Yui-chan

burn that tunic, you know. Finnius holds his liquor like a seive and his lunch like a newborn baby. Yui-chan smirks at the blue man. You're such a lightweight, she mumbles with a teasing wink.

Konnitiwa, Madoka-sama. Yui-chan steps quietly from the shadows and bows deeply to the respected nihonzin, her smile warm. I'm sorry to be so late to welcome you. Still, I hope you don't mind if I add my voice to those already here and say that I am glad to see you again after so long. It is good of you to come, and I look forward to enjoying your writing once more.

Wyvern, I'm glad that I've finally gotten the chance to read this, as you've crafted and interesting and creatively-formed story. I love your seamless slips back and forth between reality and memory, communicating your main character's confusion and disjointed mentality. You also did a great job of blindsiding me with a number of elements. Great writing, Wyv. I love your novel approach. As far as critique goes, the only thing I can mention is that I think you might want to come up with another eupahmism or two for both the 'solitary figure' and the 'luminous object'. Since those two phrases are used so much in the story, they really start to stand out in a broken-record sense after a while. I hate to see anything distract the reader from your plot, and yet I kept getting pulled up short by the repetition. Then again, I am kind of a mainstay in the 'anti-redudancy' camp. Great work, and thanks for sharing! Now, when's the rest coming out? Yours, ~Yui

It may be a little late, but I was inspired by the dustbunnies. I may continue the weak little story a bit, so I've put my entry here instead of cluttering up this thread. ~Yui

Seven hours later, as the sky darkened into night, Adreina cursed her earlier haste, her every muscle aching. They had not stopped to rest the entire day, and from the looks of her ever-cheerful companion, they would not bother to camp for the night. She wondered if he’d notice, or even care, if she just collapsed to the trammeled ground. She rather thought he wouldn’t. For his part, he still wandered along with a spring in his step, babbling on about this or that, none too particular about the fact that she was neither answering nor listening. He seemed to be excessively fond of the sound of his own voice. It was quite annoying. "You do realize that you’re weaving about like a drunkard, don’t you?" Adreina blinked, noting the change in his tone that heralded his attention on her. She took a few seconds to recall his words. "Gi haivem 'darunkarud' arut’ord souvharen?" She didn’t realize she’d failed to translate her thoughts until he frowned. "Um... What is it a 'drunkard'?" He shook his head. "You really are quite out of your league hereabouts, huh? I’ll never understand how you made it all the way to Madorif as you are." She may not have spoken his language all that clearly, but she certainly understood his tone and the derisive snort that followed. His scorn stung, strangely enough, and the girl found herself looking away from his cool eyes. "A drunkard is someone who’s had too much booze, princess. And you’re looking as unable to walk a straight line as the worst of them. What’s wrong with you, hm?" Adreina could only offer a shrug as an answer, her eyes downcast. She wasn’t about to tell him that she was surely dying from exhaustion, or that she was pretty certain her feet were bleeding in preparation for falling off if they walked another pace. She may not have had much, any more, but she still had far too much pride to mention to this ruffian just how much she was suffering. Then again, she was rather hoping he’d realize for himself. Unfortunately for her, he wasn’t the most observative of creatures. He raised his brows in the classic 'suit yourself' expression, shrugged, and turned back down the path. Adreina didn’t have much choice but to hurry after him, swallowing a grimace as her body protested. "So, how did you make it in this far, anyway, princess? Did you have contacts along the way?" He tossed the questions casually over his shoulder, but she wasn’t fool enough to miss the weight behind them. Here was a dangerous subject. "Nai." She didn’t need to translate, nor did she intend to elaborate. "I seriously doubt that, ya know? You’re not exactly built for the kind of journey it must have been." He stopped once again, turning the full measure of his gaze on her as if he could bore the truth out of her head with his eyes. She wasn’t sure that his kind couldn’t. "We could talk about it over a campfire and some dinner, if ya wanted to cooperate." Perhaps he wasn't as unobservant as he seemed. The offer set Adreina's stomach to tying itself in knots as unwanted images of blessed food popped into her head. She barely managed to stand against its sudden cramping, but she did. Unfortunately, her face was a little more expressive. She knew she’d made the mistake of showing her pain when that arrogant smirk slid across his lips. "Yeah, I figured you might be a touch hungry. I don’t imagine you managed much back in Firdlo’s, didja? An’ you such a small thing to begin with." He almost sounded genuinely concerned. She wondered for a few heartbeats if it was possible that he actually was worried for her, nurturing the warmth it brought into the center of her chest. That madness only lasted for a moment, though, before reasoning prevailed. He wanted to know about her journey. The rest was just details to him. Adreina straightened decisively and stared up into his violet eyes. "I be neither hungry nor tired. Walk." She actually managed to look imperious as she gestured coolly to the path stretching out into the darkness before him, a fact that annoyed him greatly and pleased her even more. He knew the lie, of course, but it was a victory for her either way. And she needed whatever victories she could get at this point. "As you wish, princess," he muttered with a mocking little bow, sweeping away with a purposefully long stride. There was always a price for victory, and his grin said she’d paid it as she stumbled along, trying to keep up.

