Blurgh. XD;
Jul. 11th, 2006 09:49 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ladybug_archiveIsn't this a great icon? XD Tinuviel428 made it in the Monk community, and it reminds me of myself and my constant need for things to make sense, even in comedies.
I do wonder, why can't I just be intrigued by Kaitou Kid like the majority of the Detective Conan fanbase? I really like him, but somehow I don't think I'll ever be really analyzing him a lot.... Gin, on the other hand, has completely captured my fascination. That's ... pretty bad. XD; He's a terrible person! I really consider someone like him as being worse than even CSM, because of their motivations. CSM, at least, is working toward a goal that will eventually help humanity. But I'm pretty sure Gin's motivations are selfish. I guess maybe I like him because of his mysteriousness, and because I wonder if he has any spark of goodness left. And, especially after Aubrie sent me the song Diary of Jane, I'm intrigued by the idea that Gin had some sort of romantic relationship with Sherry. I think I may be pursuing that angle in my fics.
Last night I wrote a one-shot that takes place toward the end of episode #178. Conan shot Gin with a tranquilizer dart at one point, and Gin then shot himself in the arm to keep himself awake. But I figure that the drug would take affect sooner or later. XD The fic is a pretty random little thing, following Gin and Vodka as they make their escape from the hotel and as Gin eventually passes out from the combination of the drug and the blood loss from his wounds. (Gotta thank Aubrie for the blood loss thing....) But I still think it's missing something. I even take my random one-shot fics seriously. XD
If there was one thing Gin was, it was strong-willed. He had not become one of the Black Organization's most trusted and highest ranking assassins without utilizing a great deal of perserverance and skill. When he was sent out to eliminate an enemy, he did not quit until the job was done.
That was why two things were so highly frustrating to him right now. First, that he had still failed to kill the traitor Sherry. Somehow she had gotten away, with the aid of some mysterious young man, and he found himself feeling a mixture of emotions because of that. Annoyance, certainly, and anger. But also, he felt impressed to a certain extent that she was still managing to survive. It seemed that he had underestimated her, but he would make sure that it did not happen again.
He also wondered if he felt some small amount of jealousy over the fact that she had been rescued. He would most definitely like to know, at any rate, who had managed to get her away---considering her injuries. Had she found some sort of heroic knight to be at her beck and call? But no, Sherry was too independent for that. She would never want someone to protect her if she could do it herself---not that she would have been able to at the time, but that was beside the point. Gin supposed that her self-reliance was one of her qualities that he had always been intrigued by. But that did not excuse that she was a traitor. Because of that unfortunate fact, Gin had vowed to track her down until she had paid for her insubordination.
The second thing that he was upset about at the moment was that whatever sort of tranquilizing drug had been injected into his system was taking affect, in spite of his efforts to keep himself awake by shooting himself in the arm. It had worked long enough for him to follow Pisco down the chimney and to carry out the order to get rid of him, but as he started going back up the enclosed space dizziness started to come over him. He cursed the fact in his mind as he continued to struggle to escape what could be his prison or his tomb. Behind him he could hear shouts as the doors were thrown open and as people tried to contain the fire, and he cursed again as he slipped while trying to get a foothold.
"Bro?"
He looked up through his wild bangs, seeing Vodka looking down at him uncertainly from the top of the chimney. They were still too far apart for Vodka to be able to offer any assistance, and knowing that he had an audience made Gin all the more determined to fight the drug that was taking hold of his senses and making him sluggish. The last thing he wanted was for Vodka to have to dive in to save him just because he had been unable to stay awake for another five minutes.
"Give me a minute," he growled, looking away and coughing from the smoke before pushing himself to again grab at the walls and uneven bricks as he began anew to scale the blasted smokeshaft.
"I don't think you have a minute!" Vodka replied nervously. If Gin was unable to climb up, he would either be caught by the police or else burn to death in the fire. Vodka doubted that there would even be anything that he could do about it. All the possible options made him edgy, and he had to hope that Gin knew what he was doing.
