound, a song like nothing he'd ever heard. He slowed his steps, ears twitching, and then began to follow the sound, hardly aware of his changing surroundings.

After perhaps fifteen minutes the song stopped; so did Zhou Xi. Without the music to cover other sound, he could now hear murmuring voices, too low for even sensitive Tsing ears to catch the words. He looked about until he spotted a small servant's door and then nudged it open, peeking in to see Chien and a similar creature that could only be his mother. The two slaves were kneeling before a long tailed, crested bird--a phoenix--carved into the wall, apparently unaware of Xi, and he halted in the doorway to study them.

He had never really looked at the not-Tsing who served them, he was surprised to notice a certain grace in them. Instead of large membranous wings with delicate ribbing tipped and crested in black that faded to blue, they had long tails with blush rust-colored fur banded with darker rings. Where he had enormous velvety ears bearing the same colors as his wings, they had small, densely furred black ears. Xi's skin was pale, but their skin was actually white, and he remembered that Chien at least had stark black stripes from his eyes to the joints of his jaw. Instead of violet hair like the Xao family or the dusky blonde of most non-royal Tsing they possessed the same rust color as their tail fur. Strange creatures altogether; they reminded Xi of the menagerie's red pandas, just as the Tsing were granted the ears and wings of bats.

After several minutes of watching unnoticed, Xi coughed gently and rustled his wings.

"What are you doing?"

They both spun to face him, terrified eyes looking into his for a moment before mother and son dropped, foreheads pressing to the floor. (Pale brown eyes, he noticed, instead of Tsing silver. Very strange.)

"I'm... sorry," he murmured, spreading his hands. "I didn't mean... I heard...." He trailed off, frowning. The slaves hadn't been making the music; where had it come from? He floundered briefly, no longer certain he had really heard it, and at last blurted "I won't tell!"

He knew immediately that they didn't believe him--and why should they? Han, and many of the common Tsing, would have delighted in whatever punishment awaited for... whatever they had been doing. Xi sighed, troubled, and ran his hands back through rich violet hair before settling on his knees, wings flaring to keep them from the floor.

"What are you called?"

Chien blinked, looking up at Xi before hastily lowering his eyes. "Chien, Master," he replied, not daring to point out that Xi had been told his name only a few hours before. "My mother is Jian."

"No, no. I know your names." Xi smiled a bit, hands resting on his thighs. "Or at least I knew yours already. I mean your... your people."

This time it was Jian who dared to look up, giving the little Tsing a long, faintly puzzled look.

"Xa Te, my prince," she said at last. "We call ourselves the Xa Te."

"Xa Te," Xi repeated slowly, smiling. "Xa Te, the panda-people." He got to his feet, hands clasping before him. "I'm going to bed now. Chien has bedding in my rooms, so he can come whenever you're finished. I really, really won't tell."

~

Xi heard the strange song again the next day, and this time it was clear that only he heard it. The soft notes led him down to the treasuries, and to one in particular--a large room that his mother had forbidden them to enter, and normally kept locked. It was open today and Xi, drawn on by the music, couldn't help but slip inside.

The phoenix was the emblem of the Xao clan, and as such it was featured heavily in palace architecture and worn by many of Xi's relatives. Here, however, he found a room that seemed devoted to larger, more detailed, and more fanciful phoenixes than he had ever seen, effigies that seemed almost worshipful... and were now hidden and locked away as if to avoid overshadowing the Tsing.

A soft glow caught his eye as he wandered through the rows of stored treasures, and he scurried to investigate. It was gone by the time he reached the correct shelf, but he knew he'd seen the golden glow just as surely as he'd heard the beautiful song. He began picking up anything golden he saw, trying to recapture the light, and found it at last in a hollow phoenix figure that was just the right size to cradle in his hands. It looked, he realized, quite a lot like the bat winged head of his mother's staff of office; perhaps, long ago, this bird had served a similar purpose. As he held it close to his chest the glow grew steadily brighter, gold, scarlet, and violet flame dancing across his vision.