"Just for the record, it was the dustbunnies that gave you away." Adreina blinked, lifting her gaze from the rough path at her feet to squint in puzzlement at the man walking in front of her. "Meh?" The young man laughed, glancing back over his shoulder. "Dustbunnies. You know, the little fuzzy balls of fluff that gather under tables that never move and other furniture in a tavern? They look like little miniature rabbits, all hairy and such..." When she simply shook her head, he rolled his eyes and gave an exasperated sigh. "Provincials." He said it as if that one word encompassed all that was wrong with the girl, but he probably could have provided a longer list if asked. The silence stretched out a few paces before he groaned and turned an annoyed eye back over his shoulder. "Well? Aren’t you going to ask?" Adreina grimaced and closed her eyes for one brief moment, wondering if the man would ever just be silent. She knew better, really, but in the end she just met his gaze coolly and shook her head. It was a very deliberate and probably foolish gesture, but she really didn’t care a whit about his dustbunnies. Of course, he wasn’t overly interested in her opinion, so it didn’t hold much sway over his next words. "They’d moved, ya see." She wondered why he acted as if that explained everything, but she wasn’t about to ask. "Oh, for the love of Baldomir," he exclaimed, stopping short. She nearly ran right into him, but she was lucky enough to stop just in time. "Would you just try to think for one second? Your spot was a good one, but you forgot to take note of the dustbunnies, and you blew them all around whenever you moved. Geez. Just think about that for a second, wouldja? You owe all this to a few piles of fluff and some careless movement." She didn’t want to think about it at all, so instead she dropped her gaze once more to the pebbles at her feet, the weight of inevitability heavy on her frail shoulders. She could feel him staring at her, but she didn’t want to encourage him by looking up. She just wanted to be left alone. "By the—" He cut off the curse, flopping his hands helplessly against his side. "You’re terrible company. Come on." A quick tug had them both moving again, and none too soon for her tastes.

Dear Degenero... I gave my thoughts in another section of the site, but you shouldn't have been surprised that I'd be sad to see you go, right? I hope that you will come back, and I will do my best to see to it that you will find a Pen worthy of you when you do. I will miss you. Zool, those hopes extend to you just as much. This place won't be nearly as lovely without your prismacolor presence, so please try to leave us a little bit of time here and there as you reorder your life. I'll miss your evil influence until you're once again fully entrenched in the Pen. All of my best wishes to you... Sincerely, ~Yui

Peers, I feel so honored to be the first to say... Happy birthday to Griever and Kasmandre! May you both enjoy your special day and get lots of good loot. Sincerely, ~Yui

Ayshela-sama, It was only a generalization, not a comment with any relevance to who you are or how you speak. I'm one of those people who has a life largely lacking in nice, simple silences, and I was simply making a comment about how much the thought appealed. I know you were being kind. No worries. I thank you for your wordless comment, which spoke quite eloquently. Yours, ~Yui

It's a theory worth looking into, but I'm still muddled. After all, I see the strange character translations in Salinye's posts, but I do have Verdana installed on my computer. Truth to tell, I'm almost stumped. I'll have to give it some thoughts. Hey, Salinye... have you looked at your Windows and keyboard language settings? Just grasping at straws.... ~Yui

