dragonqueen

Upon waking, Jem was pressed into service by his mother. Word of the attack reached the household, and Jem was, of course, cautioned to stay inside. But he just had to see for himself. Rushing through his chores, he escaped the house as soon as possible. With his usual exuberance he ran down to the town square. What he saw there brought him to an abrupt halt.

The carnage was just being cleaned up, and for a moment, Jem wished he'd obeyed his mother's warning. All the usual characters were already present, talking amongst themselves. Enipul Mai's words seemed nonsensical as usual, and Jem spared a thought of annoyance for the man. To Jem's surprise, Ezekiel Llewleyn was in the street, interrogating various villagers. While it was unusual to see the nobleman consorting with villagers, he genuinely appeared not to know anything of the attack.

Jem slipped into the tavern, his usual source of information, looking for someone who might know what was going on. It was crowded today, and he found himself in a less than optimal position in a corner. Grumbling, he began to elbow his way towards the fire, but out of the corner of his eye he caught a flash of red. Turning, he found Xander, looking as disconnected as ever. Jem stared at the artist's left sleeve. He couldn't be sure, but it looked like it'd been drenched in blood.

"Xander." He couldn't catch the artist's eye, and Jem raised his voice to be heard. "Xander! What's that on your sleeve? It's blood, isn't it? Why is there blood on your sleeve?" Jem eyed the man somewhat nervously, his imagination easily jumping to conclusions.

OOC: Vote for Patrick/Xander

Jeremy 'Jem' Williams

His father is a clerk of some kind - Jem isn't exactly sure and doesn't really care. At fifteen years old, he's more interested in girls and adventure. He's constantly hanging around at the tavern or the smithy or anywhere there's a gathering, wanting to know what's going on. He is rarely home, which frustrates his mother, as she would like to groom her son into a respectable gentleman. But Jem would rather live a more exciting life. Energetic and inquisitive, Jem can often be persuaded to perform errands for villagers. He is a familiar sight around town and liked well enough, despite his tendency to get underfoot. He is disdainful of anything he deems childish, and considers himself an adult, despite others' opinions.

Hey, I'm in. Character to come.

I'd definitely be interested in playing...it's nice to see some familiar faces again.

Not college so much as collage - I've spent the last weeks cutting up images from magazines and what not and gluing them back together in creative ways. Thanks for your input, everybody!

I slit their pretty white throats.

My knife is sharp, sharp, sharp.

One after the other,

their pretty smiling heads

separate

from their slim, dainty bodies.

Running, leaping, loving,

I get them all.

I slice and dice

and rearrange.

I am Dr. Frankenstein

with paste.

Beauty fragmented,

reinvented.

Necks, arms, legs,

all at the wrong angles.

Beauty composite.

My mad creatures come to life,

spinning, dancing, leaping

across the page in a frenzy

of smiles and pale skin and dewy eyes.

They jump to my command

in a whirlwind of twisted limbs.

And then it's

snick, snick, snick.

On to my next victims.

Hey, I really like this. From the first line it was instantly relateable - I can definitely understand the feeling. The imagery of the second stanza was very evocative, and the rest of it followed well - you never lost me. I particularly liked the third stanza.

The deliciously illicit

glug glug glug

as amber liquid pours forth

from a bottle held furtively behind the refridgerator door.

Who knew

bottles actually make that sound?

Fear

that the sweet pulsing sound

of alcohol

might reveal us.

Or is it only our ears

that hear it so loud

like the beating of a heart?

Xethel and the Desert Cat were ruining

my party.

Oh. My. God.

HOW

could they do this to me?

Their very own flesh and blood.

Men

these days.

There's just no living with them

I'd dearly love to investigate the option

of living without them.

Regrettably,

as a young lady of respectable standing

I've yet to lay my hands

on a pistol.

I twirl my parasol menacingly.

But Aunt Tabitha's got contacts in the underground.

I'm sure she'd understand.

They WERE ruining my party.

It seemed only fit I ruin their lives.

New line: Making love to my microphone

Dear Diary,

Today

there was a high

of 92 degrees

Fahrenheit.

I wore jeans.

Retrospectively,

this may have been

a mistake.

I came home

right after gym

and it was very hot

and I was sweating.

Diary, I do

not

sweat.

Sweating

is something

other people do.

It is a gross

dirty

and disgusting

habit.

I was hot.

I was tired.

But I had calculus to do.

The door was open,

The fan was on,

And those cloying jeans.

So, dear diary, I removed

the offending garment

and did my calculus

in my underwear.

Dear Diary,

Today I did calculus in my underwear.

Forever yours,

Sara Beth

virtue

Prophets preaching to pharaohs.

A delight in alliteration.

My tongue takes to it eagerly,

Slipping and sliding over

this gem of a phrase

like sugar-sweet candies.

new line: If it had been lead

...had your mother try to convince you to cut work and have some fun and hated her for it because you just can't do that, and just because she hates that she spent her whole life being responsible doesn't mean you shouldn't go to work?

...called in to work faking sick, but then felt so guilty you went in and by that time actually been sick from guilt?

...stayed at work, even when you're supposed to be sick, even though you're not doing anything, just because it's the right thing to do and you feel guilty for lying in the first place?

...ever wondered how you got into such a ridiculous predicament, but known that no matter how bad it is, it will all blow over in a week or so?

I slammed the piano bench down in the dust

And furiously sat down to play,

My fingers danced over invisible keys,

Picking out a melody heard only to me.

