Dim

It has been over a year since I last updated this and I'm not going to bother with any excuses! Here's a short one!

The room was cool with delicate rays of light streaming from the windows onto your hands where the skin illuminated; catching light and burning. The sky was bright and blue but unpleasant in a way that made you dizzy to the point of being sick, a way that made your eyes sore and wet, a way that made you draw the blinds and retreat back into things dim and grey.
Through the blinds, light cunningly snaked through the cracks, leaving a dark and unsettling but constant pattern on the table and your hands and the room was so dark now that the light burned hotter than ever before.
You moved your hands under the hot light, watching the lines of sunlight arc and drop and it fascinated you so much that you stopped and wondered if the light would burn through the hairs and meat on your arms and through the bones if you were still long enough.
You sat there, letting the sunlight cut through you, leaving your arms jagged and grotesque.
You wondered how I found this beautiful, how I could watch you in the dark and find the light pretty and endearing and you wondered how I could reach over and hold your hand, how I could love you even when the words you spoke were ugly, wet and rotten.
I whispered that I love you, that you are perfect and that you are well; I tell you things that you hate to hear, things that anger you, things that hurt you. I whispered as I trace the tips of your fingernails, the tips of your lashes and the corner of your mouth.
I moved to you; to the cooler side of the room, to the burning light and to the blinds. I moved closer and closer until the dim and grey were behind me, until I could feel your skin on mine so that we could be jagged and grotesque together.

Mostly experiemental and I'm hoping to explore this kind of style in the future.

Much love, 

.L

Rings and Roses

I am in a state of drowsiness, thanks to the medication I’ve received from the doctors the day before, and it is in this very state that I have decided to try my hand at writing a ghost story—or at least something ghostly and mysterious. Mind you, I’ve never quite written anything for the genre, though I’ve read a great many of the classics. With my inexperience in mind, I’ve decided to reinvent a dream I’ve had several months ago.

It goes like this…

RINGS AND ROSES

It was a particularly misty night and Mary and her older brother Harry were taking the bus home from school. Their house rested on the other side of the hill, which was quite a walk from town, where their Primary school was located, so they inclined themselves to take the bus, which runs half an hour apart. It was quite the wait, especially if you were unlucky enough to miss it, but it was much better than walking on foot, since the route to their house was through the dark and mysterious forest and over a wooden bridge.

It was of course, quite unfortunate that the bus had decidedly broken down in the middle of forest, and right on top of that particular wooden bridge.
The bus had been mostly empty. It was only the driver, an old white haired man, and Mary and Harry, who were left with no other choice than to march back home on foot. 

Of course, with dark and mysterious forests, come dark and mysterious things. Who wouldn't jump when the wind sang through the trees, making them whisper ghastly secrets? Who wouldn't yelp when the glowing yellow eyes of witches and goblins blinked at you from behind the bushes?

Mary held Harry’s hand that was warm and firm because he was brave and strong and had promised to protect her no matter what. Promises were hard to keep, Mary thought as she held her brother’s hand tight.

There was song in the air as they passed by drooping trees and crying streams and they stopped in their footsteps to listen a moment.

Ring-a-ring o’ roses

The voices sang with glee and splendor. There was the sound of children and laughter in the distance beyond the trees and off the road. Harry tugged at Mary’s hand. 

“Perhaps there will be someone who is willing to give us a ride back home.” He reasoned and she followed. 

They stumbled over the bushes and Mary squealed when a prickly branch of a rose bush caught the hem of her dress. They walked until they reached a clearing. The sky was grey and the air smelled of flowers. Around the clearing was a large array of rose bushes, but as beautiful as these red roses were, Mary and Harry could not turn away from a sight as intriguing as the sight before them. 

There must have been at least a dozen of children in the field with their arms locked, skipping along to the sounds of the rustling trees. 

There was a tall thin man, with a raggedy suit and coattails. He turned to Mary and Harry slowly and held out his hand, a wide grin spreading across his face, showing too many teeth than a man should have. 

“Care to join us?” The voice was unrecognizable and Mary, feeling fear for children who looked pale and blue as they danced in circles, shook her little head. Harry on the other hand seemed to welcome the idea. A wide grin appeared on his face as he nodded;

A pocket full of posies

 “Yes,” Harry seemed to have forgotten the whole ordeal of getting home and was readily pulling Mary along to join in on the fun.

“No!” Mary yelped and yanked her hand free. She didn't know how Harry’s smile could get any wider, but it did as he beckoned her with a limp hand. Mary was fed up and ran back into the trees. Moments before the clearing disappeared completely, she turned back to see Harry, joining in the circle, his face pale and blue and that sickening wide grin on his face.

Ashes! Ashes!

Mary went stumbling into the forest, unsure where to turn. She ran and ran but the laughter and songs grew louder and louder nonetheless. No matter where she turned, the sound was still there. She huffed and puffed and cried when the rose bushes tore her skirt and cut her knee. She looked up to find herself wrapped in a sea of rose bushes. She stumbled out, with prickly thorns cutting her skin and found herself in the clearing once more.
The tall man was there before her and when she looked up, she never noticed how bone-white his face was, and how dark and deep his eyes were. He reached out his bony hand. 

“Care to join us?” Mary was tired and took the cold and bony hand in her small ones. She could hear fiddles now. The sound of merry strings singing a tune and children laughing and prancing was all around her. A grin crept to her face.

She skipped to the children, hooked her arm around her brother’s and danced and sang together so merrily that she didn't notice her skin turning blue and how cold her brother’s hand was.

We all fall down!

This ends the somewhat ghostly story and I hope you enjoyed it. Once again, this was written very quickly and has yet to be edited—I do apologize as I know most of my written works are unedited.

With that, I shall leave.

Sincerely

.L

Tune

Ah. I wrote a little thing after getting an idea. Unedited so I apologise for the silly mistakes :|

TUNE

The rain was good. The first few drops had already restored a little bit of my strength. I fumbled with my suit, untangling the silver Spindle from my belt.
It began to pour. A thousand icy needles falling from the gray sky made everything look white. Through my helmet visor, almost nothing was visible, and had I been an actual human, the rain would’ve been a huge disadvantage.