Where is your site anyway, oh pointy one? ~Yui

You guys are way too nice. Thanks! Rune: Rah, rah, ree? Gyrfalcon: While you're stunned, do you mind if I steal Daryl to play with? Celes: Merci beaucoup. I had a lot of fun with that pose, so I'm especially glad that you like it. Justin: For anyone who spells 'honored' with a u, the portraiture charge is tripled. ... of course, three times zero is still zero. D'oh! Brute-dear: Thanks so much. Hands and feet are the drawing Devils, but a good mirror goes a long way towards helping defeat them. Still, his left hand is mucho saddo. Something to improve upon next time. :/ Stick: ... darnit, it's no fun to stalk you when you know about it! Anyway, the image is for you, so of course you can put it on your site. Would you please just mention who drew it and put a link back to my site ( http://lucent.twoskies.net )? I can even provide a banner if that would fit your layout. --> Yui does the 'little kid playing at being a professional' dance. Kasmandre: Well, send me a PM if you want on there. I dunno how much longer I'm going to keep the offer open, though, so sooner might be better than later. I didn't realize how many people would be interested! Ayshela: ... ah, blessed silence... Archaneus: Awww... well, I'm sorry that yours wasn't as good, but that was part of the idea. I'm learning a lot with every new sketch, so hopefully we'll find that each one is slightly better than the last. Tasslehoff: Why? What artist am I? No, seriously... go check out Epilogue to see some real art. That'll put my scribbles in a much more humble perspective. Yours, ~Yui

Hi, again. First, I just want to mention that if these posts are annoying anyone, please just let me know and I'll stop putting the new character sketches in here. I know they're not writing, but I was asked to share what I'd done way back when I started. Please do tell me if they're bugging you, and I can share them elsewhere instead of taking up forum space. For now, then... Here's our favorite guy with a really strange name.... Stick! I couldn't resist the title, given his laidback attitude and pose. This guy really does speak softly and carry a big, pointy stick. My apologies to Teddy Roosevelt for appropriating his favorite proverb. I hope you'll enjoy. I feel like I learned a lot from this one. Also, as always, thanks have to go out to Aegon and our closet mirrors for being the pose and reference sources. (No, that doesn't mean that Stick looks anything like Aegon. Sorry. ) Yours, ~Yui PS: Once again, click the image for a detail shot of Stick.

Salinye, Tzimfemme reminded me of another thought.... the trouble seems to be mainly with quotation marks and apostrophes, so try turning off the "smart quotes" option in your AutoCorrect settings. (In my version, it's Tools --> AutoCorrect --> AutoFormat as You Type tab --> under Replace as you type:, uncheck "Straight quotes" with "smart quotes".) I've noticed in the past that sometimes Word transforms characters into symbols, such as the 'smart quotes'. Another one that I run into often is the strange triple-dot symbol that it uses to replace '...' anywhere you put it. It looks identical in Word, but doesn't translate to 100% of computers. As a test, you may want to just go through your AutoCorrect settings and turn off anything that isn't directly correcting spelling errors. See if that helps. And Tzim-sama, thanks for spurring my sluggish brain into motion. Again, ~Yui

Taking advantage of everyone's attention on Brute's retreating back, a quiet shadow at a table in the corner slips forward to very carefully sweep the shattered remains of Brute's large heart into a soft scrap of cloth. It's no surprise to her that the fragments radiate warmth despite their dark and shriveled appearance... Yui-chan ties the corners of the cloth together, carefully sealing it so that not a single tiny speck of the precious treasure can fall out, and stowes the improvised pack in the inner pocket of her cloak. She looks up as the door swings shut behind her friend and smiles a sad little smile, muttering, "I'll just keep this in a safe place until you're ready to feel from it again, Brute-dear." The Huntress fades back into the shadows, now carrying the most precious bundle she's ever held... ((That says it all, Brute... Do your best and stay strong, friend, and know that you can always reach us if you need us. Don't hesitate. Much love, ~Yui and Aegon))

