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ladybug_archiveI've never done this before, but now I must. X3 It's a biker tribute using We Are. I never realized how well that song fits them during the Doom Arc!
Gotta get off in a minute and get some sleep. XD We're going to a funeral today, up in the area we moved from, and we've gotta do a lot of stuff while we're there. I really hope we won't be gone too long into the evening.
On Sunday I begin teaching music to the children at church. Hopefully they will like me. XD; The previous person was in at least five years, and she's very extroverted. Last week I went to see how things were done, and I really liked her after just seeing her teach then, so I can imagine how the kids would get attached after five years.
I finally got the next chapter of Snow White Queen done! I think it came out quite well. ^^ And I already have some of the next chapter planned out.
And here's a blurb that would not go away, as usual. XD It takes place in a timeline within a timeline. ^^ It's in the Good Enough For You timeline, and from there has branched into what I call the Apollo's Reign timeline. He's never mentioned by name,on purpose, to protect his usage in my original story, but it's him, and he's put the whole world under military rule. And he's got some real morons working for him. I was making fun of odd rules that he might enforce, so ... yeah.
This is an idea I've had for a while. It's an unpolished, unfinished blurb, and while I wrote it, I got more plot bunnies. XD I can imagine Sherry and Vodka had a lot of time to bond during their experiences....
The last pollution-laced beams of sunlight had faded hours before, plunging the world into the dark and unnaturally gray sky it endured every night. From a distance, the black buildings rising into the sky almost looked like fingers clawing at the last bits of clear air, wanting to drag it away. Most of the houses below the skyscrapers had fallen into disrepair, their roofs leaking and their walls peeling. They were a sorry sight, especially considering the few rich and well-to-do mansions on a hill above them. They belonged to those working under the ruler of this pathetic land. Of course, no one had the money to be able to live in fancy houses, let alone simple ones that were truly livable and not deathtraps.
Most people did not dare to venture out of their homes any more than necessary, both because of the pollution and because of their fear due to the military rule by which they were oppressed. The slightest and most innocent mistake could send them either to prison or to death. Their king had originally taken over because he believed he could make the world better, but instead, he had plunged them into a life far worse than what they had experienced before. Now, no one seemed to know how to fix it.
There were rumors of resistance groups, but most such organizations were quickly put down before they could flourish. Any remaining ones stayed well-hidden, and most people also did not even dare to defy the tyranny by seeking out and joining the rebels. They preferred to stay unknown and unbothered, and to try to obey the outlandish laws at all times. It kept them alive, at least.
A lone figure wandered the streets, as he usually did every day. He did not care about the foolish rules he might be breaking, or the possibility of meeting up with the patrolling guards. Though, he did not care a great deal about anything, anymore. This world had taken everything from him that he had found worth caring about, and out of spite and hatred, he had continued to live. He had decided that if the world was that determined to break him, then he would be that determined in return to not crack, to be impenetrable, and to despise the world. Of course, that was not really living at all. He had been broken, but he could not accept or acknowledge it. He was too proud, and too afraid as well.
He stopped at the corner, digging into his pocket for a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. There was only one left in the container, and he jammed it into his mouth furiously before throwing the box into a nearby trashcan. Then he applied the flame to the small object, glaring at it with eyes of green steel. The red almost looked like her hair, in a certain light.
Usually it had been auburn, but sometimes, when the sun had shone on it just right, it had taken on the appearance of fire. He had held her close to him so many times, running his hands through the short, permed locks and thinking how beautiful she was. He hated that he would never have that chance again.
He had not only lost his wife, either. In addition to her having been a close friend, there was the man who had been his partner, his other best friend. He had saved the smoker from descending into complete insanity, after an experience that had left him completely shaken and mentally damaged. Right before and right after the city's takeover, they had usually taken the walks together that he was now taking alone.
He abhorred being alone. For all the ways he had so often tried to distance himself from others, especially those he loved, he had actually been silently screaming to not be abandoned---despite not even consciously realizing it himself. When she had left in the past, he had desperately pursued her---the woman who had later became his wife. And he had risked his own life more than once to save his partner's, when they had ended up in disastrous situations---frantically wanting the assurance that he would not lose the other.
He wanted them back. He wanted this pathetic, forsaken world to give up what it had taken from him. The king himself had needed to be revived before he had taken over the planet. But apparently that tyrant was the only one allowed such a feat. No one else was, and especially not lowly and unwilling subjects such as himself. He would never get back what he had lost.
"Hey you!"
