yochva

huggies

shmooze

me

What I don't understand is why people are so pococurante about the whole thing; I mean, these are WORDS!

The child was insouciant about the mess he was leaving behind him, but his mother was frantic.

Well, I haven't interacted with you much, only in the WWGame, but... Happy Birthday! Only one more year! ^___~ Yours, Evangeline

When the anxious group returned for the fourth night running and saw no trace of Evangeline yet again, they began to feel worried. A few of them went to Evangeline's room to see if she was there, and saw a note stuck to the dark mahongany door, right on top of the rose that was lynchpin of the whole design carved in the wood. My dear friends. I do sincerely apologize for leaving thee with no story, and thus no closure, but... laryngitis does that, wouldst thou not agree? Allow me to leave thee with this poem to soothe thy no doubt ruffled feathers. Yours always, Evangeline On the back was the poem, penned in a beautiful calligraphic hand - obviously the result of much practice and talent. For all the world has seen before, It could not express true; It hadn't life to live before, Had no eyes to see through. For all the world has heard before, It could not have meaning; It hadn't life to live before, It had no cause to ring. For all the world has had before, It could not really own; It hadn't life to live before, Had nothing to be shown. For all the world has felt before, It could not really know; It hadn't life to live before, It had no blood to flow. But you and me, we know, my dear, All about the world's part; We are the life it has to live, It's eyes, hands, ears, and heart.

In the Tan Pen, the quote boxes and things like the announcement about a post having been posted are still blue. And as I'm looking at it, the bars for the reply formatting and the box that says "clickable smilies" are still blue, which I assume is not right, seeing as how the other header bars are brown. Was that confusing?

Evangeline finished her third rendition of "Angel of Music" in as many hours to the appreciative clapping of her audience, and fairly glowed. "Thank thee all, but my breath is fair gone, and my playing done for the night. Hast thou any requests in any other field but that of music? Singing permitted, of course." She winked, and several members of her small group laughed or giggled as was their nature, for it was well-known that her love of singing was rivalled only by her love of writing. "Yah, tell us a story!" called a voice from the back, and the rest soon took up the call. Evangeline waved placating hands at them, leaning back under the barrage of demands. "All right, all right, thou shalt get thy story!" She paused for a few minutes, gathering together her thoughts and ideas into a cohesive whole as the youngsters in the group at her feet wriggled in excitement. "All right. Please, all, forgive the informality of my speech, for 'twould not fit the nature of my tale to speak as I am wont to do." Ignoring the sniggers (she knew that she spoke in a mode far out-dated), she closed her eyes briefly and began. It was a long time ago, in a future far distant and now lost. You see, the choices of man are ever changing the world around us, and what is possible at one moment might be impossible the next, all because of one person's choice. The future I tell you of was once the logical conclusion of the actions of humanity, until one day, all that changed. But that is for another tale, on another night. In this future, the Earth had been ruined by pollution, and greed, and war. Most of it was uninhabitable, many of the species were extinct, along with many of the once diverse environments. Deserts covered most of the land, and ice or scrublands the rest. The oceans were polluted beyond repair. People lived in carefully isolated and carefully monitored habitats, because people had learned that if they were set loose on the world, they would destroy it, so they were determined to inflict as little damage as possible. Evangeline paused and glanced surrepticiously at her audience. It had shrunk by quite a bit even in the short time she had been speaking, as she had known it would, and the rest were nodding off - after all, she had been setting the stage for nearly ten minutes, and it was nearing the twelfth hour. "I shall end the tale there for the evening, as it is nearly not evening anymore, and shall turn to morning within the hour. I bid thee all farewell and a good night, and may all your dreams be pleasant ones. I shall continue the tale two nights hence, with dashing heroes and aliens of powers most strange, and more interesting ideas to convey than those of this night past." Evangeline gathered her skirts about her and left quietly, the only sound in the small room being the whisper of layers and layers of cloth brushing against itself. She paused outside the door, regarding the few intiates congregated there with a wry smile playing about her lips and one eyebrow smoothly arched the tiniest fraction. "Thou art all welcomed to join us two nights hence..." ~~~~~~~ Really, it IS nealy midnight, and I'm too tired to keep typing this. And I WILL continue in two days! ^__^

Thank you so much!

Oh gee. WOW, I even get a wooden flute! *strokes flute happily* Thank you so much!

