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Saturday, November 1st, 2008
11:45 pm
"You miss her, huh?"

"No." It's a simple answer, empty of passion. "You can't miss something that's part of your soul. It never really leaves."

"That's so sweet."

"It sucks." A startled look. "Knowing it's not there, that you can never have it again, and yet it just won't go away... I want to rip her out of me and feed it to the fishes."

"You don't mean that."

"The fuck I don't."

There's a pause while one of them contemplates the other in a new light. "Funny. I thought you loved her."

"Who says I didn't?"

"I could never wish to get rid of a love, even one I lost."

"You could." Absolute conviction in that. "When it starts to eat you alive, you will."

current mood: morose

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Thursday, July 17th, 2008
12:54 am - Ends.
...because some part of me needs to remind people not to fear the dark... )

current mood: creative

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Tuesday, August 29th, 2006
2:29 pm - Club.
Her brain didn't even have time to register the adrenaline rush of fear before he lunged. )

current mood: pleased

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Monday, July 10th, 2006
7:31 pm - oneword.com drabble: SAGE
People always thought it was odd when they found out her name was Sage. She was far too fiery-tempered to be called wise, and nothing about her remotely resembled the herb; true, her eyes were green, but of a shade closer to a peacock's shimmering tailfeather than to the plant.



(Can I just say how hard I laughed when that prompt came up?)

current mood: amused
current music: Poe - "Not A Virgin"

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Friday, June 16th, 2006
11:06 am - oneword.com drabble - FREE
He'd never known anything of freedom. His family had been born into bondage for more generations than any of them could count. He'd never thought about it, never questioned it; he had no frame of reference to even understand the concept. If one of the newly "recruited" v'cheiri spoke to him in whispers of the world beyond the space station's walls, he could merely stare blankly. For Reinhardt, nothing existed outside the steel corridors. He had never even seen a window.

current music: Voltaire - "When You're Evil"

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Thursday, June 15th, 2006
10:54 am - oneword.com drabble - FACES
I've got so many of them - one for each person I know. People who think they know me may not recognize the face they see if they watch me interact with someone else. I can't seem to help it; I mirror people. I tune in to them, figure out what I think they want to see, and project that image.

current music: Vixtrola - "Gunboat"

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Tuesday, June 13th, 2006
5:22 pm - Writer's Block? Meet your new worst enemy.
So thanks to a friend I discovered oneword.com today. Every day they post a single word, and give you sixty seconds to hammer out whatever comes into your head when you see it. Then you post it on their archive, or just let it wash away into oblivion.

I'd like to make this part of my daily ritual, so with that in mind, here's today's drabble.

====================


I feel like I should say something to you, but how do you apologize for murder? After all, I was the one standing there with the knife. What difference does it make if I only meant to scare you. If I was pushed, and that's the only reason you're lying here now with blood and life flowing out of you like... I don't know. My thoughts are too fuzzy to come up with metaphors. All I can see is you, there, and the blood, and the knife in my hand.

...I'm sorry...

current mood: chipper

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Saturday, January 7th, 2006
2:26 am - Firefly/Serenity ficcage. Still need to find a title for this...
Small excerpt from latest fanfic project, as I'm feeling exceptionally proud of the way I wrote River and would appreciate being told whether I am merely deluding myself or whether I actually got it across decently well. So, comments & reviews if you would be so kind.

She'd thought it was the Blue Gloves, at first. )

current mood: refreshed
current music: Rihanna - "Pon De Replay"

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Thursday, November 3rd, 2005
8:33 pm - School.
'Oh. My. God.' The scornful words cracked across the damp morning air like a rock shattering a windowpane. 'Please tell me you are not wearing a Wal-Mart rip-off of my new GUESS sweater.' )

current mood: apathetic
current music: The Weakerthans - "Watermark"

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9:12 am - Beginnings
We’d like to be able to say it was a dark and stormy night. Isn’t that how these stories are supposed to begin? On some lonely, windswept road through nowhere, the kind of place where even your shadow seems to loom and every breath you take tastes of danger? )

current mood: chipper
current music: Saint-Saens - "Bacchanale"

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9:07 am - Here we go 'round the mulberry bush!
H'okay, so! I am trying something a tad different for NaNo this year. I'm going to use [info]fanfic100's table of 100 prompt words, and see if I can write 100 separate scenes from my novel to match each of the prompts. According to the community, the rule is that each ficlet has only to be over 100 words. I'm trying to make each over 500 words, so I can keep my NaNo word count up, but thus far no such luck. I'm not gonna sweat it yet. There are chunks of this story that'll take pages rather than paragraphs. So here's the table, and I'll link to each piece of the story as I go. (Keep in mind that the word prompt order is NOT the order the scenes belong in for the book. I'll post the whole story - or whatever I've got of it - at the end of the month.)