Of course, I wasn't human. None of us were. Through the pouring rain, I could hear the resounding cheers from my brothers and sisters. The rain meant fewer risks of losing people on the job. It was never easy hunting down Foundlings, but when it rained, we get stronger, faster, and we always win.

It was our instruments of course, that made us this way. The irony of it all was that Foundlings strive on sunlight or heat, where as we have always thrived in the dark and cold. We were supposed to be doing this for the good of humanity, but we were always misinterpreted, misjudged. Every now and then, the humans catch a glimpse of us, a dark shadowy figure—they were afraid of us, but humans were notorious for fearing the unknown.
The Foundling before me was a man. He was tall, with dark hair and white skin. I suddenly wondered if he was handsome to humans.  To me though, his long body was distorted, breaking into pieces and reforming, like watching a broken video.  His face was unrecognisable and his movements were jittery but he was fast. With one quick swoop, he had closed a great deal of distance between us. He swung his arms over his head—he was intending to knock me down.

I pivoted to the side, quickly making moves to jab the spindle, which was a long fork-like device, into its body. It jittered just then, breaking into pieces and reforming in an instant. I gritted my teeth and when I saw it stretch its elongated arm, I braced myself. Its arm came quickly, hitting me in the stomach and knocking out the air from me. I stumbled and rolled back to my side, managing to dodge its next attack. It jittered again, and I counted the seconds, like I had been trained. I waited until he jittered back and reformed and snapped into action. I slipped the Spindle between its ribs and the second I did, it crumbled and its mouth gaped, letting out a silent scream before turning to ash.
I watched it chip away as the rain water tore through it, leaving nothing but the mud and dirt. I looked around. The whiteness of the rain had faded. We stood in the middle of a grassy plain, which was part of the city’s park. It was clear now and the rain had slowed. I could see my brothers and sisters, who were all clad in suits and helmets and belts as I was. All of them had their Spindles in hand.

Tonight, we were victorious. We marched towards each other, wordlessly checking if any of us were injured.
We held each other’s shoulder, a gesture we had picked up from the humans many years ago, and went our separate ways. I walked away slowly, lifting my gaze to the dark sky. The rain and turned into a drizzle. I gathered what little rain water was left into my palm and thanked it. I marched onward, letting my instruments shift back into its disguise.  I was girl, twelve with dark hair and black eyes.

Our instruments made us look like people, but in truth we looked nothing like them.  In this day and age, my brothers and sisters have adopted ways to blend in with the world in order to hunt Foundlings. Foundlings themselves have the habit of adapting their appearance to those that bore hatred and corruption. It was no shock that they mostly took the form of humans.

Foundlings spread anger and resentment. They cause chaos and unbalance and in turn, create a vile noise that resounds in all those who feel anger and hatred. My brothers and sisters and I were here to control that, to eliminate as much noise as we can.

Foundlings cause unrest, and disharmony and we aim to tune the world and its inhabitants, to create peace and balance.  In order to do that, we bear arms to those of hatred and corruption. We will cleanse the surface of the world and rid it of its stains of hatred and corruption. Only then can humanity find true harmony.
I took a step forward into the street, letting the pitter patter of drizzling rainwater sooth me and cleanse me free from inhuman scars and bruises.
In the old language, we were called the Children of Storms, but even for us, it sounded old and conceited. For official purposes, we were called Conductors. 

That's all I wrote! Anyway, I shall be updating this blog with some art and Comic related news very soon! 

Much love

.L

His name is Warren.

A sudden blog update!

If you follow me on DeviantART, then you'll know that I'm currently in the middle of something so updates everywhere will be scarce, BUT seeing as I had written something in the past, I though I should upload it just for the heck of it.

A tiny little scene that came to me while shopping for art supplies earlier last month! About some sort of immortal teenage boy.... His name is Warren...

I suppose when you’re lying in a puddle of mud, with cold rain falling down over you, it really puts things in perspective

I was never really good at anything. I was an average student, had normal friends. I didn’t stick out particularly. I had no skills or talents. I wasn’t good at cooking or sports—I was a terrible athlete. I suppose if I had ever put any proper effort into soccer or basketball, I wouldn’t be lying here on the ground with a hole in my chest.

Don’t worry! I am well and alive—at least I think I am.

I heard the sound of heavy soles on gravel, but I didn’t turn to my attacker He was already scared as it is, so I lay there, facing the grey skies. We were in an alley and I saw the top of the buildings shrink further into the sky. There was the faint sound of traffic in the distance, mixed with the scarred whimpering of my attacker. He didn’t mean to stab me of course. He had tried to mug me but I was feeling strangely self-regulating that day so I had retaliated, even after seeing the large knife. It came down on me hard, which had shocked me at first, but then again, the way I had come carelessly after him, even with his hand raised above my head, I suppose he was strong enough to jab a hole in me.

It was strange, laying there and not moving, even though I could have easily gotten up and punched him square in the face. I would have knocked him out too, called the police and have them deal with him. If he ever started screaming about a teenage boy coming back from the dead, they would just think he was crazy.

It sounded like a sound plan, but looking into his terrified eyes, I could see he had not planned on stabbing anyone. He was just cold and wet and in need for a little money.

I would have given it to him too, if it were any other day. I’ve been mugged before.

Today though, my strange rebellious streak had cost me my life—so to speak.

He hovered over me for a few more seconds, and then the knife dropped from his gloved hands. He was visibly shaking all over. It wasn’t long before he kicked his heels and ran off. I couldn’t tell where, from the angle I was in, so I waited until I couldn’t hear his footsteps anymore.

The rain had eased by the time I turned to pick myself up. My school bag was left untouched, but flipped over next to me. My school uniform was soaked in dirt and trash juice, not to mention the hole in my chest. I looked down at my shirt to survey the damage. Amazingly enough, the knife had sliced me right between the folds of my shirt met, leaving a few dangling plastic buttons but no tears.