Zhou Xi never knew how long he held the figure. As the glow faded he set it reverently in its place and began drifting through the room, running small fingers over painted, carved, and woven wings. A wrought silver flute with the great bird spiraling up the side caught his eye; he blew on it until he produced a few sickly squeals, then tucked it into his robes with a giggle and a resolution to learn to play it as he moved on to try reading scrolls with faded ink and long-outdated characters.

"How did you get in here?"

Xi actually took flight at Han's sudden question, eyes wide as he settled before his brother.

"Han, please, I... I was just looking, I didn't hurt anything!"

Han stared at him for a long moment, silver eyes narrowed. Then, smirking broadly, the larger child reached to give an ornately painted vase a firm shove, shouting as it shattered.

"Mo-THEEEER! Zhou Xi is in the bad room, and he's breaking your things!"

Xi stood frozen, heart pounding. He knew Lady Xao would always take Han's word over his, and he certainly knew better than to try to flee.

~

It was Jian who smoothed salve on the welts Lady Xao allowed Hand to inflict for Xi's transgression, with Chien in silent attendance. The little Tsing lay quiet for a long time, fighting tears even under Jian's gentle hands; only when he was certain no one else was about did he speak up.

"You were doing something to do with the phoenix last night, weren't you? Please... please tell me."

Jian and Chien both went very still, Jian's hands resting lightly on Xi's abused back. Then she sighed, wiping her fingers clean.

"We were praying, prince. We will die if those in power learn of it."

"Praying?" Xi sat up, flexing his wings experimentally. He understood their fear; in the kingdoms of Kun, royal Tsing were to be worshipped, not pretty pictures. "You were praying to a carving?"

"To the creature the carving represents."

"There are such things as phoenixes?"

"There's only one Phoenix," Chien whispered. All three of them had fallen into hushed tones, and Xi leaned eagerly toward the two Xa Te. "Sometimes he's called Fen Uong, and sometimes Auphel--that's some kind of foreign name, I don't know where from. Mostly he's the Great Phoenix. The carving just... helps us think about him."

"Does he... um... does he sing?"

"Yes." Jian smiled a bit in spite of herself, absently beginning to untangle Chien's hair with her fingers. "With the most beautiful voice of all birds, above even the nightingale."

Xi nodded slowly, half-closing his eyes as he began to hum the strange song.

"Like that?"

Their wide-eyed silence was all he needed. Chien was the first to break it, tail bushed.

"Master, where did you hear that?"

"I keep hearing a song that comes from nowhere. It showed me the hidden treasures, and you praying."

"I see," Jian said slowly after a moment. She gathered Chien into her arms, holding him briefly before releasing him and getting to her feet. "I must retire... I will be wanted early. My prince, beginning tomorrow I will tell you everything you wish to know.

~

The Xa Te was as good as her word. Over the next few weeks Zhou Xi learned all she knew of the Great Phoenix, from proper prayers to poems to tales of how he had once brought glory and prosperity to Xao and the six other kingdoms of the island of Kun. The Phoenix song was the first thing he learned to play on his pilfered flute; once he learned it he no longer heard it in the halls, but he now had it any time he needed it.

He also became fast friends with Chien. As he spent more time with his 'pet' it began to occur to him that Chien was no animal, no 'subhuman' as he'd been taught. Despite the regrettable lack of wings, Chien was in fact remarkably similar to Zhou Xi himself.

And, blasphemous as it was, there were times when he couldn't help wishing--just a bit--that gentle-eyed Jian could be his mother.

They were discovered on the eve of Zhou Xi's ninth birthday. He was just leaving their prayer room, humming the Phoenix song, when Han swooped in to pin him to a wall.

"Playing peasant games, Xi?" Han grinned nastily, fangs glinting. "Those games aren't allowed. Mother's going to be angry... maybe she'll give your groundbeast to a proper owner."

"Ha... Han, please...." Xi trailed off, realizing it was useless. Han liked to hurt things, Xi included; he would take special pleasure in Jian and Chien's punishment.

"Stupid little Xi," Han crooned, tightening his grip. "You're going to have to learn to be a real Tsing before Mother gives you to me too." He dealt his little brother a heavy blow, allowing him to fall and kicking him sharply in the ribs before taking flight, bellowing for their mother all the way down the hall.