Evangeline blinked at the horrendous disaster of a cake - but what else was to be expected from one such as Wyvern? She looked around at the ring of hesitant Pennites, and decided to be the first to step forward. "Valdar? Happy birthday... here." Evangeline lugged the rather large brown-paper-wrapped box to Valdar's feet, coiling the rope on top and plopping a muffin tin on top. The muffin tin held individual servings of home-made apple cake, each with a magically burning candle in the middle - the flame would never burn down. The cakes were still steaming. "The cakes are actually for Aardvark, and if he wants to share with you, he can. All except one, of course. The box is for you." Evangeline turned and scampered away before Valdar could say thanks, and before Aardvark could notice that as soon as he pulled out a muffin, another would take its place complete with candle and steam. In the box Valdar would find the complete set of brand-spanking-new Valdemar novels and connected works, with a note explained about the connection between Valdar's name, Valdemar, and Velgarth, and how Evangeline couldn't get it out of her head until she actually did something about it, and how Evangeline hoped Valdar would enjoy the gift as much as she had. ~~~~~~~~~~~~ Back at home... "Ma? I'm home!" Evangeline called as she toed off her shoes and ran into the kitchen... to be faced by an irate mother and a shaking spatula. "WHAT have you done with my muffin-tin?!?" "Er... eh-heh?"

NightFae - Thank you so much for enjoying it! Your comment about the Grammar-Nazis... what that intentional? ^_~ Sweetcherrie - Thank you for liking it, and thank you for that correction - I can't believe I missed it! The contest is a yearly thing, write about some aspect of the Holocaust. This year was about Righteous Gentiles, basically. Replaced the version that WAS there with the more recent version - plus Sweet's correction, which I missed both times.