The hole in my chest was grotesque and I waited for the skin to knit back together. They didn’t and I had assumed it was because the wound was much deeper. It was safe to assume that a bigger wound would take longer to heal.

I picked up my dripping wet school bag and slung it over my shoulder.

I pulled my sweater tighter around my chest to hide the wound and walked through the alley, with the original intent of getting home through a shortcut. I passed a stained glass window that was glazed with brown and green. I saw my sepia reflection and analysed myself.

My tousled hair was orange on my reflection, even though it was light brown and with eyes to match. I looked like an average 15 year old boy. Average in every aspect, but by now it should be obviously that I’m not as average as I’d like to be.

By the time I reached the end of the alley, I couldn’t help but turn to see if my attacker had stuck around or if he decided to run back to rid of my body. There was no sign of him, so I stepped out of the alley and onto the sidewalk where a few people passed, busy with their noses on the screen of their phones.

And that's all I wrote! Perhaps there will be more written shenanigans this year?

Ok back to work!

.L

Updates on things and also art

Ok so I haven't updated this is a while?

NaNoWriMo was a no-go sadly, since things came up and I had to put up commissions instead. It's been rough, despite the mini-vacation I had and things will continue to be rough probably until the end of March? Or later in the next year. BUT humans were designed to soldier on, so that is what I shall do!

Here's a sketch dump!

NSFW for sketchy sexy times

More in the future!

.L

Writing Excercise

Switching it up a bit because NaNoWriMo 2012 is inbound! Giving it another try this year :)

I wrote a weird thing this time. I think I was trying to be clever but failed and it just became a bizarre thing. Took a completely different approach and it was mostly a kind of stream on consciousness thing anyway. Didn't proofread. As usual. Untitled so far, but let's just call it...

I See You One Day

I see you one day. You walk pass me and you do not notice me but I see you and I watch you. I can see that you are young and I can see that you are tall and I can tell you are strong. I do not mean to follow you but I do, you do not see me though. I stay at the back because I know if you see me you might be taken by me and that just will not do. It will not do because people are always taken by me and you will be jealous.

I see you today and you are friendly. Not to me but to everyone and they are friendly to you. You work hard and everyone is friendly to you.

I see you meet her and you are so happy and so high that you do not see anything else on earth. She is with you and you are with her and you are both high and mighty and happy. You are proud and fearless. She is with you and you are with her.

I see you today too and you wear that comfortable scarf you love. I can tell it is comfortable because I touch it and it is soft and warm.  I walk closer to you because I have to and because I want to. I am close enough to see you are much younger than me, even with those grey hairs that I see you hide with your hand. Your skin is rough and soft and you are cold and you turn away when I am near. She tries to see me sometimes and I think you try to see me too but you do not want to. That is good because people are always taken by me and you will be jealous.

You still do not see me but one night she does and she cannot take her eyes off me. You are with her but she is taken by me and she is not there with you. You are still not taken by me and that is good. It is good because people are always taken by me and you will be jealous.

I see you in the day, you drink coffee and eat muffins at the bus station and at the bus station you wait with everyone. I reach for your hand and you walk away and you laugh and you pretend like you know do not know I am there.

I see you in the night, you arrive home and you are hungry and you are tired. You eat supper and you watch television. You do not hear the television because you are tired and you are afraid. You wash and you go to bed and you are afraid because you are alone and then you dream, you are happy and you wake up and then you are alone again. You are alone because she is not there and she cannot take her eyes off me.

I talk to you today but you do not hear me because people do not really hear me. They see me sometimes by accident and when they see me they cannot take their eyes off me. I am not very pretty and I am not very charming but you are.

You are pretty. You are pretty and I hear you speak and your voice is silk. You are kind and you work hard and you are generous and funny and I feel shame. You are alone and you are kind to everyone but not everyone is kind to you but you are okay. You do not see anyone and you sometimes you see her but she cannot take her eyes off me and I feel shame.

You see her and you want her but you cannot have her because she is taken by me and you are jealous.

You try to see me one day. Your eyes are blue and you are tall but you slouch because you are tired. Your skin is soft but it is also rough and it is also dry. You do not hide the greys in your hair and you try to see me and I feel shame because that just will not do. It will not do because people are always taken by me and you should not be jealous.

I walk pass you and you try see me and you try watch me. You try to see I am not young and I am not pretty. You try to look at me and you try not to turn away but I do.

You try to see me in the day when you drink your coffee and I am next to you when you wait for the bus.

You try to see me in the night and you are not hungry but you are tired and you are alone. You are alone and afraid and I feel shame because you try see me and I am not pretty and I am not charming. You wait for me and you call me and I come to you.

You are afraid and I see you are not wearing your scarf. Your scarf is soft like your neck and your hair and your skin and it is warm. I see your chest rise and fall and you are sad and happy and afraid because you are jealous.

Your eyes are closed but you still try to see me. If you see me you cannot take your eyes off me and I feel shame because you see her and you are jealous.

I am not pretty and I am not charming and sometimes I am kind but not always. But I am patient. I touch you and you feel me and you close your eyes and do not open them. Your neck is soft but it is not warm. Your chest does not rise and you are cold.

You are happy because you see her.

Then you see me and you are taken.

There are a few lines I like though so I shared ^^ Gearing up for NaNo and I barely have an idea what it'll be about. More updates soon!

EDIT: Oh yes, I made a picture for it after I finished it last night too because.... of reasons.

.L

Writing Prompt: Uri's Invitation

Did another prompt during the typhoon! Much shorter than the others but I enjoyed writing this one.

Again, not directly for the prompt but something that inspired an idea. :D Enjoy!

URI’S INVITATION

Uri was self-conscious; but that was normal. He was also on fire; but that was normal too. He wasn’t unattractive, he was quite beautiful. He was smart and caring too. In fact, he was quite popular among other fire-demons, but it was the white hazard suit that made him insecure. Of course, the suit itself was a necessity, as living in a city where fire-demons were scarce meant that almost everything was in danger of catching fire.