I noticed your posts were a little garbled, actually, but to tell the truth the whole thing confuses me greatly. I wouldn't have thought that it mattered in the least what font you were writing in. When you copy and paste into the forum submission window, it all translates into plaintext anyway. Or so I thought... I'd suggest that you take a look at your pasted text in the forum entry box before you submit it. Is the garbling taking place when you copy and paste or when you submit the information to the forum? If it's in your copy-and-paste step, maybe take a look at what language settings your Word is using? Also, there are language setting here in your 'My Controls' area, so you may want to look at how those are set. (Although I don't think it's all that likely that they affect anything more than the forum display.) I doubt that it's your font, but I'd stick with Times New Roman or Arial as those are pretty much universal. Verdana is a little less so, so I guess it couldn't hurt to try switching... Still, I lean towards thinking it'd be something to do with your Word settings. Have you tried copy/pasting text from some other program? Notepad? Wordpad? Does it still do the same thing? Just some thoughts... maybe someone will come by who actually knows, but at least these might lead us in the right direction? Puzzled, ~Yui

The little woman in the large black cloak blinked at Finnius, digesting both his sudden appearance and his recent struggles. It does take a few heartbeats, but eventually it all sinks in past a rather large pool of exhaustion. Yui's eyes widened and a smile crept its way onto her face. "Finnius? Goodness... It's been so long." She's rather uncertain whether the bard would even remember her, but she hides it well behind a friendly expression and a respectful bow. "You should never doubt that you're welcome here, so let me be the first of many to greet you. I'm glad you found your way to the Pen, despite the hardships you've faced on the way, and I hope you will enjoy whatever time you can spend here. It is good to see you again, friend." (Sincerely, ~Yui)

Yes... A happy 21st to you both. ~Yui

I can only agree with everyone else. Marvellous writing, Tralla. I'm certainly glad I found time to read through this, and I'll look forward to additions. Thanks for sharing! ~Yui

{Perhaps there are still improvements to be made, but I've never been one to work a piece to death. I am pleased with this and believe it to say what I wanted it to. Thanks to Cyril and Wyvern and Peredhil for all their input.} Masochist Oh, yeah... Let it burn. Let it sting. Let it stab. When I'm feeling my worst, make it hurt twice as bad. So good... Feel my nails as they rake 'cross my skin. Where the pain doesn't stop, let the pleasure begin. Damn right... When I'm busy, I need one more chore. Exhaustion's ignored 'til I'm prone on the floor. Hell, yes... Beat me up for the tiniest flaw. Flail ego and image 'til bleeding and raw. That's it... Look real close. See my sad lack of worth. Face the fact I'm a mole on the face of the Earth. Like that... Feel the prick. Feel the blade break the skin. Watch the blood trickle out from that numb place within. Oh, god... Does it hurt? Cut it deeper. Again. The pain is my link to the scarred world of men. Yes, more... Let the agony rage. Feel it roar. Feel how much more alive I am now than before. Now! Now!... Reach the height of this soul-warping tryst, Where I live for one moment, a wise masochist. {Edit: For a fun look into the creation and evolution of this poem, members can check out the Writer's Workshop thread of the same name. }