Gin ignored him now, throwing all of his concentration into making the ascent. The fire was still not out yet, and some of the flames leaped at the edge of his coat---only barely missing as he moved out of their reach. He forced himself to think only of climbing. By putting all other thoughts out of his mind, he found it much easier to get all the way up. That was how he always accomplished his goals---by thinking solely of them. Before he quite realized it himself, he was gripping the rim of the chimney and Vodka was helping him climb back out onto the roof.
"The police are going to be here any minute," the heavyset man announced apprehensively. "They're probably coming up the stairs."
Gin knew this was likely true, but that was not all. "They're also coming by helicopter!" he retorted, pointing to the skies where the sound of helicopter propellers could be clearly heard. Without waiting for a reply he stumbled over to the stairwell door and locked it, then crossed to the edge of the roof and began to climb over the edge to the ledge that he knew would be close by. On a normal day, this would not be a hard thing for him to do, but as it was he had to blink repeatedly in order to force the double vision away. Several times he swayed, nearly tumbling overboard.
Vodka ran over to the side, gawking at him. "What are you doing?!" he gasped in disbelief. For a brief moment he wondered if Gin was quite sane at the moment or if the drug was making him want to do something absurd, such as to jump off the building.
"Don't ask questions, just follow me!" Gin shot back as he lowered himself onto the small platform. He inched along cautiously, gripping at the wall as he headed for the nearest window. Their only chance would be to go back inside and find a back exit. Naturally they could not think of climbing down the entire building. They would be seen by someone if they did not fall, and whether Gin wanted to admit it or not, he was not certain that he would even be able to last all the way down. He would force consciousness for as long as he could, but if he failed, it would be far better to pass out inside the nicely furnished hotel rather than outside on the ledge.
He could hear Vodka nervously coming up behind him, but he did not bother to look back. Instead he came up to the window and looked inside, finding the room deserted. The window was locked, but he was undeterred and broke it with his gun. Particles of glass flew about him, some digging into his hand, and he picked them out in annoyance as he climbed through the hole. He would not have bothered, save for the fact that he did not particularly want the pieces to go in further and end up in his bloodstream. That would certainly not help matters.
As Vodka approached the window, he eyed the broken glass with distaste. "Bro, I don't think I can get through that!" he exclaimed, and wondered for the umpteenth time if there was not another solution.
"Don't give me excuses!" Gin shot back. "Come on!" By now the pain in his arm and hand had numbed considerably and was barely noticeable beyond his desire to sleep. He staggered over to the door, gripping the knob tightly as he turned it and looked out into the hall. It was vacant, as far as he could see, and there were stairwells at both ends. That was convenient. He just would have to hope that the police were not smart enough to be in both of them. But was that a chance they could take?
He frowned, shutting the door again and looking around the room. After a moment he spied what he had been searching for---the ventilation grate near the ceiling. There was the chance that he could navigate through the system until coming to the stairwells and seeing if they were empty, but that could take a long time---time that they did not have. But, as he thought the situation over, he decided that most of the police would be busy trying to control the fire---at least until the fire department arrived. He doubted that there would be enough officers to be in both stairwells, if he and Vodka hurried. And he already knew which side went up to the roof, as only one did, so they would surely be safe if they went the other way. Vodka had finally braved the window after breaking away more of the glass around the edges, so Gin threw open the door again and ran into the hall, expecting his associate to follow.
It was lucky for them that Gin's prediction was correct and the north stairwell was devoid of police officers, or anyone else, for that matter. The two of them managed to reach the main floor without serious incident, and since it then opened up next to the rear exit, they quickly fled. They might have set off the fire alarm, Gin realized a moment later, but oh well, that was not anything to worry about. There was a fire in the building anyway, so another siren should not make that much difference.
Now he wondered how he had ever managed to come all that way. It was hard to believe that all of that had taken place just in five minutes' time. It seemed like an endless blur. The burst of adrenaline he had experienced was passing, and as it faded away so did the last remaining portion of his strength. The drug was going to win after all, much to his displeasure. He grabbed at the wall in one vain attempt to stay upright as dizziness overwhelmed him.