Uri stood before the mirror and studied himself, as he usually did every morning before classes. The rubbery suit was bulky and loose, and the glass visor revealed a bright blue flames and yellow eyes. The suit hunched and crinkled as the fire-demon sighed, slouching and marching out of his spacious room and out to the breakfast table, which as a thick slab of stone set in an equally spacious living room. He snatched a tin box and his school bag and proceeded to make his way downstairs via a metal caged elevator at the end of the room.

His entire apartment was an old abandoned fire station which was a good distance from the bayside, which he usually avoided, and a good distance from his small college for minorities. When the caged elevator reached ground level, Uri exited the cage and made his way to the door, passing by stone furniture on the way.

Uri exited the fire station, locking his door by tapping a rune that has been carved into the metal surface of the gate. Fire-demons were quite attached to their belongings but luckily, no human or other ever dared to steal from fire-demons, which are known to have nasty tempers. Uri was different though. When he first moved into town, his polite nature had earned him good neighbors and a kind living environment. He was always invited to barbeques and he was quite helpful when it came to putting out fires. Fires built from accidents were the rudest types and he was more than happy to send them away.

All was well until his growth spurt kicked in. Demons had the worst growth spurts, Uri’s was no different. Normally, Fire-demons’ magma center was covered with molten rock skin, but growth spurts meant cracked skin and wild tongues of fire seeping from the cracks. In most cases, it was a completely natural phenomenon among other fire-demon younglings and would normally be completely harmless. However, living in a city and not inside a volcano, meant that most things, if not all things are prone to catch fire or melt.

Uri walked down the usual path to school and waved at people who were normally quite willing to wave back. It has been a month since he accidentally set that man’s coach ablaze during a school trip where he has lost control of his own fire. Luckily, the horses and coachmen were saved thanks to Su, who happens to be his classmate and is also the only Undine in the entire city. The fire department reacted quickly and their magicians kept him within a bubble while they transported him into an enchanted hazard suit a magician had made him that would keep him from spilling flames and melting plastic and glass.

Since then, he was required to wear the suit at all times so as to pose no threat to the community. He was more than happy to oblige, but having his body constricted and his actions limited were quite stressful. Even in his own home, he had to wear it.

He was grateful; Uri thought and caressed the printed letter S insignia on the center of his suit. If it wasn’t for the suit, he wouldn’t have been able to continue living in the city and would be forced to move back into the mountains.

He silently thanked the maker and walked into his school grounds, which was a rather small building fitted between 2 buildings. The School of Magical Arts for Minorities, or S.O.M.A.M., was a rather small school that was specifically founded for the education of Monsters, Demons and Faefolk and many more. The college in the city was actually a small branch from the main school which was located in Europa, where monsters, demons, Faefolk and other creatures were residing in.

Uri walked up the stairs and paused when he reached the door to his classroom. He took a deep fiery breath and reached for the door knob, only to have someone else open it from the other side. Uri jumped a little, which raised his temperature just a tad. He had to control himself. Opposite him was Su, who had jumped jack a little as well when she opened the door. Uri liked having Su as a classmate. She was strong and extremely talented and not only on water based magic, but she was the complete opposite of him. She was brash and outspoken, while he was calculating and thoughtful. Uri tried to get along with her but she never seems to respond. Fire and Water never did mix well.

Su folded her blue arms over her chest and frowned at Uri. Much like him, Su had to wear something special and was sporting a black wetsuit with a bright yellow S stitched onto her chest. Her wetsuit seemed more flattering than his hazard suit though.

“Well, aren’t you going to step aside?” Uri shuffled to the side and let Su pass with her watery mane trailing back behind her.

“You’re not skipping class are you? You can’t, the professor is going to—” Su turned the corner and disappeared before Uri could even finish his sentence. He turned to the rest of his class and saw them packing their bags and leaving as well.

 “The professor isn’t here,” Said Kun, the fair headed elf, before walking passed him. “Classes have been called off!” She turned from him and dashed down the stairs and disappeared with the rest of the class. Uri sighed. His classmates used to be quite friendly of him until he started wearing the suit. They were distant and the fire-demon was beginning to feel rather lonely. Feeling quite down, he turned to leave when suddenly a wooden hand patted the back of his knees. He turned and looked down to see his classmate, Alan the enchanted puppet.

Uri stepped back for a moment, remembering that he was made of wood. He had spoken to Alan a few times, but at a good distance. As far as Uri could tell, Alan was very hard working and much older than he looked. Alan and his sister were special cases, even among minorities for they weren’t monsters or demons or anything else. They were small but good natured, though his sister had always been struck as odd even among the odder ones.

Alan was the last person Uri expected to be talking to on any day as it was much too dangerous for him to be around the puppet.

“Since we don’t have class,” Alan started, kind and honest as always, “Would you like to visit the library with me? I actually need some help with some spells and you’re the best in class.”

“Su is better than I am.” Uri said consciously.

“Su is better than all of us, but she’s not the teaching type.” Alan said. “You’re much nicer.” Uri smiled brightly, which would normally make people turn away, but Alan’s glass eyes simply reflected them.

“I’m not usually allowed into the library.” Uri said, as they walked up one floor. Alan was made of wood and he was small and he had to take double steps up the staircase, which took quite some time since the library was 3 floors up.

“You’re lucky that you’re so tall.” Alan said, laughing a little as he hopped the last step to the 5^th floor where the library was. Uri thought for a moment. Alan was a normal object with a spell cast onto him, which gave him life, but he could not grow, which meant there would be no growth spurts. This made Uri a little envious but he said nothing. They quietly swung the door open and Alan entered, making his clattering limbs echo throughout the room. Uri hovered by the door, wondering if he should enter.

“Aren’t you coming in?” Alan asked.

“I’m not allowed in the library.” He whispered. “Miss Alice will be very cross.”