001.Beginnings. 002.Middles. 003.Ends. 004.Insides. 005.Outsides.
006.Hours. 007.Days. 008.Weeks. 009.Months. 010.Years.
011.Red. 012.Orange. 013.Yellow. 014.Green. 015.Blue.
016.Purple. 017.Brown. 018.Black. 019.White. 020.Colourless.
021.Friends. 022.Enemies. 023.Lovers. 024.Family. 025.Strangers.
026.Teammates. 027.Parents. 028.Children. 029.Birth. 030.Death.
031.Sunrise. 032.Sunset. 033.Too Much. 034.Not Enough. 035.Sixth Sense.
036.Smell. 037.Sound. 038.Touch. 039.Taste. 040.Sight.
041.Shapes. 042.Triangle. 043.Square. 044.Circle. 045.Moon.
046.Star. 047.Heart. 048.Diamond. 049.Club. 050.Spade.
051.Water. 052.Fire. 053.Earth. 054.Air. 055.Spirit.
056.Breakfast. 057.Lunch. 058.Dinner. 059.Food. 060.Drink.
061.Winter. 062.Spring. 063.Summer. 064.Fall. 065.Passing.
066.Rain. 067.Snow. 068.Lightening. 069.Thunder. 070.Storm.
071.Broken. 072.Fixed. 073.Light. 074.Dark. 075.Shade.
076.Who? 077.What? 078.Where? 079.When? 080.Why?
081.How? 082.If. 083.And. 084.He. 085.She.
086.Choices. 087.Life. 088.School. 089.Work. 090.Home.
091.Birthday. 092.Christmas. 093.Thanksgiving. 094.Independence. 095.New Year.
096.Writer's Choice. 097.Writer's Choice. 098.Writer's Choice. 099.Writer's Choice. 100.Writer's Choice.


current mood: creative
current music: Saint-Saens - "Danse Macabre"

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Sunday, May 22nd, 2005
2:46 am - What He Meant By 'Brother'
Title: What He Meant By 'Brother'
Author: The Cambreadth Wench
Rating: PG
Fandom: The Boondock Saints

There has only been one time when the MacManus twins weren't on the same side. )

current mood: random
current music: Charlotte Martin - "I'm Normal, Please Date Me"

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Thursday, May 12th, 2005
11:14 pm

ANGELS DON'T KILL
Chapter: 1 - 2



-THE MURDER-


"Jesus, Pez, I thought you'd be happy. Isn't this the guy you've been after since he killed your friend?"

"Yeah, Jake. It is."

"Then why are you so upset?"

"Upset? You think I'm upset because that bastard got himself shot? Please."

"I'm just saying, you sure look--"

"I am upset because I didn't get to be the one who pulled the fucking trigger."

"...oh." Jake McCartey swallowed hard and glanced away from his training officer. He was not, by any means, a stranger to murderous thoughts; they were common enough among the officers of Manhattan's 11th Precinct. It was not a pleasant district, and even the most charitable of the boys in blue was occasionally pushed over the edge by the violence and callous cruelty they dealt with every day. Yet somehow, it deeply unnerved Jake to see Detective Sara Pezzini so furious. It shouldn't have - Sara's temper was notorious - but somehow she had always seemed above such anger. After all, she'd been the voice of reason when her partner, Detective Woo, had nearly killed Carl Dalek...

Beside Jake, Sara's angry expression melted, and she sighed. "Sorry, McCartey. It's just been a..." She paused.

"Bad day?" Jake suggested.

"Very."

Sara's partner arrived then, fortuitously interrupting the awkward silence that had descended. "Whew," said Danny Woo, shaking his head as he approached. "There's one hell of a crowd outside. I'm surprised I even made it in."