A story about the Holocaust - written about righteous gentiles, from a slightly different perspective than normal. I'm considering this for a contest, and I'd really like some help - should this go here or in a different section? And some critique of any sort would be welcome... This is an edited version, with no major changes, I think. Footsteps in the Walls My dearest daughter, You know as well as I what happened in that war, to the Jews and others. The rest of us survived the war in body, but our spirits and souls were beaten. Living under the Nazis, even if I wasn’t being targeted, was perhaps the hardest task God has ever given me. They have continued to overshadow my life, long past their time has passed, until I fear it might be too late for my tale to have any meaning anymore. What follows is the account of two amazing, courageous, wonderful people, who are not able to tell their own story. They have been lost without recognition, forgotten without a whisper. They hid two Jews for nearly a year and a half before they were discovered, and this is their story. Herr and Frau Gutreich lived on the third floor of our apartment building, under the attic. We lived on the second floor, and the Muellers lived below us. The Gutreichs were an elderly couple, in their late sixties. Frau Gutreich suffered intermittent bouts of gout and Herr Gutreich had bad arthritis, yet they were still quietly active in the community, helping out and being generally good people. The war began. Most families didn’t like the way things were, but only a few didn’t like the way things were going, my family one of them. Genocide is atrocious, no matter who is the victim. There were few Jews in our town, a few families, and they were persecuted, driven to poverty, hated. We – my parents, that is – were at a loss. How were we supposed to help people with nothing left for ourselves? Life was hard enough, without the extra burden. I tell you this with eyes opened by time and maturity; at the time I was ten years old, and couldn’t see what it all meant. The Gutreichs had more conviction than we. Three months after the war started, Herr Gutreich came to our door, begging in a hoarse whisper for security and aid. I remember the texture of his stubbled gray beard in the half-light of the hall more than anything, the way it made his strong square face haggard and determined. The elderly couple had decided, after much soul-searching, that our Jews were innocent of all charges brought against them, and undeserving of their inevitable fate. Therefore, the pair had chosen a young couple, barely a year wed, to be the recipients of their effort – simply because Hannah and Zachary Stein were only two, had no children, and, above all, were quiet by nature. The Gutreichs knew they were very forward and risking everything, but their kind souls could not bear the pain they saw in this young couple, the pain they were destined to go through. They knew what was at risk – lives home, jobs, family. A week later, Hannah and Zachary Stein were installed in the back room of the Gutreichs’ apartment, unbeknownst to almost everyone. The next night, after curfew, my father sat us down and explained what was happening upstairs, the challenges that would face us by the choice we had made. Then he said something I will never forget. “From this point on, we are at risk. We will be aiding and abetting the Gutreichs, we will be doing what’s right at the risk of our lives, but we are not the ones to take any credit. The Gutreichs are angels on earth, holy souls in humble bodies, lights in the darkness.” I will always know exactly how the lamplight fell on his face, haloing half of it in a fiery glow and cloaking the rest in shadow all the more deeply. “I wish to God we could do the same thing. I hope with all my heart they succeed, I pray with all my being that we all survive this terrible war.” That was the beginning of the end. The Steins lived in the Gutreichs' attic and the back room, and we gave them everything we could spare. Extra food, extra clothes, extra money. It wasn't much – there wasn't much for ANYONE. It was late fall when the Steins disappeared from our home, and the two mysterious non-existent refugees appeared in ours. It was scary, knowing there were outlaws living upstairs, and knowing I could say one word – one phone call – and end the agony of fear. And that brought me back full circle, to moral responsibilities and promises. I couldn't make that call, not when everyone was depending on trust and support. It was scary, knowing that there were two extra people upstairs, night-dwellers. Hearing footsteps in the walls where there shouldn't have been, seeing the Gutreichs' supplies dwindling as they fed two more mouths than they should have. They were ingenious. The back window broke before winter hit, and that had to be boarded up and insulated. Frau Gutreich came down with a severe case of gout in February, it kept her bed-ridden for months. Then Herr Gutreich had a spring relapse of arthritis, which completely immobilized his joints. They didn't let on about anything; even when there weren't enough hours of the day, they still managed to live normal lives. As the summer progressed, things got a bit easier. I didn't have to stay cooped up inside; I could escape to the park across the street. The footsteps never ceased, I fled to the park again and again. Maybe that was why I missed the shift in attitude in our small apartment house. The Muellers were suspicious. Of what, they didn't know, nor why, but there was something going on in our house and they didn't like it. Their eldest son was part of the Nazi youth group, their two daughters were infatuated with any officer they met, and they were all completely under the Nazi thumb. They must have seen us smuggling, or something similar. I was very glad the Steins were so circumspect, at the time I didn't want to deal with the young Muellers, let alone their parents. Summer came and went, nothing much happened beside the usual war-time news and deprivations. I think I got careless as time wore on, but even now I can't be too sure. The war was hanging over our heads constantly, I can't tell what was worry about the war and what was worry about our secret refugees in the walls. They seemed to have been there forever. And as winter turned to spring again, I realize I should have worried more. Daughter, I should have realized why the Mueller children were so interested in playing in the back yard and on our stairs, pretending there were mice hiding in the wall, and Jews hiding in the corners. The spring night the soldiers came, I was sleeping under the trees in the park again. Not well, I might add, it was terribly hot and buggy. So I was awake when the soldiers pulled up to the house and got out, with Herr Mueller in tow. They went pounding up the stairs, I could hear them banging on doors, faintly. Screaming and yelling, a light pierced the darkness of the night, silhouettes. And then… I'll never ever forget, no matter how hard I try. Gunshots. Six. Six shots, one for each traitor and outlaw… I curled up on myself, shaking, staring with wide eyes at the gleam of light in the back room of the Gutreichs' apartment, until it finally went out. Dear Lord… I couldn't even cry. The soldiers returned to the car, calm as ever, without Herr Mueller. I shook in place until dawn, until someone found me and brought me to the orphanage. My dearest daughter, this tale is not an easy one. The full force of it cannot be conveyed on paper. It was not good, it was not kind, it did not have a happy ending. The Gutreichs were the only ones with the courage to do what was right; even WE didn't have the sense for that. In a world gone dark with hatred, they shone as a beacon of trust in God, of faith in the basic goodness of humanity. You, my daughter, are their legacy. You are the heritage of the lessons they strove to teach everyone through selfless giving, that I have tried to impart to you. I charge you to never forget the forgotten, to never lose sight of the lost. I charge you, my daughter, my dearest Hannah, to be a light for the darkness of generations to come. Yours with all the love I can give, Father

Until 120, Reverie! Happy Birthday!