“Miss Alice isn’t here,” Alan said, not whispering. “She hasn’t been here since this morning. We only have one librarian, so no one’s here. It’ll be okay! We’re going to the spell room at the end of here. Don’t worry, you’re suit will keep you in.” Alan casually walked past the bookshelves and deeper into the library, he didn’t wait for Uri to give him a second thought. The fire-demon hesitated a moment but entered anyway, carefully avoiding the bookshelves.

When they got to one of the empty spell rooms, he felt much better when he saw runes carved into the walls that would keep all magic contained if magic ever got out of hand.

They got to work immediately. Alan began asking him questions about the course assignments, how to manipulate matter, how to cast certain spells to do certain things. He even asked about the life as a fire-demon and about growth spurts. They joked and talked about classes and laughed about school pranks and Alan told stories of his family and their misadventures. A family of magicians always had stories to tell.

“I don’t mean to be rude.” Uri suddenly said. “But I can’t help wondering why you invited me here.” Through his visor, Uri could see Alan’s glass roll around, back and forth, up and down, as if he was searching very deeply for a good answer.

“Your suit.” The puppet finally said. “I’ve wanted to be friends before! The suit makes it much easier.” Uri laughed a little.

“And you’re nice.” Alan added.

Before they knew it, the clock struck 4 and classes were scheduled to be done for the day.

“I have to pick my sister up from class and head home.” Alan had told Uri and they left the library. Walking down the stairs was much more entertaining than walking up the stairs. Alan had hopped his way down and had tripped and skittered down the steps. Uri panicked but Alan only laughed and said that he was fine.

“She’s at the end of this floor.” Alan said, ready to part. “I’ll introduce you both next time.” Uri nodded, he very much wanted to meet the rumored living doll and her pet rat. “I’ll see you tomorrow! We can use the spell room again!” Without waiting for a reply, Alan turned and disappeared into one of the classrooms. Uri walked down the rest of the stairs alone, like he did this morning, except that he was much happier than he was before. He tapped the S on his chest again. If it wasn’t for the suit, he wouldn’t have been able to meet with Alan properly.

The hazard suit squeaked and moaned as he left the school building and walked back to his abandoned fire station, thanking Strauss the Magician for having ever invented the suit for him.

Word count: 1,880

I know I should proof-read this. I will at some point.

.L

Writing Prompt: Flowers for the Wolf

I wrote half of this prompt before I caught the nasty HFM Disease that left me under quarantine for a week! All better now though, so I finally found some time to finish it.

Sadly though, I can't remember for the life of me what the prompt was! FOUND IT!

 In any case, here it is!

FLOWERS FOR THE WOLF

The goal of the game was to create such a commotion that people who usually fluttered pass the glass windows would become too curious and would then enter to inspect what was happening inside a modest flower shop.

Business was as usual. Jillian Castell was among the various displays of flowers and was passing the time by playing a quick game of broom hockey with a make-shift puck, which was actually a wooden doorstop. She dashed back and forth, wielding her broom expertly and slashing wildly at the tiled floor. She cried a battle cry and made various whooshing sounds with her lips, causing an enormous racket. The doorstop skidded to and fro and with one final—and overly excited—swing, the hairs of the broom whipped the wooden piece across the scented room and disappeared behind pile of wrapping paper pieces and ribbon snippets in the corner which in the end, made absolutely no noise.

            Yes, it was business as usual. Jillian tried to comfort herself by saying that because it was the middle of the week, people were much too busy to buy flowers for anyone. Of course, the thought did not last very long. Jillian’s job was a labor of love. She adored flowers, arranging them and especially seeing people giving other people flowers. It was her dream to own her own shop and even after her parents pleaded that she take over the family business; Castell Spells and Potions—which was a very profitable and promising business—she had still wanted to own her own floristry. Though her whole family specialized in medicine and potions, she had no talent whatsoever.

Since she was a child, her brothers and sisters had prospered with their study in magic and did exceptionally well when it came to brewing medicine and potions. Jillian was the odd one out entirely. In fact, she was so odd that she wasn’t even able to cast even the simplest spell in the history of magic, which was to heat one’s tea. The magic theory of heating a cup of tea was simple; Think of hot tea. But oddly enough, she was never able to get it done at all. The tea just sat there, sad and lukewarm. Her whole family declared her to be the very first of the family that did not possess a shred of influence over magic and almost everyone had some influence over it which was clearly saying a thing or two about Jillian’s worth in the family business. The one thing she did have though was good old fashioned resourcefulness, and that was good enough to run the business. She could do almost anything without the help of magic, even heat one’s tea. All she needed was a fire and she could make that with matches. The world was much too convenient that people sometimes forget that they got by just fine without magic just a few hundred years ago.

Even flower shops needed enchantments but she managed by hiring an assistant who would cast spells on bouquets to make them sing and recite sweet poems, and wreaths that would scent your home for a month or charmed flower pots that would guarantee your plant a long life.

All that was well and good, until her assistant Harold proposed to the bookshop owner’s niece, Alice and eloped to, funnily enough, Jillian’s own homeland in the neighboring country. For that she had certain distaste for Alice for snatching away her prized assistant but it wasn’t her business to deny anyone’s happiness. The bookshop owner, Mr. Otis, had always seemed to be angry at things, but that was probably related to the fact that his head was that of a wolf. Rumor has it that during his travels, he had angered an old witch and she cursed him. The details of said curse were not relevant to Jillian. The object of Jillian’s concern was the bookshop owner in particular and how he constantly found every opportunity to shoot her a menacing glare from his shop across the street.

When the bells above the front door of the shop jingled, Jillian almost danced with delight until she realized it was Mr. Otis himself at the door. He seemed to have something tucked underneath his arm.

            “Ah, Mr. Otis,” Jillian started, forcing a smile. “What a… pleasure.” The words barely escaped her lips. Mr. Otis was never popular in the shop vendor community. He was never social, never took part during city festivals and barely assisted in charities and events.

            “Good day, Miss Castell.” Mr. Otis greeted. He hovered by the door, bringing a handkerchief to his snout, careful not to disrupt the position of his oddly shaped spectacles. They were custom made. Jillian was not entirely sure whether the smells of flowers and herbs were doing him in or if he was being rude.