He turned around boredly at the sound of an unfamiliar voice. One of the men patrolling the streets was standing there, sharp weapon in hand. He looked the same as all the others---zealous and ridiculous.
"You're out after curfew, your hair's too long, and you're smoking," came the accusations now. "You know that's punishable by a prison sentence, or even death."
He grunted, deciding to ignore most of the nonsense being spewed. "Those monstrosities of your leader pollute the air more than I do," he retorted flatly, indicating the buildings towering over them. Not that he cared one way or another. "What difference does it make?"
"The difference is that humans can't smoke." The weapon was immediately pointed at him. "And now you've defied me. That's definitely punishable by death!" He lunged.
The law-breaker fired, hitting the other squarely in the forehead. The fools did not even bother to wear protective covering, as they were so assured that everyone would obey them. Or maybe they believed that they would always be quick enough to get the first hit in. Often they did. Defeating the weak made them feel strong, and then they became even more arrogant and prideful. And then they did not even consider that they might be stopped.
He supposed that he had also gotten a certain enjoyment out of defeating the weak, when he had been in the Black Organization. Perhaps it had given him a false sense of security, to have that power---since he had known he had also been oppressed by those over him. But unlike the idiot who had tried to run him through, he had not made such amateur mistakes.
Or had he made the worst mistake of all, by allowing people into his heart? He told himself he did not care, that their deaths were meaningless to him. But he was certain that if he had never known what it was like to be cared about, and to care about them in return, it would be so much easier to handle being alone. He would not have anything to compare it to. But as it was, he felt so lost, so empty. He despised that, and he despised himself for being such a fool.
And oh, how he loathed the world! What did it even matter if it was becoming outrageously polluted? It was all going to Hell in a handbasket anyway. Even he could rule better than these idiots.
It was strange, to look up and realize that he had walked back home now. The white house was the same as always---the large porch that he and Vodka would stand on to smoke, the big and mysterious tree, the fence that had been put up. . . . It was all the same. He had kept the house painted and in good condition---for something to do, he supposed. The days were long and endless, the nights cold, even when it was summer. Coming back was always such a dread. He pushed open the gate and began to slowly go up the old walk.
"I was wondering if you'd ever get here."
He looked up with a start, his blood running cold at the familiar voice. A shapely figure was leaning against the porch pillar, the arms crossed over the chest. A lavender sweater and navy slacks adorned the body, and the hair tumbled over the shoulders and down the back in beautiful, naturally permed auburn tresses. The bangs fell around the blue eyes, which looked at him softly as a smile came over the heart-shaped face.
He could not even move. He could only stare. Her hair was longer, but the rest was the same. And she looked far more lovely than he had remembered. It had been so long since he had seen her. . . .
Now she smirked, somewhat playfully. "Are you going to come to me, or should I go to you?" she asked. "Or should we meet halfway?"
He ran to her then, catching her in his arms and clutching her close to him. He breathed in her scent, laid his hands in the thick locks of her hair, felt her body next to his. He could feel her heart beating as he held her tightly, not wanting to let her go.
"You can't be here," he murmured, only vaguely aware that his voice was actually cracking. "You can't be. . . . You're dead." It was all a dream, a wonderful dream, but a cruel one. He would wake up, holding nothing but the pillow that she had once laid her head against. He would never hold her again. He could not; it was impossible.
She reached up, throwing her arms around his neck as she moved still closer to him. "Sometimes the dead come back to life," she whispered in his ear. "Sometimes they're given a second chance."
He pulled back slightly, looking into her eyes. "How?" he asked. He was still unwilling to fully believe this was real. How could it be? How could it ever be?
"I've felt dead for the past year and a half," she answered quietly, and now he could see regret in her eyes. "I was being held in one of the laboratories. They wanted me to make pills for them. . . ." And she had hated every moment of it, just as she had during her time in the Black Organization. She had tried to refuse them every time, but always they had threatened the safety of her husband and his friend, and usually ended up acting on their threats. They were cunning and crafty and compassionless, only caring about their own goals that they wanted to further---not at all unlike the Black Organization.
He cursed low. "How did you even escape?" They did not seem the types to let anything go that was useful to them. Was she on the run from them? Would they come after her? He would kill them if they tried to take her back. He would kill every last one of them. They could not have her; she was his.
She shook her head. "It's a long story." She would tell him, but not now. Right now she wanted to drink in being with him again. It had been so long, too long. It had been unbearable for her, and she could imagine what it had been like for him.