"What's wrong, bro?" Vodka had been behind him and now had come around to look at him. Seeing the glazed look in his associate's eyes, he suddenly had the feeling that he knew the answer. "Is it the drug?" He still wondered who on earth had managed to shoot Gin. No one had been in sight. And actually, they did not know for certain if the drug was only a tranquilizer. It could be a poison.
Gin tried to make himself stand up straight, but he knew it was not going to work. Everything was going in and out of focus. He felt angry with himself for not being able to continue resisting the substance, even though he knew he had done well by fighting it all that he had. But what he despised most of all was that now he would have to show Vodka a weakness. He was going to pass out. He mumbled a curse before falling forward into the snow. From his self-inflicted wounds, crimson splattered against the white, natural carpet.
Vodka simply stared at his ally for a long moment, unable to digest what had just happened. In all the years they had known each other, he had never seen Gin swoon for any reason whatsoever. Part of him felt sure that Gin would get up in a minute, brushing away the snow and looking furious, but Gin did not move. It seemed almost unreal, and yet Vodka knew that the reason this happened now was because of the drug's effects.
The wail of a nearby siren brought him back to a realization of their present situation and danger. He knew that if they did not get out of there immediately, they would probably be captured by the police. He also knew that Gin would not be waking up any time soon. If they were going to escape, he, Vodka, would have to do something about it. He felt highly uncomfortable, but that could not be helped.
Quickly he bent down next to Gin and, remembering his thoughts about the possible poison, checked the other man's vitals signs. They were normal, and yet Gin looked oddly pale for someone who had just been struck with a sedative. As Vodka continued to examine him, the strangest thought came to him. For some reason, he could not help but wonder if the blood loss had also contributed to Gin losing consciousness. Gin was an assassin; he was wounded frequently and had learned to tolerate it, so Vodka dismissed the thought as idiocy. But still, if Gin had already been weakened from the drug, perhaps it was not that far-fetched of an idea. In any case, further speculation would have to wait.
Vodka started to lift Gin up, managing to get the tall blonde across his shoulders. He doubted that Gin would be grateful for the help when he woke up. Most likely he would feel humiliated over having to be assisted. But Vodka knew that Gin also would not want to be arrested, and he himself did not have any intention of leaving his associate behind, so they would have to make due with their feelings of discomfort over the situation.
The sirens were closer now. As Vodka reached the black Porsche, he hurriedly tossed Gin into the passenger seat and got the car keys out of his pocket before applying the seat belt, slamming the door, and going around to the driver's side. That was something else Gin did not like---for someone other than himself to drive the car. But that could not be helped either. If Vodka managed to get them back without damaging them or the vehicle, maybe he would be forgiven. Swiftly he placed the key in the ignition, revved the engine, and took off, leaving a spray of snow in their wake.
Aubrie showed me a lot of House clips in the morning, which were priceless, and then she found a little music video using the DuckTales theme. LOL. So that made me want to watch my DuckTales DVDs. And I found another really good one that I'm amazed that Disney got away with. A Japanese show could do it easily, but I was so surprised to see an American show do it.
It's called Sphinx for the Memories, and it involves Donald Duck on shore leave from the Navy somewhere in Egypt. He gets picked up by this cult that believes him to be the physical reincarnation of their leader, the Garbled One. (The episode's best line, upon getting him to their village: "He certainly sounds garbled." XD) So Scrooge and the nephews set out to rescue him, but not before the villagers set up a midnight ceremony during which the Garbled One's spirit enters Donald's body and, well, possesses him. Then he sentences the other ducks to die in the desert so that the "vultures can pick their bones." (Yes, he really said that!) But Scrooge gets out of it by saying that he and the boys should build him a pyramid, since "all the great Pharaohs have pyramids."