She nodded at his greeting and avoided looking at him directly, as she did most times. Mr. Otis wasn’t ugly; in fact he was a rather fascinating specimen. He was dressed smartly, had excellent posture but even that could not hide that snooty personality of his. He was a brooder, a disgruntled man who buried himself in books and refused to be pleasant to anyone except his precious niece Alice. When she left he seemed to have lost all hope in humanity entirely. The only redeeming quality of Mr. Otis seemed to be his natural head for business. No matter how much of a mess his shop seems to be in, he always knew how to pick the right books that people needed and he always made a profit. She admired him for that, but Jillian was never one to admit anything out loud.

            “Is there something the matter?” She cautiously asked. The last time the wolf man spoke to her was to complain that her shop banner was poorly assembled and horridly distracting. Though the banner was indeed horrid, with its crooked looping yellow letters and distracting, with its bright pink fabric, Jillian—as usual—was not about to admit anything and simply scowled at him when she removed the banner.

            “Well, Miss Castell,” Mr. Otis began stiffly, still tucking his snout underneath his handkerchief. “It has come to my attention that my shop has become much too stuffy.” Mr. Otis’s shop wasn’t the only thing stuffy, she wanted to say but didn’t. “I’m afraid not everyone finds the smell of old parchment and ink as charming as I do. I don’t think a better fragrance exists anywhere in the world! Oh, pardon me Miss Castell, I mean no disrespect.”

            “What can I do for you, Mr. Otis?” Jillian sighed. She should’ve known he would have gone through all the trouble of walking across the street and sticking his sensitive nose in her floristry simply to poke fun and insult. Mr. Otis cleared his throat, which was an odd site to see from a man with a wolf head.

            “Miss Castell, I would like to buy a dozen wreaths!” He declared, which something Jillian has never really seen before. She took as step back and almost stumbled over her own boots. Watching a wolf yell out loud was quite a frightening sight. His furry lips stretched backwards, bearing white and sharp teeth, his long ears folded slightly behind him much like how a dog does when it growls and his bright yellow eyes seemed to grow darker.

            Mr. Otis cleared his throat again and seemed mumble something into his handkerchief.

            “You would like to buy a dozen wreaths?” Jillian struggled with the numbers in her head and her stomach seemed to jump. She tried to keep the elation off her face and she reached behind the counter for her catalogue. Wreath making was the only thing Jillian could do right! All the materials were already enchanted; all it takes is a good sense of combining them! She tried to calm herself down and thought of the order. Owning an honest shop meant being honest to the customers and making a bad deal with Mr. Otis did not seem wise.

“That’s quite an order, but I must be honest Mr. Otis.” Jillian brought the catalogue forward, making her way the wolf man. She could’ve sworn that she saw him jump back a little. Of course that would be silly, why would he be afraid of Jillian, the non-magical florist?

            “The spells we use for wreaths are quite strong. Ordering a dozen at a time would be, quite frankly, overkill to those in your shop, especially one such as yourself. You do have quite the sensitive nose.” Mr. Otis blinked behind his brass spectacles, thinking of what Jillian said. He nodded slightly.

            “Is that so?” The wolf man leaned over the catalogue and Jillian walked him through the different type of wreaths available. She spoke of red wreaths that smell of roses and sing the soft songs of bluebirds, then of green and orange wreaths that smell of flowery tea and pine wood, then of blue and teal wreaths that smell of fresh salty air and echo sweet sounds of the rumbling ocean and many more. They both stood by the door, Mr. Otis still half inside and half out with his handkerchief over his snout.

            Mr. Otis nodded through all of the choices, clearly fascinated at the varieties and creative mixtures of spells. The wolf-man was not very familiar with the magic of floristry but he knew spells well and had not realized they were being utilized to such creative extents by florists all over the city. He was quite impressed, Jillian could tell and to her surprise, he asked questions politely and listened intently and not once did he joke about her craft—which she was almost certain he would do. It was an odd feeling, having Mr. Otis look over her catalogue with genuine interest and she couldn’t tell when he planned on being rude or being pleasant. He struck her as a challenge to figure out. Soon, they reached the end of the catalogue and he thought for a moment.

            One thing Jillian noticed was that when Mr. Otis was thinking, he was actually producing a soft growl. It was like a purr, or even a snore—she couldn’t place her finger on it. The wolf-man seems to be completely unaware that he was making any noise at all! Jillian decided to keep it to herself. She placed the catalogue on the counter and waited for his decision. Mr. Otis seemed to be in deep thought about the order—the musty smell of his shop must be quite a severe problem.

            After a minute of silence, Jillian decided to speak.

           “Might I suggest purchasing one wreath for now? If you find it suits your shop, you may continue to order more.” She said.

         “Yes. Yes, I shall do that. Thank you kindly Miss Castell, you’ve been an excellent help.” Mr. Otis said. “I will leave the choice of wreaths up to you, as you seem much more knowledgeable in that department. You can send it to me once you’re done.” The wolf man shuffled the object that was tucked under his arm and handed it to her. It was a large book with floral patterns engraved into the leather bindings.

            “Ah—that is for you.” Mr. Otis said mechanically, as if the words were rehearsed. Jillian realized that the book was actually a cookbook for florists. “It’s quite old and used, but still in a readable condition. I am aware of your—ah—inexperience with spells and such. I thought it might help you with your shop. Now, about payment—”

            “Now just wait a moment!” Jillian cried out, waving her right hand over his hands as he fumbled with his wallet. She held the book close to her as she did. “I couldn’t possibly accept this! This looks much too expensive!” Mr. Otis thought of what to say.