Evangeline looked up from the bowl she was concentrating on when she heard the clatter of Gryphon's claws, just in time to see Ayshela bundle him off to what she assumed would be the bathing room, based on the sticky whiteness covering Gryphon from beak to tail. //Wha-? Oh, right, it's his birthday. Oops...// The girl in Grays jumped up and got down a Shin'a'in woven basket from above her desk, careful not to jostle it too much, and covered it with a small pillow. On her way out the door, Evangeline paused and went back to the trunk at the foot of her bed, pulling out a small thing she had just finished. Evangeline arrived at the bathing room as Ayshela was drying Gryphon off with a large towel; she couldn't help but laugh at the gryphon's disgruntled expression and feathers sticking every which way. "Oh, you're a sight! I bet your feathers are ruffled, in more than one meaning. Here - this might be very appreciated right about now." Evangeline set down the basket and took off the pillow, revealing a neatly laid-out and well-stocked set of feather-dyes and treatments, along with adorments of various kinds. "The k'Leshya had a tent at the Shin'a'in horse fair last summer, and I got this without knowing what I'd do with it. Now, you can keep a hold of it. I do know the ways of the trondi'ern, so... if you ever feel inclined?" She smiled at the happy expression on Gryphon's face. "And this..." She pulled out a small, intricately tooled leather plaque from behind her back, holding it out for the three to see. Gryphon's name was picked out around the edges, and a stylized gryphon rampant stood in the middle. It was subtled dyed in various shades of warm brown and dark blue, giving the gryphon shape, and was decorated with silver gilt paint. The back held a hook and two slides - it was a harness-plaque. "This is for whenever you need your flying harness, or to dress it up. Happy birthday Gryphon!" Evngeline gave Gryphon one more scratch along his ruff, then trotted back to her room - her FarSight instructor had hinted at a surprise inspection tomorrow, and she had yet to get a hang on scrying. {{EEEEEEEEEEE Mercedes Lackey! ^______________^ Happy birthday, Gryph!}}

Good luck and best wishes to him, even if I didn't like that series overmuch. I've never read Lord of the Ring, and I've never finished the sixth book of Harry Potter - it was much poorer in quality than the first five. I've simply never felt the urge to finish it, much to the dismay and constant distress of a friend of mine. Oh well. When the last one comes out, maybe I'll finish the sixth. That's the only reason I finished the fifth, after all.

Events today... Spring - a time of warmth. Right? Wrong. Not always warmth, But also of chill...

So... are we in the storeroom trapped until we starve? Are we let out eventually? Should we all post die-arias?

Well, my all time favorie author is MErcedes Lackey - she was the first "adult" book I read, i.e. not a child's book. I fell in love with Valdemar, and highly recommend them (all 30+) to anyone. A few of them shouldn't be read by young children, but most of them are PG-13. Even the not PG-13 parts are few and far between, and skip over the "heavy" parts. As for a story... As a rule I don't like murder mysteries, or mysteries in general. But my mother was reading a Clive Cussler book once, and I was bored - so I picked it up. And didn't put it down. Now I read any of his books we have or get from the library. I don't even mind the self-insertion, which is something I normally abhor. I would recommend the Heralds of Valdemar series by Mercedes Lackey, "Phantom of the Opera" by Gaston Leroux, and Clive Cussler. As a note... I've read the Kushiel series... and I do agree that it's not for the faint of heart. But they are VERY well-written.

....Wasn't gonna anyway...

Shayna took a waterbottle from the bag Charles had brought, and went to the corner to sleep some more. Hopefully she wouldn't be disturbed....

Evangeline walked into the Cabaret and blinked at the gold-tinted windows, lightbulbs, carpeting, tables, dishes, food, streamers, glitter, confetti, clothes, and walls. "Um, right." Then she looked up and saw the banner - "Happy Bithday Wyvern!" "Oh, 'tis HIS birthday, is it? Well then, I've got a present for thee - ought to be perfect!" Evangeline held out her hand to the blissful lizard. In it was a small, old, dusty, nondescript, brown paper package that looked like a seed-packet. In fact, it was a seed packet. On it was written the following: Contained herein is one (1) seed of the Etz haKesef. Care: Plant within the heart of one, Whose noble bearing holds him high, Whose deeds speak greatly of virtue, Who doesn't ever cheat or lie. Water daily with tears of joy, Fertilize with humility, And guard it with care and with love, To benefit from it fully. There is naught else that I can tell - Follow my word, 'twill all be well. Wyvern took it, mysitfied and a bit scared by the stern instructions, but when he turned it over and saw a stylized representaion of a tree with gold coins hanging from the branches, he got excited all over again. Evangeline walked out of the Cabaret with a secret smile playing about her lips and a bounce in her step. ~~~~~~~~~ If you couldn't figure it out, Etz haKesef means, literally, Tree of Money - also known as a Moneytree. Happy birthday, Wyv!

Shayna stifled a yawn. "Then would you mind keeping an eye out for something - anything - so I can get some shut-eye? If I don't rest I'll pass out. We can take turns on watch or something... Gosh, I sound like I'm in some sort of book or something. 'Keep guard, don't let the enemy in, blah blah... blah...'" She trailed off, realizing she was rambling and that Brad was glaring at her. "Sorry..."

Shayna shivered and rubbed at her dry eyes - she hadn't slept a wink in over a day. She HAD to sleep, or she'd hurt herself. "Brad... Brad have you slept yet? At all?"