Throughout it all, there's an evil high priest who's trying to kill Donald by siccing a cursed mummy on him. During the second time the mummy attacks, Scrooge and the boys are there and they witness Donald's spirit trying to break free of the Garbled One's grasp. (It's done in a more humourous way, but still, I'm surprised that Disney did this at all.) So they get Donald and set up another midnight ceremony, during which the Garbled One's spirit is released. He then releases the mummy from the curse, as the mummy was his friend in life, and the two spirits float away together. The villagers decide to stop living in the past and relying on superstitions, and the ducks are able to leave. Ah, a classic. Disney just doesn't make 'em like they used to. **mourns the old Disney shows.**
I do wonder, why can't I just be intrigued by Kaitou Kid like the majority of the Detective Conan fanbase? I really like him, but somehow I don't think I'll ever be really analyzing him a lot.... Gin, on the other hand, has completely captured my fascination. That's ... pretty bad. XD; He's a terrible person! I really consider someone like him as being worse than even CSM, because of their motivations. CSM, at least, is working toward a goal that will eventually help humanity. But I'm pretty sure Gin's motivations are selfish. I guess maybe I like him because of his mysteriousness, and because I wonder if he has any spark of goodness left. And, especially after Aubrie sent me the song Diary of Jane, I'm intrigued by the idea that Gin had some sort of romantic relationship with Sherry. I think I may be pursuing that angle in my fics.
Last night I wrote a one-shot that takes place toward the end of episode #178. Conan shot Gin with a tranquilizer dart at one point, and Gin then shot himself in the arm to keep himself awake. But I figure that the drug would take affect sooner or later. XD The fic is a pretty random little thing, following Gin and Vodka as they make their escape from the hotel and as Gin eventually passes out from the combination of the drug and the blood loss from his wounds. (Gotta thank Aubrie for the blood loss thing....) But I still think it's missing something. I even take my random one-shot fics seriously. XD
If there was one thing Gin was, it was strong-willed. He had not become one of the Black Organization's most trusted and highest ranking assassins without utilizing a great deal of perserverance and skill. When he was sent out to eliminate an enemy, he did not quit until the job was done.
That was why two things were so highly frustrating to him right now. First, that he had still failed to kill the traitor Sherry. Somehow she had gotten away, with the aid of some mysterious young man, and he found himself feeling a mixture of emotions because of that. Annoyance, certainly, and anger. But also, he felt impressed to a certain extent that she was still managing to survive. It seemed that he had underestimated her, but he would make sure that it did not happen again.
He also wondered if he felt some small amount of jealousy over the fact that she had been rescued. He would most definitely like to know, at any rate, who had managed to get her away---considering her injuries. Had she found some sort of heroic knight to be at her beck and call? But no, Sherry was too independent for that. She would never want someone to protect her if she could do it herself---not that she would have been able to at the time, but that was beside the point. Gin supposed that her self-reliance was one of her qualities that he had always been intrigued by. But that did not excuse that she was a traitor. Because of that unfortunate fact, Gin had vowed to track her down until she had paid for her insubordination.
The second thing that he was upset about at the moment was that whatever sort of tranquilizing drug had been injected into his system was taking affect, in spite of his efforts to keep himself awake by shooting himself in the arm. It had worked long enough for him to follow Pisco down the chimney and to carry out the order to get rid of him, but as he started going back up the enclosed space dizziness started to come over him. He cursed the fact in his mind as he continued to struggle to escape what could be his prison or his tomb. Behind him he could hear shouts as the doors were thrown open and as people tried to contain the fire, and he cursed again as he slipped while trying to get a foothold.
"Bro?"
He looked up through his wild bangs, seeing Vodka looking down at him uncertainly from the top of the chimney. They were still too far apart for Vodka to be able to offer any assistance, and knowing that he had an audience made Gin all the more determined to fight the drug that was taking hold of his senses and making him sluggish. The last thing he wanted was for Vodka to have to dive in to save him just because he had been unable to stay awake for another five minutes.
"Give me a minute," he growled, looking away and coughing from the smoke before pushing himself to again grab at the walls and uneven bricks as he began anew to scale the blasted smokeshaft.
"I don't think you have a minute!" Vodka replied nervously. If Gin was unable to climb up, he would either be caught by the police or else burn to death in the fire. Vodka doubted that there would even be anything that he could do about it. All the possible options made him edgy, and he had to hope that Gin knew what he was doing.
Gin ignored him now, throwing all of his concentration into making the ascent. The fire was still not out yet, and some of the flames leaped at the edge of his coat---only barely missing as he moved out of their reach. He forced himself to think only of climbing. By putting all other thoughts out of his mind, he found it much easier to get all the way up. That was how he always accomplished his goals---by thinking solely of them. Before he quite realized it himself, he was gripping the rim of the chimney and Vodka was helping him climb back out onto the roof.