Xi struggled up a moment later, hobbling in the opposite direction. He knew of an unused drainage duct that he'd crept out through on occasion and that even full-grown Jian ought to be able to manage; he simply had to find them before anyone else did.

~

"You should come too, Master," Chien pleaded, clinging to his mother's arm as Xi peeked out of the pipe the two Xa Te had just exited. Xi shook his head, offering a small, regretful smile.

"I'm too easily recognized, and I'd slow you down. Besides, Mother might overlook the two of you going missing--pretend it's beneath her notice--but not me." He hesitated, then reached out to touch Chien's right ear just between the two notches he'd carved a year ago. "I'm sorry, Chien."

"Better a sliced ear than a slit throat," Jian murmured. She clasped Xi's hand between both of hers, squeezing gently. "Goodbye, bat-prince. May the Great Phoenix guide and protect you."

They were gone before Xi could reply, vanishing into the night like dreams. The Tsing gazed after them for several minutes and then, with a heavy sigh, started back up the duct to face whatever punishments might await him.

As he climbed, he could hear the song of the Phoenix once more.

The Patron Saint of Coffee

Tue, 13 Mar 2007 18:20:01 GMT

Another 'snapshot' of the Murray siblings, about a year before the planned opening of the novel-length story.

I'll post more supernatural stories involving them at some point. e.e It's supposed to be modern fantasy... but, the idea of these is to more deeply familiarize myself with them. (I insist on knowing my characters' ages, birthdays, grandparents' names and occupations, first pets, and damn near everything i know about myself, generally.)

    "Is there a patron saint of coffee?"

     "A what?" Justin wrinkled his nose at the question, trapping the phone between his cheek and shoulder as he struggled with an armload of parish records.

     "A patron saint of coffee," his sister Madeleine, eleven years his junior, reiterated calmly.

     "I don't know! What the hell kinda question is that? Mrs. Reilly told me this was an important call!" He cursed as he lost his grip on the records, and cursed more vividly as one heavy ledger struck his foot. Corner first, of course.

     "It's important to me." Justin could hear the laughter in that deceptively mild voice, and puffed his cheeks in annoyance. "And such language," she continued, the laughter more prominent, "with your ordination only a few weeks away!"

     "Oh, shut up." He slid down the wall to sit among ledgers and scattered papers. "Why do you need to know something like that, and why couldn't you look it up in the cathedral library or something?"

     "Why?I have my very own deacon-soon-to-be-a-priest to consult on these things." Madeleine finally giggled outright, and Justin smiled faintly despite his irritation; he knew the question was simply an excuse to call him, and he did miss his sister. "As for why I'm asking, I took a job in that coffee shop in the square. I was curious."

     "A job? Why do you need a job?"

     "Well, I am fifteen now."

     "I know. I was there. And that's not what I mean! You don't have to work, if you need anything you can just ask Dad."

     Madeleine paused for several seconds, and her voice was much softer when she finally replied.

     "Daddy doesn't like me, Justin. You know that."

     He took a breath to protest and then sighed, shaking his head slightly. That's ridiculous, he wanted to say--but while he doubted Xavier Murry actually disliked his second child, he was undeniably uninterested in her. It had been so since the day Madeleine was born and their mother died.

     "He'd give it to you." If only to make her go away. "And you know I'll give you anything you...."

     "That isn't the point, Justin. I don't need money, but I need this. To get out more. I'm vice president of Latin Club, and now I'll be a coffee girl."

     "Barista."

     "Serving wench by any other name... anyway, I'm fifteen, and I can't depend on you forever."

     That was true enough, much as he might like to keep thinking of her as a tiny, solemn-eyed kindergartener. The young deacon sighed again, removing his glasses to gnaw at the end of an earpiece.

     "Well, I don't know if there's a patron saint of coffee. Check that big book in my room."

     "You don't know?" Her voice was bright and laughing again, and he could easily picture her laying a hand to her chest in mock surprise. "And your ordination only a few weeks away!"

     "Hey, do you have any idea how many saints there are?" he retorted, indignation only partly feigned.