He pulled her close in silence. Was it real? Was the woman he loved really here with him? Did he have her back, where she would never leave him again? He wanted to believe, but if he determined to do so, was that when he would awaken to the reality of being alone once more? Now that she was here, now that he was holding her, he did not think he could bear it. This had to be real, or he would go mad!
Still, something was missing. . . .
Finally he spoke. "When you were taken from me, Vodka was killed. . . ."
She shook her head. "They had him too," she said, to his shock. "They would torture him to make me do what they wanted. . . ."
Another wave of anger and hatred swept over him. He wanted to have his revenge on these treacherous creatures, who had put him and the people he cared about through such Hell. But more than that, he just wanted to live with them in peace again. And he had her back. She had come back to him. Still, he could not entirely relax, even if this was actually happening. He loved her, he could not even express the smallest part of what he was feeling right now. But there was still the other void.
"He's not here." He held her tighter, not wanting to let her go. "Eventually . . . did they kill him?"
She smiled, or maybe it was a half-smirk. "He thought that if we both came to you at once, we'd overwhelm you," she replied. "Or maybe he was being insecure again and thought that you'd mainly want to see me."
He stared at her. "Then . . ." He looked up, casting his gaze around the yard. At first he could not see anything. But then he caught sight of a silhouetted figure limping toward the porch. Slowly he released his wife, going down the stairs to where the other was. "Vodka . . ." he breathed softly.
His friend looked back at him with weary but relieved bluish-lavender eyes. His ever-present sunglasses had slipped down his nose, and the left pane was cracked. He was wearing a suit, as usual, but the tie was half undone, as was the top button of the shirt. He was leaning heavily on his right leg, and apparently could not walk on the left leg without discomfort. But he was alive.
"Hey, bro," he said quietly.
The blonde gazed at him, at a loss for words. He had never expected to see him again, and when his wife had come and Vodka had not, he had figured that there was definitely not any hope. But now he was here too.
Gin could only nod slowly in reply.
I rewrote this part a time or so. XD; Couldn't get it right. With these two, the simple acts are often the most powerful, I think.
And once I figure out how they escaped, maybe I can tell us so we'll all know. XD
Gotta get off in a minute and get some sleep. XD We're going to a funeral today, up in the area we moved from, and we've gotta do a lot of stuff while we're there. I really hope we won't be gone too long into the evening.
On Sunday I begin teaching music to the children at church. Hopefully they will like me. XD; The previous person was in at least five years, and she's very extroverted. Last week I went to see how things were done, and I really liked her after just seeing her teach then, so I can imagine how the kids would get attached after five years.
I finally got the next chapter of Snow White Queen done! I think it came out quite well. ^^ And I already have some of the next chapter planned out.
And here's a blurb that would not go away, as usual. XD It takes place in a timeline within a timeline. ^^ It's in the Good Enough For You timeline, and from there has branched into what I call the Apollo's Reign timeline. He's never mentioned by name,
This is an idea I've had for a while. It's an unpolished, unfinished blurb, and while I wrote it, I got more plot bunnies. XD I can imagine Sherry and Vodka had a lot of time to bond during their experiences....
The last pollution-laced beams of sunlight had faded hours before, plunging the world into the dark and unnaturally gray sky it endured every night. From a distance, the black buildings rising into the sky almost looked like fingers clawing at the last bits of clear air, wanting to drag it away. Most of the houses below the skyscrapers had fallen into disrepair, their roofs leaking and their walls peeling. They were a sorry sight, especially considering the few rich and well-to-do mansions on a hill above them. They belonged to those working under the ruler of this pathetic land. Of course, no one had the money to be able to live in fancy houses, let alone simple ones that were truly livable and not deathtraps.
Most people did not dare to venture out of their homes any more than necessary, both because of the pollution and because of their fear due to the military rule by which they were oppressed. The slightest and most innocent mistake could send them either to prison or to death. Their king had originally taken over because he believed he could make the world better, but instead, he had plunged them into a life far worse than what they had experienced before. Now, no one seemed to know how to fix it.
There were rumors of resistance groups, but most such organizations were quickly put down before they could flourish. Any remaining ones stayed well-hidden, and most people also did not even dare to defy the tyranny by seeking out and joining the rebels. They preferred to stay unknown and unbothered, and to try to obey the outlandish laws at all times. It kept them alive, at least.
