Wait
I cannot tell the color of your eyes
(but that's not an important detail, really.
It's just that the exact shade
of your irises is
a better indicator of your mood
than anything you ever say.)

Wait
I forgot to wish for happiness
(but we all know birthdays
are just passages of time and
those wishes ne'er come true
no matter how many candles we blew.)

Wait
I lost my train of thought
(but if it was something that needed to be heard
then I never would have lost the words in the first place.
but it's easier to blame someone else for rambling
than to admit when something is indeed
my fault.)

Wait
I want to look in the mirror
(but nothing I see is a comfort
it's just another tired little girl
just another dreamer lacking diligence
just another artist lacking talent
just another face.)

Wait
I'm tangled up in contemplations and
I'm no longer alive.

because it's an awesome song. and because I stole this from asgt. :] Roleplaying is win.

PICK ONE OF MY CHARACTERS AND I WILL TELL YOU:
→ why I decided to play this character
→ my favorite scene or bit of interaction concerning this character to date
→ my favorite original aspect about this character (world-building for ocs or head-canon for fcs)
→ the last thing they did "off screen"
→ what their last words would be if they died tomorrow
→ what the next thing I'm doing for them is (narrative, post, shelving, whatever)

BONUS ROUND:
» I will tell you what character of yours I'd like to play mine against
» you may ask me a free question if you so desire

THESE ARE MY BEAUTIFUL CHARIES, ALL IN CHRONOLOGICAL ORDER.
I decided to throw up my HP ones for the hell of it, because I do love them so.
Dina Taylor (original HP, as Marauders and Post-Potter)
Liam Wu/Wu Li An (original HP. Post-Potter.)
Mal Beaumont (original HP. Post-Potter.)
Grace Amelia "Cee" Macmillan (HP. Post-Potter.)
Terrence Oliver Boot (HP. Post-Potter.)
Katalina Clarise Peakes (HP. Post Potter.)
Daciana Mirela Greyback (HP. Post-Potter.)
Sofia Lourdes Mantega/Wind Dancer (X-Men. Movieverse.)
Cessily Gillian Kincaid/Mercury (X-Men. Movieverse.)
Nezhno Abidemi/Gentle (X-Men. Movieverse.)

Once upon a time,
I knew how to be a
princess who needed a knight on shining armor, who
wanted to be saved. One day that changed, since I
was tired of hebetude that resulted from staring at a color-splashed screen of
Aurora (not beautiful borealis) and enchanting singing animals within forests.
I fought dragons,
in my mind, but the excitement exhilarated and exonerated me from my castle.

Twice upon a time,
I fell and bumped and nearly broke, with bruises in places unseen for reasons I
could not explain with cuts that needed burning cleaners, fires that
raged far more than my fictitious dragons. But Mom and Dad and Sister, sometimes,
patched me up, teaching me (as they always do), that there is more than
one kind of savior. But two definitions are a little difficult to
comprehend, and sometimes meanings are not found within
dictionaries. But I learned to love to learn.

Thrice upon a time,
I had to pick myself up
and learn on my own.
Perhaps more than three times, but my memory is not that of an
elephant's, so I say three because it a nice number. After all, it is one minute sound from
being free, and freedom is so craved as a child who longs to be old,
as an adult who longs to be young,
as an adolescent who longs to be anything but in between.
I learned many things in threes, whether it be minutes, months, years, or
stages, or anything else at all. I wanted to be a 
Dragon Princess (who breathed fire like the one that cured my scrapes and scratches)
Warrior or just a Fighter (because lovers wasted away like candles)
and maybe a Simple Girl (who wished life wasn't so complicated).
Maybe I had it wrong all along, I thought, plunking myself in front of the
not-as-colorful screen, and maybe dreams were
okay in moderation, like
candy, ice cream, and falling in love.

words: 326
notes: The word was hebetude, and this is a little late. And the last day! I was inspired, somehow, by my last writing assignment: one of the options was to write a free verse poem that was over 30 lines. (This one's 32.) I did something else, but I wanted to try it here, and end with a personal and happier touch for my summer writing challenge! (Maybe I'll do it again next year. I hope.)