     "Oh... hundreds, I suppose."

     "You got it, shortcake. You want 'em memorized, you can do it!"

     "Maybe I will!" She paused again, voice softening. "I'm sorry for interrupting you. I love you." Another pause. "And stop chewing on your glasses!"

     He jerked guiltily, hastily shoving the glasses back into place. "I'm not! Don't worry about interrupting, shortcake. Love you too."

     He stretched an arm out to settle the phone in its cradle and then began gathering the papers. The pastor was probably wondering where he was by now; he needed to reorganize and deliver those records.

     And then he simply had to know if there was a patron saint of coffee.

Note: As far as I can tell, there is no patron saint of coffee itself. There are, however, two patron saints of coffee house keepers. One is Nativity of the Blessed Virgin... a title of Mary, who seems to be Patron Saint Of Damn Near Everything. The other is Drogo, a pious shepherd/pilgrim; he was apparently able to bilocate, which WOULD certainly seem to indicate coffee house patronage. Interestingly, HIS mother died while giving birth to him, just like someone else. Ah, coincidence.

First Post: Bowling Night!

Tue, 13 Mar 2007 18:12:07 GMT

A slice-o'-life for my premier characters, the Murray siblings. This was originally written for a hundred-fics challenge(which I am sadly slacking off on). Not terribly fond of it anymore, but... eh... it's cute.

Strangely, the sound of rain on the roof woke Justin well before he was truly aware of the thunder, his eyes focusing just in time to see droplets on the window illuminated by lightning. Then the crash came, so close he could feel it, and he turned from the window to huddle deeper into his blankets; summer storms were common enough here, and even with it this close he was lazy with a familiar sense of security. He was, in fact, nearly asleep again when the next flash illuminated a shrouded figure, eyes glittering from within its hood to startle him awake as the thunder hadn’t.

     “Justin, I’m scared.”

     Madeleine. Of course. Justin took a few deep breaths to steady himself before switching on his lamp to reveal his four-year-old sister, wrapped loosely in her favorite blanket. A moment more and irritation replaced his brief fright, a scowl forming on the boy’s freckled face.

     “Well, don’t be. It’s just a stupid storm, and I’m trying to sleep.”

    He was reaching for the lamp again, ready to banish her back to her own room, when he made the mistake of looking into those large, pleading brown eyes. As usual, he felt his resolve beginning to crumble; unlike many teenagers, he simply couldn't resist his little sibling when it came down to it.

     “Can I stay? Please, Justin?” Her voice quivered ever so slightly, and Justin realized he would never win this battle. With a heavy sigh he slid from his bed, putting his glasses on as he began clearing off his desk.”

     “All right, shortcake. For a few minutes.” A sheet draped over desk and chair made a tent of sorts, and Justin gathered Madeleine in one arm before crawling in. For several minutes brother and sister sat in silence, listening to the raindrops striking the roof and windows.

     “Why’s it doing that?” Madeleine asked suddenly, small fingers curling into Justin’s shirt as the thunder rumbled again.

     “Well,” Justin began, thinking for a moment of the scientific explanation. Then he smiled, changing his mind as he smoothed her hair. “It’s because the angels are bowling.”

     They both jumped at a particularly loud peal, Madeleine hiding her face in Justin’s chest with a dismayed squeal as the lights went out. After a moment she spoke again, tone suggesting she was near tears.

     “Bowling doesn’t make the lights go off, Justin.”

     “It does if someone throws a gutter ball.” He paused, listening to a long, house-rattling growl. “Hm… that one sounded like a strike, though, didn’t it?”

     “I guess.” She nestled closer still, though he could tell by her voice he’d earned a smile. “Who’s winning?”

     “Oh… Michael, I think. Sounds like Gabriel just picked up a spare though.”

     Madeleine giggled at that, four-year-old mind supplying an image of the angel Gabriel hauling off a spare tire. Justin smiled a bit in response and continued the play-by-play until Madeleine was sleeping, then simply sat in silence while the storm moved off. After several long moments he crept out, tucking his sister in and then curling up beside her; by the time lightning lit the room again he too was sleeping peacefully once more.