A lone figure wandered the streets, as he usually did every day. He did not care about the foolish rules he might be breaking, or the possibility of meeting up with the patrolling guards. Though, he did not care a great deal about anything, anymore. This world had taken everything from him that he had found worth caring about, and out of spite and hatred, he had continued to live. He had decided that if the world was that determined to break him, then he would be that determined in return to not crack, to be impenetrable, and to despise the world. Of course, that was not really living at all. He had been broken, but he could not accept or acknowledge it. He was too proud, and too afraid as well.
He stopped at the corner, digging into his pocket for a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. There was only one left in the container, and he jammed it into his mouth furiously before throwing the box into a nearby trashcan. Then he applied the flame to the small object, glaring at it with eyes of green steel. The red almost looked like her hair, in a certain light.
Usually it had been auburn, but sometimes, when the sun had shone on it just right, it had taken on the appearance of fire. He had held her close to him so many times, running his hands through the short, permed locks and thinking how beautiful she was. He hated that he would never have that chance again.
He had not only lost his wife, either. In addition to her having been a close friend, there was the man who had been his partner, his other best friend. He had saved the smoker from descending into complete insanity, after an experience that had left him completely shaken and mentally damaged. Right before and right after the city's takeover, they had usually taken the walks together that he was now taking alone.
He abhorred being alone. For all the ways he had so often tried to distance himself from others, especially those he loved, he had actually been silently screaming to not be abandoned---despite not even consciously realizing it himself. When she had left in the past, he had desperately pursued her---the woman who had later became his wife. And he had risked his own life more than once to save his partner's, when they had ended up in disastrous situations---frantically wanting the assurance that he would not lose the other.
He wanted them back. He wanted this pathetic, forsaken world to give up what it had taken from him. The king himself had needed to be revived before he had taken over the planet. But apparently that tyrant was the only one allowed such a feat. No one else was, and especially not lowly and unwilling subjects such as himself. He would never get back what he had lost.
"Hey you!"
He turned around boredly at the sound of an unfamiliar voice. One of the men patrolling the streets was standing there, sharp weapon in hand. He looked the same as all the others---zealous and ridiculous.
"You're out after curfew, your hair's too long, and you're smoking," came the accusations now. "You know that's punishable by a prison sentence, or even death."
He grunted, deciding to ignore most of the nonsense being spewed. "Those monstrosities of your leader pollute the air more than I do," he retorted flatly, indicating the buildings towering over them. Not that he cared one way or another. "What difference does it make?"
"The difference is that humans can't smoke." The weapon was immediately pointed at him. "And now you've defied me. That's definitely punishable by death!" He lunged.
The law-breaker fired, hitting the other squarely in the forehead. The fools did not even bother to wear protective covering, as they were so assured that everyone would obey them. Or maybe they believed that they would always be quick enough to get the first hit in. Often they did. Defeating the weak made them feel strong, and then they became even more arrogant and prideful. And then they did not even consider that they might be stopped.
He supposed that he had also gotten a certain enjoyment out of defeating the weak, when he had been in the Black Organization. Perhaps it had given him a false sense of security, to have that power---since he had known he had also been oppressed by those over him. But unlike the idiot who had tried to run him through, he had not made such amateur mistakes.
Or had he made the worst mistake of all, by allowing people into his heart? He told himself he did not care, that their deaths were meaningless to him. But he was certain that if he had never known what it was like to be cared about, and to care about them in return, it would be so much easier to handle being alone. He would not have anything to compare it to. But as it was, he felt so lost, so empty. He despised that, and he despised himself for being such a fool.
And oh, how he loathed the world! What did it even matter if it was becoming outrageously polluted? It was all going to Hell in a handbasket anyway. Even he could rule better than these idiots.
It was strange, to look up and realize that he had walked back home now. The white house was the same as always---the large porch that he and Vodka would stand on to smoke, the big and mysterious tree, the fence that had been put up. . . . It was all the same. He had kept the house painted and in good condition---for something to do, he supposed. The days were long and endless, the nights cold, even when it was summer. Coming back was always such a dread. He pushed open the gate and began to slowly go up the old walk.
"I was wondering if you'd ever get here."
He looked up with a start, his blood running cold at the familiar voice. A shapely figure was leaning against the porch pillar, the arms crossed over the chest. A lavender sweater and navy slacks adorned the body, and the hair tumbled over the shoulders and down the back in beautiful, naturally permed auburn tresses. The bangs fell around the blue eyes, which looked at him softly as a smile came over the heart-shaped face.
He could not even move. He could only stare. Her hair was longer, but the rest was the same. And she looked far more lovely than he had remembered. It had been so long since he had seen her. . . .