Present day nightmares
stem from fears she'll never speak
Catch her unawares
then she'll spill all her secrets.

Past sins and crimes
of an incarnation you'll never know
Remembering all those times
makes her shiver with the cold.

Future, a little brighter
now she has brio on her path
Eyes a little lighter
without fear and without wrath.

words: 58
notes: Super late. Word was brio. Wanted to right something light and kinda started out dark, heh. So I had to change it, even if's a little unrealistic.

( Part Four - the end )

words: 1392
total words: 6305
notes: The word was arcane. Finally finished this! I've been wanting to, but I just couldn't make myself do it, so I finally cracked down on myself, since I'm going to end swc soon. I definitely will edit this, but we'll see what happens.

( Another Goodbye )

words: 817
notes: The word was desultory. My title of the day is "Another Goodbye," so I decided to play with it. Incredibly late.

( Dear Charlie )

words: 1276
notes: The word was lineament. Inspired by an idea I've had for awhile, which was based off a roleplay subplot one of my characters had. Late, and I blame my sucky internet. 

( I Want You to Know )

words: 600
notes: Late, so I pushed back 3 hours. Haha. Word was sui generis, and this was very inspired by "Already Gone." All dialogue, because that's easier for me, haha.

The iceberg is full of aplomb
And yet
all she wants is
to be melted.

notes: Yeah yeah late. And BSed. Word was aplomb.

There is the slightest zephyr as the saloon door opens, then suddenly she is in the saloon.

The sanguine chatter dies once everyone spots her in the doorway, surveying the scene with a stolid eye. She is not someone they have seen before, but the way she entered the saloon and her attire clue the crowd into what she is.

"You looking fer someone, miss, or are yuh tryin' to work th'establishment?"

Everyone turns quickly to face the intruder of the silence her presence had instilled. Some look away quickly to turn back to the Operative, afraid of what she will do. The middle-aged man who had spoken out simply regards the Operative, baiting her.

She marches purposefully toward him, but she is neither rushed nor angry. He stares back, head cocked, still waiting for her to speak. When she is a few inches from him, he reaches toward his holster defensively, a little alarmed. In what seems to be a single fluid movement, she knocks his hand away and grabs his wrist to lift him off the ground. There is a crack amplified by the vacuum of noise surrounding them, and everyone realizes she has broken his wrist. He makes a whimper, but she is not finished yet. She drops him only moments after snapping his wrist, only to quickly catch him with the same hand, only this time around his neck. He struggles against her, but his face turns purple as she finally speaks.

"My business here is none of your business. I was prepared to go about my business without much trouble to anybody, but you decided to desecrate the respect of the Association with your flagrant comment. As you have realized, this violation to the Code does not go unpunished." Then she truly drops him, and he crawls away, wheezing. "I hope you have learned your lesson, chong."

She regards the rest of the crowd, who are staring at her with wide eyes, petrified. With an imperceptible eyeroll, she tells them, "I need fuel."

There is a shuffle of noise as the bartender hurries out, presumably to obtain the requested fuel. She stands there patiently, ignoring the cries still emitting from the man curled up in pain only a few feet from her. When the bartender returns, he informs her in a meek voice that there are about fifteen tanks near the well, and that she can take as many as she needs. She thanks him with a nod before turning to leave.

There is the slightest zephyr as the saloon door opens, then suddenly she is gone.

words: 432
notes: The word I was thinking of was zephyr, but some other uncommon ones were sanguine and stolid, all from my list of SAT vocabulary words, haha. Turned back 3 hours. I was inspired by the Firefly 'verse, but I'm not sure how close this is to canon, so I wouldn't necessarily call this fanfiction. Nevertheless, I used the HP fanicon. (:

"So what's your story, Kate?"