            “Actually, it’s quite weathered and it is an old edition. Some of those spells may not be very efficient.” He looked away from as he spoke. “I just thought it be a waste if I tossed it out. Now, about the pay—“

            “Wait,” She couldn’t help but smile. Laughing a little she lightly pushed his hand that held his wallet away. The book in her hand was rough, old and battered, but since she arrived at the city and opened her shop, no one has showed her such kindness. Other florists knew of her lack of talent, but no one ever offered her help. She understood though, it was a business after all, to share secrets would be costly. She looked at Mr. Otis with his handkerchief over his snout and whiskers poking out of his gray fur. He was hard to read, as animals couldn’t feature expressions like humans could. She knew though, that he was intent on paying for the wreath. Maybe the book really was worthless and he just wanted to clear space in his shop. Maybe he was mocking her, giving her a spell book when she obviously never had any talent for it in her life. Whatever his reasons may be, Jillian believed it was an act of kindness.

“This is very sweet of you. Thank you, truly.” She had to interrupt him and push his hand and wallet away once more. “If I had my way, I would offer my flowers to you for free, but I’m not going to deny your generosity and I know how you men insist on honor and pride. This will be your payment for your first wreath, but the next will cost you.” She smiled as he put his wallet away.

“You are very kind.” He turned to leave. “I want to thank you, Miss Castell.” She couldn’t hold back her laugh. She held the book up and waved it some.

            “For what?”

           “For calling me a man.” Mr. Otis then left; he put away his handkerchief and jogged across the street, back into this shop where patrons of all sorts waited for him. Jillian walked back behind the counter. She opened the cook book and flipped through the pages. She found notes and scribbles left by the previous owners. Some even corrected the ingredients and left their own recipes as well! She was going to have to work on these as soon as possible. She reached for the catalogue once more and absent mindedly flipped through. She stopped at a page.

“Tea and Pine.” She mused at the image of a green and orange wreath decorated with beads and ribbons. That would suit him quite nicely.

Word count: 2,448



It's much longer than the previous prompt. Again, it ends abruptly, I don't usually think of what I'm writing when I do prompts. :D


Anyway, I hope you enjoy this one! Who knows? Maybe I'll do another :)

.L

Writing Prompt: Toys

 So I haven't done writing prompts in SO LONG. So here! I was amazed at how much I was getting into it, even though it's only about 1900 words long. Also, the format's gone horrid because of blogger. I gave it a quick title but I hope you enjoy!

Here's the prompt that inspired me (Click the image to go to the site!) 

Click here for the Writing Prompt!

TOYS

Alan and his sister Lorrie towered over the broken yellow vase, tiptoeing carefully around the shattered pieces. There was a moment of silence as they took in their surroundings. Thanks to the enormous creature that scurried across the apartment floor, walls and all, the room itself had been rearranged, with pillows that flew in different directions, tables over turned and picture frames relocated where they now lay lifeless on the floor.

All that didn’t matter though, as the main area of concern was the broken antique vase. It was supposedly a very precious and valuable vase that possessed a colorful history where it was held by many wealthy families all around the globe, and it was passed from one member of one family to another member of another family, from the Chinese to the Russians, to the French to the Japanese and so on and so forth. This went on and on until it was famously named the Wandering Vase, when it finally reached the humble home the great Strauss the Magician. Despite its colorful history, the aforementioned vase was absolutely hideous and was mostly used for storing keys, stray screws and nails and the occasional stick of strawberry flavored chewing gum. The vase was dented, chipped, scratched, and asymmetrical with its prosaic shape and was in a horrid shade of yellow that resembled fresh cat vomit—and having it shattered across the floor made it even more so.

Of course the fault behind the broken vase was neither Lorrie’s nor Alan’s. The culprit was a smoke-like creature that hung sideways with its black claws digging into the plaster of their cream-colored walls. The wretched thing was a rat, but it was several times the size of a normal rat and a hundred times more mischievous. Its grin revealed its yellow fangs and it seemed to be chewing on something thick and leathery. Its bright red eyes winked at the children.

Lorrie huffed and dusted the feathers off her green dress and patted out the dust off her yarn-knit skin. It was one thing to have a spell gone wrong but another thing to have caused such a mess. The problem with being a stuffed doll was that it was such an easy task to get dirty. Lorrie had to stay away from most liquid forms and a bath meant hours and hours baking under the sun—the dryer was a horrid and frightening alternative. Alan wasn’t better off. His white shirt and black trousers barely hid the wooden ball joints of his wrists, knees and elbows. Since he was made of wood, he was prone to mold during the wet seasons and was always the target of termites and many eager canines that walk the streets around the city outside. His wooden exterior also meant he was such a terrible hugger and that any form of affection whether it was peck on the cheek, a simple high five or even a handshake was almost constantly uncomfortable—if not extremely painful. Naturally, they were forbidden to enter the kitchen.

Alan walked noisily over cushions and broken vase pieces and made his way across the room towards their father’s workshop door where he eyed Lorrie worriedly. The children didn’t like interrupting their father when he was working on his spells and crafts but things were getting slightly out of their control. They especially didn’t like it when they had to tell their father that his favorite vase was now in a million pieces. Alan adjusted his suspenders and dusted his trousers to make himself look presentable. Before wooden boy could knock, a tall thin man with a thin mustache covered in chalk powder and ink blots pulled the door open, leaning on its fame with a quizzical look on his tired face.

“Alan,” Strauss the Magician said. The wooden boy could see colorful sparks and smoke from behind him in the workshop. “Why aren’t you wearing your shoes? You know you always end up scratching the floor—not to mention the racket that follows!” Alan’s glass eyes travelled solemnly to his bare wooden toes that peeked out from under his chalk covered trousers.

“I’m sorry, Father.” He said. “I had them on, but our lesson sort of ate them.”

“That’s quite alrigh—” Strauss paused. “Did you say your lessons ate them?”

“Not all the lessons!” Alan waved. “Just the one.”

“No! Bad smoke-rat! Bad!” Lorrie cried and both Alan and Strauss turned their attention towards the cloud of black smoke on the wall. This time it seemed to be eating parts of the television set. Even though the particular scenario struck even a magician as odd, Strauss wasted no time reacting. He whirled back into his workshop and quickly emerged with a silver ring as wide as Alan’s own wooden head. Tossing the ring at the smoke creature’s direction, the magician muttered the words; “Collect!” And the ring chased the smoke-like rat around the room.