Now she smirked, somewhat playfully. "Are you going to come to me, or should I go to you?" she asked. "Or should we meet halfway?"
He ran to her then, catching her in his arms and clutching her close to him. He breathed in her scent, laid his hands in the thick locks of her hair, felt her body next to his. He could feel her heart beating as he held her tightly, not wanting to let her go.
"You can't be here," he murmured, only vaguely aware that his voice was actually cracking. "You can't be. . . . You're dead." It was all a dream, a wonderful dream, but a cruel one. He would wake up, holding nothing but the pillow that she had once laid her head against. He would never hold her again. He could not; it was impossible.
She reached up, throwing her arms around his neck as she moved still closer to him. "Sometimes the dead come back to life," she whispered in his ear. "Sometimes they're given a second chance."
He pulled back slightly, looking into her eyes. "How?" he asked. He was still unwilling to fully believe this was real. How could it be? How could it ever be?
"I've felt dead for the past year and a half," she answered quietly, and now he could see regret in her eyes. "I was being held in one of the laboratories. They wanted me to make pills for them. . . ." And she had hated every moment of it, just as she had during her time in the Black Organization. She had tried to refuse them every time, but always they had threatened the safety of her husband and his friend, and usually ended up acting on their threats. They were cunning and crafty and compassionless, only caring about their own goals that they wanted to further---not at all unlike the Black Organization.
He cursed low. "How did you even escape?" They did not seem the types to let anything go that was useful to them. Was she on the run from them? Would they come after her? He would kill them if they tried to take her back. He would kill every last one of them. They could not have her; she was his.
She shook her head. "It's a long story." She would tell him, but not now. Right now she wanted to drink in being with him again. It had been so long, too long. It had been unbearable for her, and she could imagine what it had been like for him.
He pulled her close in silence. Was it real? Was the woman he loved really here with him? Did he have her back, where she would never leave him again? He wanted to believe, but if he determined to do so, was that when he would awaken to the reality of being alone once more? Now that she was here, now that he was holding her, he did not think he could bear it. This had to be real, or he would go mad!
Still, something was missing. . . .
Finally he spoke. "When you were taken from me, Vodka was killed. . . ."
She shook her head. "They had him too," she said, to his shock. "They would torture him to make me do what they wanted. . . ."
Another wave of anger and hatred swept over him. He wanted to have his revenge on these treacherous creatures, who had put him and the people he cared about through such Hell. But more than that, he just wanted to live with them in peace again. And he had her back. She had come back to him. Still, he could not entirely relax, even if this was actually happening. He loved her, he could not even express the smallest part of what he was feeling right now. But there was still the other void.
"He's not here." He held her tighter, not wanting to let her go. "Eventually . . . did they kill him?"
She smiled, or maybe it was a half-smirk. "He thought that if we both came to you at once, we'd overwhelm you," she replied. "Or maybe he was being insecure again and thought that you'd mainly want to see me."
He stared at her. "Then . . ." He looked up, casting his gaze around the yard. At first he could not see anything. But then he caught sight of a silhouetted figure limping toward the porch. Slowly he released his wife, going down the stairs to where the other was. "Vodka . . ." he breathed softly.
His friend looked back at him with weary but relieved bluish-lavender eyes. His ever-present sunglasses had slipped down his nose, and the left pane was cracked. He was wearing a suit, as usual, but the tie was half undone, as was the top button of the shirt. He was leaning heavily on his right leg, and apparently could not walk on the left leg without discomfort. But he was alive.
"Hey, bro," he said quietly.
The blonde gazed at him, at a loss for words. He had never expected to see him again, and when his wife had come and Vodka had not, he had figured that there was definitely not any hope. But now he was here too.
Gin could only nod slowly in reply.
I rewrote this part a time or so. XD; Couldn't get it right. With these two, the simple acts are often the most powerful, I think.
And once I figure out how they escaped, maybe I can tell us so we'll all know. XD
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no subject
Date: 2007-01-27 01:32 am (UTC)Hope all goes well at the church and with the kids!
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Date: 2007-01-27 02:59 am (UTC)and if YouTube is behavingyou could have just played the AMV and found out. ^^; I embedded it in my post so people could watch it.And yes, it's the Spiderman song, sung by Ana Johnson. :)
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Date: 2007-01-27 11:26 pm (UTC)I will have to listen to that song again!
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Date: 2007-01-27 11:30 pm (UTC)