They gathered round and stared,

bemused onlookers one and all.

I shouted at the page turn,

But none stepped forth to do the deed.

The dust flurried up around my feet,

As I thumped pedals maniacally.

The sweat began to fly at the accelerando,

While my fingers flew ever onward.

Slow down, they said, you'll hurt yourself.

What in heaven's name are you doing?

But I plucked notes out of the air,

And they saw no ebony and ivory.

A madman, they muttered. Get some help.

I shook my head, pounding away.

Madness, it might have been,

But I could not stop for the life of me.

The music possessed me,

The muse seduced me,

And I sat, on my piano bench,

Going mad in cut time.

The writing on the wall was in braiile.

Blindly I stretched out my hands to see.

But the letters melted away from me,

Changing, reforming, slipping and sliding,

Serpent's letters not intended for my eyes.

I grope for guidance,

And fate twists away from my dirty paws.

Thin air meets my fingers.

What to do when the omens

are muddy, the portents

fuzzy?

The oracle is drunk,

and no longer a virgin,

and God is out to lunch.

Jesus'll take a message,

but no guarantees.

The blind man cannot hear,

The deaf man cannot see.

And I'm too sober to understand it all.

The threads of destiny are unraveling,

And Atropos has lost her scissors.

The stars are on strike;

No destiny, no fate,

Even the fortune cookies are blank.

We are left to ourselves,

creatures of whim,

tops with no path to spin.

Nothing to govern our lives,

but our own misguided selves.

It is revealed then;

this is free will.

Complete and total anarchy,

accompanied by a side of chaos.

The world's out to lunch.

Brilliant poem. I've never thought of the act of eating an apple as a metaphor for anything at all. I like the way you turned such a simple act into something savage and sexual and so much more than just eating an apple. The diction really makes the poem.

bass

A castle of words,

Candied, crystalized words.

A castle in the air.

Protecting me from Earth's dank reality.

Suspending me high above the clouds.

All is sugar and light.

Until it rains,

And the ink runs,

The paper tears,

And my words wash away.

And I fall,

Back to earth,

Damp and dark.

All behind a veil of glass

A perfect prophecy come to pass.

Figures moving round and round

All in silence, not a sound.

Crystal pawns within a game

Not a one to bear a name.

A shot, a tear, a pen, a rose.

Sweeping past in eloquent prose.

A final blot, to put the end

A final crack and none to mend.

All behind a veil of glass

None of this shall come to pass.

New line: Silence heard 'round the world.

Ignorance flaring in blue, green and red.

A summer evening's fireworks of bliss.

How could I be so blind?

Not to see the reality right in front of me.

I was too busy staring at the colors behind my eyes.

A symphony of ignorance, projected on my eyelids.

Knowledge shouting, screaming to be heard.

I was deaf, my ears flooded with sweet seduction.

A distinct absence of truth's white, on this canvas in the dark

Behind my eyes.

Too distracted to care. Submerged in blissful ignorance,

An explosion of ecstasy, drowning in ignorance,

Ignoring knowledge's grasping hand.

Eyes shut tight, watching bliss flaring in blue, green and red.

You ought to give it a try some time.

It's fantastic.

Without that dischord of knowledge.

New line: A cacophony of truth

Snow melts before my eyes,

A series of perfect lullabies.

A new world fast apppearing,

Quick as the snow is disappearing.

Green ground revealed once again;

Through the months of cold it's been

Hibernating, hiding underneath.

And now at last its legacy does bequeath.

A new world in the bright white morn,

A new heaven in which to be reborn.

New line : An email messiah and an internet god

Turning away from Carrie, Charmaine watches the scuffle at the door. Overhearing her name, she frowns. "Suspicious? Of me? How preposterous. I can hardly help it if my flight was delayed, now can I?" she says, turning back to Carrie. "I think you were right. The drink is flowing a little too freely at this party. I've half a mind to leave before I receive anymore drunken accusations. Ah, well. What is the world coming to?"

Lost in her thoughts, Charmaine surveys the party. Nothing too suspicious, she thought. Just a bunch of young fools getting drunk and making wild speculations. Still, that girl over there...a bit on the wild side. "I'll bet she's got something to do with it..." Charmaine murmurs to herself.

OOC: Accusing Alexia/Nightfae

Amidst the hum, Charmaine slips in. She slinks along the wall, wincing with the knowledge that she is unbearably late. Oh well, there was little she could do about it; her plane had been delayed. But contrary to her thoughts, all eyes are not on the latecomer, nor does anyone seem to even notice her. Rather, there appears to be some sort of commotion in the center of the room. Forgetting her shame in curiousity, Charmaine joins the fringe. She hears snatches of conversations, shocked whispers, but is unable to grasp the full story. Frustrated, she says "Wait a minute, what just happened?"

Hey everyone, sorry I haven't been around. Just got a job, and I've kinda been swamped. If I can find some plausible way to slip myself back in, I will.

Always a tough question.

1. My bass. I've put so much into it and it's been my faithful companion through the years.

2. My varsity jacket- warm, and the pockets are filled with all my daily stuff - cell phone, money, ipod, chapstick, etc.

3. Maybe my computer? Lots of important files, but it'd be hard to lug around. Alternatively, any artwork, books or writing lying around, but it's all rather scattered. In the end, it'd probably be my writing, since it's all in one binder.