He Never Broke a Promise {... it's about hope...} One day... She sat in the gentle curve of the bay window, warm from sunlight and the heavy air of summer, a small figure in an overlarge shirt and a pair of white socks. They were his, of course, and wearing them as she'd slept had been like cuddling in his strong arms all through the night. His scent, that musky cologne he loved combined with the spicy tang of his aftershave, wafted all the stronger in the heat and swirled around the window alcove on the currents of what little breeze flowed. It was enough to let her imagine that he was right behind her, standing there as he had a thousand, thousand times, as much to look out the window as to grin at her reflection in the glass. For one moment, she entertained the fanciful notion that if she turned her head, she'd see him there, his hazel eyes twinkling with his smile, his perpetually-disheveled hair gleaming with auburn highlights in the sunshine, and his ever-ready hug just waiting for her pleasure... Ah, but she knew better, and so she kept her gaze fixed on the dirt road leading away from the house. She forced herself to remember the sight of him as he walked away, head high and wide shoulders squared, his bag slung comfortably over his shoulder. She'd cried to see him go, of course, but there was pride beside the sadness, pride and the comfort of his promise to return as soon as he could. He never broke a promise. Ten days... The sun shone with its usual vigor on the cushions of the bench that lined the bay window, lovely and comfortable though cooler than it had been in the days before, and she sat as she had every morning, gazing out at the green, summer day from the folds of another of his shirts. It was the last that he'd worn, and today she would have to wash it and suck the scent of him from it as she had with all the others. Without that comfort, she knew it would become harder for her to avoid the longing she felt for him, but she was resolved to face her longing with his courage and confidence. He'd be proud of her for when he returned, because no one would be able to say that she'd moped or complained when he'd been away. She would take care of things and keep them well in order, and when she missed him so very badly, she'd write him happy, reassuring letters to make them both feel better. She knew she could persist, because no matter how long it was, he would return to her as he'd said. He never broke a promise. One hundred days... The lively yellow of the sunlight had shifted weeks ago to the fragile grey of hard winter, but it still shone through the haze of thin winter clouds with determination. The warmth in the bay window now came from within the house instead of without, and she could feel the frigid air outside trying to leech it away through the thin glass. If the weather had its way, she would be shivering there in her favorite seat, but the ever-constant hard work of the heaters kept her warm despite the challenge - those and his oversized sweatshirt, of course. What a delight it had been to find that! She'd nearly forgotten the scent of him in all the time since last his shirts had shared it with her, but now she could look forward to its comforting embrace once more from all the winter clothes she'd pulled from his closet. Now, she could almost imagine that he stood behind her, again, his smile reflected in the glass. Almost. It was just that the window had never once been cold when he'd been standing in it, and yet today it was utterly frigid. Still, she was warm and worked hard to stay that way until the day he returned. He had promised that it was only a matter of time... And he never broke a promise. Three hundred days... The dead-grey light of the sun fought and clawed its way through the cloud cover to just barely struggle in through the bay window. Where it rested, a shadow hint of warmth blossomed in the cool air, but it was a fragile and fleeting warmth that barely held true in the gentle circulation of the house breeze. She sat quietly as she had for so many days that she'd lost count, wearing the overlarge sweatshirt that had long ago lost his scent and staring out at the snow. If the summer had seemed a bit cooler than normal, the renewed winter had proved bitterly, dangerously cold. The simple dirt road on which he had left so very, very long ago had been hidden beneath winter's white ice for day after day, and even the desperate struggles of the loving house could barely keep her warm. The cold was no longer gently leeching the heat from her; now it sucked it away voraciously, consuming and destroying all that she struggled to create and then leaving her uncomfortable and bereft. She could leave her window seat, but in truth there was nowhere to go that was comfortably warm this bitter winter, so she stayed and stared out at the grey world, holding the image of his face before her. If she often had trouble recalling the warmth that his smile always held, at least she could still imagine just how wonderful it would be to feel the strength of his arms, the solid warmth of his embrace when he returned as he'd promised. He never broke a promise. Six hundred days... There was no sun that morning as she sat her seat in the bay window, the clouds of deep winter had long since defeated it, blocking out not only its light but its vital, life-giving heat. She shivered as she huddled deeper into his sweater and sighed to realize that she couldn't remember the long-gone scent of him. It was the way of things, now, after so terribly long... The road upon which he'd gone and the memory of his silhouette in the sunlight were both equally hidden beneath the weight of winter. The dream of his smiling face in the panes of her window had been consumed along with the heat; her mind's eye now only saw a shadow-man, vague of feature and devoid of familiarity. That the memory of his embrace had become similarly empty was a source of unyielding sorrow in her, and that sorrow had come to define her life in those cold, dark months. Hope and faith both dangled from her heart on the end of a fragile sinew, and she despaired. When they, too, fell to the encroaching ice, she would be finally lost. There was no struggle left in her, no fight, and very little life. But always she reminded herself that he had promised to come back to her, and he never broke a promise... Six hundred and one days... The sun had died in the night, of that she was certain, and warmth was only a memory. There was no light in the bay window, a fitting reflection for the dark shell that had once been her heart. She had not slept the night through, but instead had kept silent vigil over the death of her last ounce of strength. Like a puddle of water in her hands, the harder she had tried to hold onto it, the faster it had flowed between her fingers until now, in the midst of a morning that was no different from the night it had been born from, she watched the last drop strain to fall away. With it would go her life and her hope and her will until there was nothing left but the empty place he'd left behind, but truly she was too numb to feel the grief that knowledge should inspire. Instead, she lifted her eyes from her misery to gaze one last time on the place where that hated road that had taken him away from her lay buried under the snow... ... and there she saw him, limping towards the house with his bag slung over his shoulder, his crisp uniform adorned with a bright Purple Heart. In that moment, the sun burned through the dark clouds and hit the world with all the comforting warmth at its command. Winter shattered like the glass that stood between them, falling away before a joy so profound that it seemed as if even the deep snow would melt beneath its power. She will never remember the seconds it took her to get outside, for the next thing she knew she was running barefoot towards him through December. The cold could not touch her. And then she was in his arms, again, feeling the strength and warmth she had nearly forgotten, breathing in the scent of him that she had lost so very long ago. She clung to him with the strength that had nearly fled and marveled that she could ever have lost sight of the radiant warmth of his smile. His voice, soft as he whispered happiness into her hair, was a song played after too much silence, and his embrace was all she could ever need to feel safe and loved. There was no more winter within her, no more space for cold or despair to fit amidst all the warmth and love, because he had returned to her... because he never broke a promise.