"Spectators?" asked Jake. When Danny nodded, he groaned. "Just once, I'd like to be able to tick over a crime scene in peace."

"You can't really blame them," Danny said with a shrug as Sara snorted derisively. "One of the most notorious crime bosses in the city turns up dead, there's a lot of people gonna want to know what happened."

Yeah, so they can give the guy that did it a medal! Sara snapped her mouth shut to avoid voicing the thought. She was on edge tonight, and understandably so - she'd just been called in to investigate the death of the man who had murdered her best friend. But she knew that scaring her partners by playing Bad Cop was not likely to improve anything. She settled instead for muttering, "Including me, so can we get down to work here, boys?"

Tommy Gallo's body lay in a congealing puddle of blood; both eyes had been blown out of their sockets by bullets, but his eyebrows were raised and his mouth formed a slight O, implying an expression closer to surprise than fear. Around him lay several other corpses that Sara recognized as Gallo's employees. Clearly the hit had been premeditated, and it was almost certainly professional - the chances that a pissed-off civilian could have pulled a gun and popped five bodyguards and Gallo without taking a bullet were so minute they were almost laughable.

"Three shots to the back of the head," commented Jake. "Execution style. Somebody had to've been pretty damn good to pull this one off."

Danny, who had been examining one of the bodyguards, put in, "Not these guys. Just the usual body bullets here. Although..." The others turned to look at him quizzically as his sentence trailed off. "Hmm. Unusually sharp downward trajectory on the bullets. Which means the shooter was probably standing--" Danny swiveled, eyes turning upward to scan the buildings on either side of the small alley, "--up there."
In unison Sara and Jake's gazes slid up the walls to a fire escape landing.

"But then how'd they get down here in time to pop Gallo?" Jake frowned. "They can't have taken the stairs. Tommy Gallo wasn't stupid, he wouldn't have waited around to chat with someone who'd just killed off his protection."

"I don't think waiting was his idea." Vicky Po, the 11th Precinct's on-call medical examiner, leaned in over the detectives' heads and pointed at the crime lord's body. The legs of his trousers sported dark bloodstains. "Shooters took out both his ankles. He wasn't going anywhere."

"Ouch." All three detectives winced.

Vicky nodded. "And judging by the amount of blood he lost through these wounds, he was waiting a while for our shooters to finish him off."

"Hang on," Danny interrupted. "Did you say shooters? As in, plural?"

"Yep," confirmed Vicky. "Ballistics just came back, we've got three separate guns here. First one took out those two," and she gestured at two bodyguards, "the second downed those," a sweep of her arm indicated two more, "and the third killed that guy there. But Gallo got the special treatment - all three of 'em at once."

"Three?" Jake repeated, sounding incredulous. "Three separate guys shot Gallo all at once?"

"You got it. Gun A was this bullet," Vicky pointed to the corpse's missing left eye, "Gun B was this one," and she pointed to the right, "and Gun C made this hole here," indicating the underside of Gallo's chin. "Now that last one entered the skull up here, which means this shooter was considerably taller than the other two. But basically what you've got is, three guys put guns to Gallo's head and pulled the trigger in unison."

"Damn," commented Sara. "Someone was pissed."

"Yeah, or they figured they were doing a public service," said Vicky, rolling her eyes.

"Alright," Danny said, mentally summing up the current evidence, "we've got three shooters on the fire escape. They knock off the bodyguards, then two of them put bullets through Tommy's ankles. From there they take their own sweet time coming down and finishing the job."

"Confident, but not careless," nodded Sara in agreement.

"Well," said Vicky, glancing at her friends, "at least you guys have a normal case on your hands this time, huh?"

Danny snorted. "You just had to say that, didn't you Po-Po? Now something's sure to throw us for a loop."

He was right, too; as the fingers of her right hand brushed against Tommy Gallo's ankle, Sara's world tilted abruptly and flickers of red engulfed the corners of her vision. She found herself staring once more up at the fire escape, and this time she could see figures perched there - three men all in black. Light from the setting sun flickered around them, lending them an aura of glitter and magic, as if they were avenging angels swathed in fire. Descending the stairs swiftly and hauling Gallo to a kneeling position, each man leveled a gun at the crime lord's head. They were speaking, something foreign that Sara couldn't understand at first - and then she caught it. "In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti." In the name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Latin. Was this some sort of ritual killing?