"I moved to New York after my parents died because the house in Oregon left behind too many memories I wanted to forget. In New York, I decided to finally pursue the showbiz career I wanted for years, and landed some background roles in various productions. Eventually I gave up on the dream when I realized it wasn't going to get me anywhere, and I ended up doing some odd-end jobs, including being an 'administrative assistant' for some high-profile companies, but never for too long. Finally I got myself a secure job as a consultant. How'd I do, Jack?"

He paused and regarded her calculatingly. "A little apocryphal, but it'll do." He smiled then, a rare smile, but like all his others, it was more of a wary smirk. "Welcome to the Brotherhood, Mischka."

words: 139
notes: Pushed back three hours. Word was apocryphal. A little random thing.

Funny girl
makes the people laugh
calls her boyfriend a git
all over youtube!
(Boyfriend does not think this is so funny,
but she gives him all her peanuts.
So everything is okay.)
Ha, ha, ha.
People LOL
and ROFL
(sometimes irl as well)
One million subscribers
Perhaps she could even make
a turnip funny.
Who knows?
All that matters is that her jokes are sapid
that's why we all love 'em,
we love her.

Funny girl,
makes the people laugh.

words: 81
notes: I was making myself write a happy poem. I started with the first 2 lines and almost went into another depressing poem. Inspired by discovering kevjumba and my friend giving me the words git, turnip, and peanut. The word was sapid.

"Can you dance?"
She stared at him, shocked by the candid question. "Um... I don't know?"
He rolled his eyes, clearly frustrated. "Do you at least have rhythm?"
"Do I know you?" she asked pointedly.
"No," he admitted truthfully. "But I need a dance partner. And you look like you can dance."
"Whatever for?" she asked incredulously. "Do you need a partner for, I mean."
"What do you think?" he retorted. "For a competition. So are you in?"
She shrugged. "Why not?"
He grinned. "Great. One caveat, though - the competition's in about three weeks, so rehearsals are every day."

words: 100
notes: Drabble. Word was caveat. I was trying to write something for annoyance's contest, but I gave up. I might finish it later. Pushed back time three hours. Wow... can't believe it's day forty. Crazy. Though recently everything has been crap hahaha.

Why are you so
schizophrenic
Telling me I'm beautiful
turning around and calling me fat

Yes I have acne
It's called being a teenager.
Yes I eat
Blame it on puberty.

How can you expect me
to have any sort of esteem
when you're switching
from complimentary to
condescending?

I am not her.
I don't try to be her
And you shouldn't make me try either.
Is it so wrong to want to be my own person?
Is it so wrong to want to look different?

You already say I look so much like her anyway.
If you continue on in this strain
It is ineluctable that I
think low of myself,
that I try to become a clone
of the pretty one.

words: 123
notes: The word was ineluctable. I'm a little mad right now. And tired. This is pretty personal.

( Ma Mélodie )

( Translation )

words: 221
notes: The word was peripatetic (ambulant), the word of the day. Thanks again to word reference, as well as google translate. I kinda wrote this as a song, which is why it's so repetitive. Inspired to write this after watching a Chinese movie. Go figure. Ratatouille icon just because it's French. xD

The skulk emerges from behind the tree, but Rabbit does not quiver at all. After all, he has something these foxes want, something they can't get if he's dead.

"Where is it?" the voice is cold, toneless. Rabbit does not mind this from Trixie, the leader. At least with her what he saw was what he got. He remembered deals in the past with previous leaders, ones who'd wheedle and persuade. Most of the time he was wise to their tactics, but occasionally he was tricked and once he was nearly killed. But Trixie has always been straightforward and blunt, so Rabbit is not worried. She believes in the win-win situation, as does he.

"Under the oak tree next to the creek," Rabbit replies succinctly. "And my compensation?"

"Ulric?" Trixie prompts boredly. "You heard Rabbit."

Ulric, one of the scruffier and rougher foxes, sends a resentful glare to Trixie but obeys without objection. "The usual.  We don't eat you for a month. We save you, if necessary, and here's thirty pounds of carrots, as requested." 