"The police are going to be here any minute," the heavyset man announced apprehensively. "They're probably coming up the stairs."
Gin knew this was likely true, but that was not all. "They're also coming by helicopter!" he retorted, pointing to the skies where the sound of helicopter propellers could be clearly heard. Without waiting for a reply he stumbled over to the stairwell door and locked it, then crossed to the edge of the roof and began to climb over the edge to the ledge that he knew would be close by. On a normal day, this would not be a hard thing for him to do, but as it was he had to blink repeatedly in order to force the double vision away. Several times he swayed, nearly tumbling overboard.
Vodka ran over to the side, gawking at him. "What are you doing?!" he gasped in disbelief. For a brief moment he wondered if Gin was quite sane at the moment or if the drug was making him want to do something absurd, such as to jump off the building.
"Don't ask questions, just follow me!" Gin shot back as he lowered himself onto the small platform. He inched along cautiously, gripping at the wall as he headed for the nearest window. Their only chance would be to go back inside and find a back exit. Naturally they could not think of climbing down the entire building. They would be seen by someone if they did not fall, and whether Gin wanted to admit it or not, he was not certain that he would even be able to last all the way down. He would force consciousness for as long as he could, but if he failed, it would be far better to pass out inside the nicely furnished hotel rather than outside on the ledge.
He could hear Vodka nervously coming up behind him, but he did not bother to look back. Instead he came up to the window and looked inside, finding the room deserted. The window was locked, but he was undeterred and broke it with his gun. Particles of glass flew about him, some digging into his hand, and he picked them out in annoyance as he climbed through the hole. He would not have bothered, save for the fact that he did not particularly want the pieces to go in further and end up in his bloodstream. That would certainly not help matters.
As Vodka approached the window, he eyed the broken glass with distaste. "Bro, I don't think I can get through that!" he exclaimed, and wondered for the umpteenth time if there was not another solution.
"Don't give me excuses!" Gin shot back. "Come on!" By now the pain in his arm and hand had numbed considerably and was barely noticeable beyond his desire to sleep. He staggered over to the door, gripping the knob tightly as he turned it and looked out into the hall. It was vacant, as far as he could see, and there were stairwells at both ends. That was convenient. He just would have to hope that the police were not smart enough to be in both of them. But was that a chance they could take?
He frowned, shutting the door again and looking around the room. After a moment he spied what he had been searching for---the ventilation grate near the ceiling. There was the chance that he could navigate through the system until coming to the stairwells and seeing if they were empty, but that could take a long time---time that they did not have. But, as he thought the situation over, he decided that most of the police would be busy trying to control the fire---at least until the fire department arrived. He doubted that there would be enough officers to be in both stairwells, if he and Vodka hurried. And he already knew which side went up to the roof, as only one did, so they would surely be safe if they went the other way. Vodka had finally braved the window after breaking away more of the glass around the edges, so Gin threw open the door again and ran into the hall, expecting his associate to follow.
It was lucky for them that Gin's prediction was correct and the north stairwell was devoid of police officers, or anyone else, for that matter. The two of them managed to reach the main floor without serious incident, and since it then opened up next to the rear exit, they quickly fled. They might have set off the fire alarm, Gin realized a moment later, but oh well, that was not anything to worry about. There was a fire in the building anyway, so another siren should not make that much difference.
Now he wondered how he had ever managed to come all that way. It was hard to believe that all of that had taken place just in five minutes' time. It seemed like an endless blur. The burst of adrenaline he had experienced was passing, and as it faded away so did the last remaining portion of his strength. The drug was going to win after all, much to his displeasure. He grabbed at the wall in one vain attempt to stay upright as dizziness overwhelmed him.
"What's wrong, bro?" Vodka had been behind him and now had come around to look at him. Seeing the glazed look in his associate's eyes, he suddenly had the feeling that he knew the answer. "Is it the drug?" He still wondered who on earth had managed to shoot Gin. No one had been in sight. And actually, they did not know for certain if the drug was only a tranquilizer. It could be a poison.