They pulled the triggers and Sara slammed back into her own body with the sounds of the shots still ringing in her ears. "The pennies," she croaked. "Where are the pennies that were on their eyes?"

Once upon a time, that comment would have made the others' jaws drop. But all three investigators had grown so accustomed to Sara's uncanny knack for picking up details at crime scenes that it barely raised eyebrows this time around.

"Jones had 'em," Vicky informed the detective. "Took 'em back to the lab for fingerprinting and such."

"Right," murmured Sara. Glancing down, she saw the red stone of her Witchblade was aglow and swirling violently with flecks of light. She sighed. Cases were never normal, anymore. "Let's get back to the precinct, guys. I'll bet my badge we've got some serious research to do."

current mood: bored
current music: Seether - "Remedy"

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3:06 pm


ANGELS DON'T KILL
Chapter: 1 - 2

DISCLAIMER: I do not own the Saints or anything related thereto; they are the property of Troy Duffy. Nor do I own Witchblade, which belongs to Top Cow Comics and Warner Bros. The characters Lyanka Graves and Elrianra Menekh originated in Sparks Donnen's fic Parallel Eternities, but they really belong to themselves more than to Sparks or to me.


-PROLOGUE-

They told stories about Witchblades, once -- shining bracelets of silver and stone that became swords beneath a woman's touch, weapons of tremendous beauty and terrifying power which could only be worn by a select few. All over the world, legends are told of women warriors against whom no foe could stand. From Cleopatra to Boudicca, Hua Mu-Lan to Jeanne D'Arc, a common thread links all their tales: the myth of a mystical weapon which gave its wielder unearthly abilities. For thousands of years the Witchblades have criscrossed the globe, affecting the tides of power and influence, altering the odds in favor of their chosen Wielders. Symbiotic and supernatural, a Blade grants its Wielder unimaginable gifts, but its power is not without its price -- in return for power, protection and preternatural Sight, a Wielder must sometimes serve the Witchblade's purpose.

These days, the tales of the Witchblades are all but lost. They've faded to vague footnotes on the pages of history – when they're noted at all. Scholars discredit the legends, and a society dedicated to science rejects the whispers of magic in favor of more logical interpretations. But the fact that they have been forgotten does not mean that they no longer exist. And now, in this bright new century, three Blades are rising once more from the darkness of myth to fight a battle no one knows is coming...

Woman. Warrior. Wielder. Sara Pezzini is a New York City homicide detective. She's good at what she does, too, although she won't be winning any awards for Employee of the Month -- she's too smart, too snarky, and steps on too many toes to be popular. But she gets the job done, and her colleagues respect her even if they're not about to invite her out for coffee after work. Her only good friends are her partner, Danny Woo, and Jake McCartey, the rookie cop they've been assigned to train. There are others; Gabriel Bowman, a young artifacts dealer who knows too much for his own good, and Vicky Po, the alcoholic medical examiner with a sharp wit and high tolerance for the unusual. And sometimes Ian Nottingham, the dark and mysterious watcher who answers every question with a riddle. But she does not trust easily, and few people ever get close enough to hurt her.

Sara doesn't watch the news much. She doesn’t make time for a life outside of work, except the occasional long motorcycle ride or a trip to the precinct’s gym. So she never heard the stories about the Boondock Saints, vigilantes who took justice into their own hands and tore through Boston, killing killers. If a colleague at the precinct ever mentioned it to her, she didn't pay much attention.

But the stories are about to leap off the page in a way she never realized was possible. Soon, Sara will get an up close and personal view of the Saints' whirlwind world. Because the Saints have fled Boston and come to New York, and although it is Sara's job as a police officer to track them down, she is also a Wielder.

And her Witchblade has drastically different plans...



current mood: hopeful
current music: Dalida - "Salma Ya Salama"

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Saturday, February 12th, 2005
1:36 am - The Blossoms (help me out gals, need a title for this!)
Prologue - being a short relation of the events leading up to the first chapter )

current mood: artistic

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Tuesday, February 8th, 2005
2:55 pm - A good beginning to a bad story
They were called Il Fiori, and there were four of them.