I think you'll find that, no matter how far digital art goes, it will never fully replace the traditional media. There's an entirely different aesthetic to digital media, both for the artist and for the audience or the connossieur. Many artists will tell you that it's just not as satisfying to paint digitally as it is to have the canvas and brush under your hands. Beyond just the fact that you can never hold the 'original' in your hand, there's a whole aspect of malleability to digital art that makes it a much riskier medium. For example, consider even so basic a thing as monitor settings. How you see a given image on your screen may be completely different than how I do and how the artist created it to look. That lack of control is especially unique to the digital world. Also, how much easier is it to change someone else's art if it's digital? Very easy... But have you ever tried to change the brightness and contrast on an oil painting? And, of course, the old issue of image theft is far less ugly in the real world than it is on the web. These are the kinds of things that I think add up to ensure that there will always be artists who will stick with physical media even though digital can be cheaper. I hope I'm not wrong... to lose the ability to create physical works of art would be a terrible tragedy. I do ramble on, huh? ~Yui

A good idea, Rune-sama. Since it's been brought up, may I also add Epilogue to the thread? Probably the most selective gallery site out there, that also means it contains only the best of sci-fi and fantasy art. I love browsing around there. Yours, ~Yui

Brute: Aegon says 'hallo back' in his accented way. You and the little lady need to get with us to make visit arrangements! We aren't going to be here come the end of summer. Blondemoon: Whoa. *picks up jaw and sets it back in place* You... uh... might want to get that looked at. I don't think it's supposed to just drop off like that! Valdar: ... don't let Archaneus hear you say that! He's not a fan of long, floppy elf ears like someone here is. But I assure you that those are full-elven ears. Remind me to point out half-elven ears when Gyrfalcon's portrait comes through, okay? Aardvark: Okay. Coke is do-able. If you're serious, send me a PM so that I can add you to my uniquely-organized list. Falcon: *aside* Pst... just think... if you off the Stick, your portrait will be next on the list.... *evil grin* Gwaihir: Thank you. Tasslehoff: Actually, I have yet to encounter a Kender in my wanderings, so I will need a bit of specific information from you. Please go ahead and send me a PM so that I can be sure that you're added to the list, okay? Oh, but no penguins. I refuse to encourage your unhealthy obsession! Now... Zool, sic 'em!! Thanks, ~Yui

I'm glad you liked it, Rune-sama! I'm pretty sure that I'm not qualified to be a hero(ine?), though; I haven't had the proper training. How about if we settle for 'friend' instead? ~Yui