Gin tried to make himself stand up straight, but he knew it was not going to work. Everything was going in and out of focus. He felt angry with himself for not being able to continue resisting the substance, even though he knew he had done well by fighting it all that he had. But what he despised most of all was that now he would have to show Vodka a weakness. He was going to pass out. He mumbled a curse before falling forward into the snow. From his self-inflicted wounds, crimson splattered against the white, natural carpet.
Vodka simply stared at his ally for a long moment, unable to digest what had just happened. In all the years they had known each other, he had never seen Gin swoon for any reason whatsoever. Part of him felt sure that Gin would get up in a minute, brushing away the snow and looking furious, but Gin did not move. It seemed almost unreal, and yet Vodka knew that the reason this happened now was because of the drug's effects.
The wail of a nearby siren brought him back to a realization of their present situation and danger. He knew that if they did not get out of there immediately, they would probably be captured by the police. He also knew that Gin would not be waking up any time soon. If they were going to escape, he, Vodka, would have to do something about it. He felt highly uncomfortable, but that could not be helped.
Quickly he bent down next to Gin and, remembering his thoughts about the possible poison, checked the other man's vitals signs. They were normal, and yet Gin looked oddly pale for someone who had just been struck with a sedative. As Vodka continued to examine him, the strangest thought came to him. For some reason, he could not help but wonder if the blood loss had also contributed to Gin losing consciousness. Gin was an assassin; he was wounded frequently and had learned to tolerate it, so Vodka dismissed the thought as idiocy. But still, if Gin had already been weakened from the drug, perhaps it was not that far-fetched of an idea. In any case, further speculation would have to wait.
Vodka started to lift Gin up, managing to get the tall blonde across his shoulders. He doubted that Gin would be grateful for the help when he woke up. Most likely he would feel humiliated over having to be assisted. But Vodka knew that Gin also would not want to be arrested, and he himself did not have any intention of leaving his associate behind, so they would have to make due with their feelings of discomfort over the situation.
The sirens were closer now. As Vodka reached the black Porsche, he hurriedly tossed Gin into the passenger seat and got the car keys out of his pocket before applying the seat belt, slamming the door, and going around to the driver's side. That was something else Gin did not like---for someone other than himself to drive the car. But that could not be helped either. If Vodka managed to get them back without damaging them or the vehicle, maybe he would be forgiven. Swiftly he placed the key in the ignition, revved the engine, and took off, leaving a spray of snow in their wake.
Aubrie showed me a lot of House clips in the morning, which were priceless, and then she found a little music video using the DuckTales theme. LOL. So that made me want to watch my DuckTales DVDs. And I found another really good one that I'm amazed that Disney got away with. A Japanese show could do it easily, but I was so surprised to see an American show do it.
It's called Sphinx for the Memories, and it involves Donald Duck on shore leave from the Navy somewhere in Egypt. He gets picked up by this cult that believes him to be the physical reincarnation of their leader, the Garbled One. (The episode's best line, upon getting him to their village: "He certainly sounds garbled." XD) So Scrooge and the nephews set out to rescue him, but not before the villagers set up a midnight ceremony during which the Garbled One's spirit enters Donald's body and, well, possesses him. Then he sentences the other ducks to die in the desert so that the "vultures can pick their bones." (Yes, he really said that!) But Scrooge gets out of it by saying that he and the boys should build him a pyramid, since "all the great Pharaohs have pyramids."
Throughout it all, there's an evil high priest who's trying to kill Donald by siccing a cursed mummy on him. During the second time the mummy attacks, Scrooge and the boys are there and they witness Donald's spirit trying to break free of the Garbled One's grasp. (It's done in a more humourous way, but still, I'm surprised that Disney did this at all.) So they get Donald and set up another midnight ceremony, during which the Garbled One's spirit is released. He then releases the mummy from the curse, as the mummy was his friend in life, and the two spirits float away together. The villagers decide to stop living in the past and relying on superstitions, and the ducks are able to leave. Ah, a classic. Disney just doesn't make 'em like they used to. **mourns the old Disney shows.**