They were all thirteen years old, which made them some of the youngest pupils at Madame March's Select Seminary for Little Ladies. And they were all very clever, which was considered both an accomplishment and a great nuisance. And they were all named after flowers, which was where they had acquired the nickname Il Fiori - that is Italian for "the flowers."

But for all their similarities, they were four very different little girls.

Violet, for example, was the youngest. She had large almond-brown eyes, and shining black hair which she liked to tie up with a blue satin ribbon. The first thing most people noticed about Violet was ______________. She was fond of drawing; often she would be seen with a sketch pad in hand and a pencil over one ear. She attended Madame March's because her father had a great deal of money but did not know very much about little girls, and he had not known what else to do with her after her mother died.

Even though she was older than Violet, Rose was the smallest. Everything about her was tiny and dainty, from nose to toes, except for her voice, which was very loud indeed. She was a student at the Seminary because her mother had been, and her mother had gone to the Seminary because her mother had, and so on for four generations. Rose's family believed in tradition.

Daisy was generally agreed to be the prettiest of Il Fiori. She was all curves, even her hair, which was dark brown and very curly. She had been sent to school at Madame March's because it had a reputation as the finest girls' finishing school in the country, and her parents (who were very wealthy) were adamant that Daisy should have the best of everything.

Nightshade was rather different from her friends. To begin with, she was an orphan, and to be going on with, her family had not had much money even when they were alive.

current mood: relaxed

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Thursday, December 2nd, 2004
9:10 am
Okay, I know this segment's a bit of a cop-out since part of it's been posted before, but it's important to get it in context and the segment coming after it was too long to include with this piece. So, here be Aspen and Thaddeus (who are suddenly starting to remind me WAY too much of Claire/Diana and Austin from Tanya Huff's "Summon The Keeper" books...)

In which we arrive at Tavier Castle )

Again - suggestions! Grammar, spelling, punctuation, sentence flow: if you see anything you'd change, let me know!

current mood: cheerful
current music: Green Day - "Boulevard of Broken Dreams"

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Tuesday, November 30th, 2004
6:17 pm - And so it begins...
...properly, anyway. So! Here's the first segment of my NaNo novel, from the very first word. I invite everyone reading to find every single flaw in it that you can, and let me know; I trust you guys to be constructive as well as critical, so help me out here.
In which we introduce The Villain and our main character - or one of them... )

Hope you all enjoy!

current mood: chipper

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Tuesday, November 9th, 2004
11:17 pm
11,803 / 50,000
(23.6%)


Getting there. @_@

current mood: content
current music: Tori Amos - "Sweet Dreams"

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Wednesday, November 3rd, 2004
11:11 am - Introduction of Skyre "Blaze" Notalder
"Bugger."
The word fell curiously flat in the little clearing, as if the thick grass, or the surrounding oaks, or perhaps the overhanging thunderclouds were soaking up the echoes. Skyre Notalder glanced sullenly upwards as several fat raindrops landed in his cupped palms, extinguishing the fire he'd been cradling there. Fitful sparks flicked between his fingers, trying to rekindle the flames, but it was no use; the rain was coming down harder now, and Skyre gave up with a sigh, knowing future attempts would be useless. He would have to wait until his hands were dry to try again, and that would require getting indoors - it was now raining so hard that even the thick-leaved branches of the oaks were offering no shelter.
He hopped down from the tree stump upon which he'd been sitting with a muffled curse and a scowl firmly in place. He's been so sure that today was going to be the day he got it right, and then the bloody weather had had to go and spoil it.
Reaching the edge of the clearing, he pulled his cloak tighter about himself and muttered, "I'm finished, Wendilly." Immediately there was a distinct shift in the quality of the air, as if some giant enclosing bubble had been invisibly and soundlessly popped. A breeze sprang up, and the sounds of the forest suddenly seemed to have their echoes back.
A little girl of approximately twelve, swathed in a blue cloak that matched Skyre's (but which, unlike Skyre's, was several sizes too large for her) appeared from behind a nearby tree trunk and beamed at him. "Oh, good!" she piped up. "I was hoping you'd finish before noonmeal was over. I'm starving."
Without another word she turned and started off, back down the path she and Skyre had followed into the little wood.
With a second heavy sigh, Skyre strode off after her.

current mood: blah
current music: BOWI Band - "Workin' The Anaconda Mine"

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