The ring was quick and clever, intercepting the creature midair and ducking and diving under and over pieces of furniture around the apartment. It wasn’t until Lorrie decided to jump by the kitchen door that the rat stopped dead in its tracks where it was trapped between her and the hovering silver ring.

The smoke-rat paused long enough for the silver ring to bury itself into its almost transparent body. The ring floated inside its belly for a few moments, swimming along some pieces of the television set and Alan’s leather school shoes that haven’t dissolved yet. The smoke-rat fell to the ground with an odd hollow thud—suddenly gaining some form of volume as the ring rose and secured itself around the creature’s neck. It struggled for a moment until it just sat there with a sort of boorish expression on its face. Lorrie wasted no time in poking the creature experimentally and repeatedly, much to the creature’s dismay. It hissed and snapped at her but the charming thing about having a cotton-stuffed body was that you hardly felt any form or physical pain. The smoke-rat was not pleased at all.

“You did it, Father!” Alan exclaimed, hopping noisily with excitement and glee. Strauss dusted his hands theatrically and patted the wooden boy on the head, ruffling the thick threads of wool that was his hair. Lorrie beamed and picked the up the smoke-rat in her stuffed bendy arms. The rat dug it’s fangs into Lorrie’s arm but she paid no attention to it.

            “I’m surprised the ring actually worked,” The magician mused as Lorrie stumbled towards him with the now weighty creature. “It’s was designed to carry water into fires, I sold the idea to people in the fire department. I didn’t think the gathering spell would work on these things though. I am a genius!” He poked the smoke-rat in the belly and withdrew his hand before it was able to bite. “I guess the ring managed to gather and condense its body to the point where it’s now a cotton ball of smoke! Absolute genius!” Strauss cheered.  “Now, how did this incident get about?”

            “I’m sorry for the mess, Father.” Alan fiddled his fingers and they clattered loudly. “Lorrie and I were just trying to finish the homework you gave us!” Strauss turned to Alan to listen. “Lorrie was practicing her foundation spells with the jar of smoke you gave her.  She made a rat.”

            “Oh, Lorrie,” Strauss sighed turning to the little doll girl who was grinning cheek to cheek. “Why must you raise images of unpleasant creatures every time I give you a lesson?” Lorrie wriggled the rat a little and its claws tore into her cotton skin again. Lorrie was always the type to think of scary things. Alan and Strauss could remember the time during painting classes where Lorrie had painted the most frightening picture of a rabbit. Alan had never thought a bunny could look so utterly horrifying. It wasn’t that Lorrie was a terrible artist—no, she was very adept with paint! However, it was that very talent with the brush that made the demon-like rabbit even much for frightening. That night, Alan and Strauss stole into Lorrie’s room and took the horrid painting far away. They burned it and tossed its ashes into the harbor. They never spoke of the incident ever again.

“And what happened to your conjuring spell, Alan?” The magician asked, shuddering at the memory. He turned to face Alan who was mumbling and fidgeting away.

            “I- I must’ve done it wrong. I was trying to conjure my textbook from across the room…” Alan started. “But instead I conjured some sort of spirit.”

            “So this spirit is now possessing smoke and of course, you’ve sent your book elsewhere.” Strauss decided after turning around in search for Alan’s textbook but having no trace of it. Strauss would be lying if he said he wasn’t impressed. The boy nodded and his wooden lips clattered as they did.

“Well, you managed to conjure something that must’ve been miles and miles away! I’d say that was a half-successful lesson. Though, we’ll have to get a replacement for that missing textbook of yours. Heaven knows what we’ll have to do with that thing.” The magician tentatively pointed at the smoke-rat that squirmed in Lorrie’s arms.

            “Can we keep him, Father?” Lorrie bounced, barely making a sound as she did. The rat seemed to have given up all hope of escaping the doll girl’s hold and hung there looking miserable. He objected the idea but Lorrie persisted. Strauss was not fond of the foul creature but the eternal gleams in Lorrie’s green plastic eyes were impossible to ignore. There were many occasions where Lorrie’s charm had beaten him into submission and many more where Alan’s honesty and hearty efforts had kept him from scolding either of them. Fathers were weak when it came to their children.

            “Fine,” Strauss sighed. “I don’t think we’ll have any problems feeding it anyway. The darn thing looks like it’ll eat almost anything.” At this point the creature, having understood every word said, didn’t fancy becoming a house pet and tossed and turned in Lorrie’s arm in desperation. What they didn’t know was that the spirit that possessed the smoke was a mischievous young emperor from a foreign country that had died in an unfortunate fishing accident. The young emperor’s spirit cursed and swore and kicked and screamed, crying out about his important titles and something about wedding garments. Of course, to the ears of Strauss the Magician and his children, all they heard from the smoke-rat were simple squeaks and hisses.

            “Now, let’s get you stitched up and dressed. We’ll have to get a new textbook for you Alan, so find an old pair of shoes.” Alan and Lorrie skipped off and Strauss could hear the faint cries of the rat as it entered Lorrie’s room.

Strauss sighed as he watched them retreat to their own rooms. Alan had talent, that was quite clear, but he was far too nice. Not a trace of tenacity! Magic requires a strong grip to be guided and used, but the wooden boy’s timid nature would make it difficult for him to practice his lessons. Lorrie was quite the opposite. She had a firm personality for someone stuffed with cotton, and that personality gave her the edge that was needed to tame magic spells. However, like Alan, she was still lacking. In her case, it was discipline that was needed and if she wasn’t able to control herself, the magic would end up taming her instead. She showed much promise though, they both did and Strauss never been more pleased with an accidental enchantment over toys than ever before.

“Now that that’s taken care of,” Strauss muttered, dodging broken furniture pieces around the floor.  “Oh no, my vase!”

Word count: 1,974

Welp. That's it! Very quick and undeveloped but it was fun writing :D Maybe I'll do another one soon?

.L