"Did they come from Farmer Stern?" Rabbit inquires crisply.

"Yes, they came from Father Stern," Ulric snaps.

"He has a right to ask," Trixie admonishes, and her tone reminds Ulric that he had lost the last battle for power. "Now, Rabbit, I trust you. Which is why I'm letting you go, instead of having someone keep watch on you while we check that you've provided what you've promised. So hop along, now."

Rabbit, with a little nod, turns around and bounds away.

"Aylin," Trixie whispers softly, "You know what to do."

Before any other fox can realize what has happened, Aylin swiftly and soundlessly runs after Rabbit and quickly kills him. She returns within moments, carrying the dead body with her teeth.

"Why?" Ulric asks, confused. "He was a trusted partner. He always gave us what he said he gave us."

"He was also greedy," Trixie answered pointedly. "Thirty pounds of carrots? That takes time, time I would prefer not to waste. And when I am leader, we leave no foolish traces of our transactions, whether or not the partner was trusted. I intend to stay leader for as long as I live, Ulric. Now shut up and enjoy your dinner."

words: 376
notes: Late, but I wrote most of this yesterday. The word was skulk, which was of course the word of the day. Inspired partly by Foxes, by Franc Marz.

"It's cold."

She looked up at him when he announced the fact, though she had been avoiding his gaze for the past few minutes. Her eyes flickered down for a moment before she asked, "Are you stating the obvious or making a suggestion?"

"What?" he asked, taken aback.

She looked out towards the sea. "I'm asking if you're telling me it's cold when I can obviously feel the cold in this too-short dress that I wore to impress you, or are you trying to imply that we should move closer?"

"I... I..." he stuttered, at a loss for words, fumbling for a reply, not expecting her forthrightness.

"Or are you trying to start a topic of conversation to quell the silence?" Turning away from the sea, she focused her bland stare on him. "So which is it?"

His mouth merely opened and closed as he struggled to understand what he had done wrong. "I... I don't know?"

She tsked, but even that sound of annoyance was disinterested. "If you really wanted to impress me, the least you could've done is wax flowery words about the waves crashing against the cliff, like two opposing forces, one wearing away at the other. Of course I probably would've told you to stop trying so hard, or to stop being cliche, as that would make it seem as if all you wanted was sex. Maybe you could've made a joke about how glabrous your head is. That would've made me laugh. Instead, you disappoint with a fact, and not even an intriguing fact at that." Standing up, she tilted her head as she gazed down at him, as if considering a prospect.

He, on the other hand, was still speechless, but her movement to leave finally spurred him to reaction, as he jumped up to match her. "Don't..." His thought trailed off, unsure of how he truly wanted to finish that sentence. Did he really want her to stay?

In response, she leaned forward to kiss him, moving against his mouth for a few moments before pulling away, still expressionless. "Pick me up tomorrow at eight." She walked away commotionlessly, leaving him standing there with his hands limp and his mind bewildered.

words: 367
notes: The word was glabrous. Extremely late, and I just wanted to play around with an odd character. This was kinda fun.

We sing:
Melodies, harmonies,
Dissonant and off-key imitations
of popular, familiar songs.

We sing:
Our own ballads
and tunes that make sense
in our minds
crying for someone to understand
to save us.

We write:
Essays, stories,
Reports, sedulously
slaving away in hopes
of becoming someone better.

We write:
Our lives
Mostly boring, eventless
sometimes an explosion
of action, of emotion,
of endings.

We fall:
into walls
over our feet
in love
from grace
to our demises.

words: 77
notes: Tried to make this happy at the end, then I realized that tone wouldn't fit. The word was sedulously, which was of course the word of the day.

Your song
is just a pastiche
You say it's for me
But we both know
it's plagiarized.

Fantastic that
I realize now
how much you
don't care.

notes: Not even going to bother with word count. The word was pastiche. Super late.