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XiaoCaity's Writing Thread
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Aja
Pajamazon


Joined: 21 Jul 2002
Posts: 1831
Location: Thataway

PostPosted: Tue Apr 12, 2011 10:44 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

Intriguing! I love seeing magic-system info in a story description, since that always gets me thinking about ways to apply it (which in turn makes me want to read the story). It sounds like those three possession techniques have all sorts of interesting potential.

I can totally imagine someone using Possession of the Heart for really silly, petty stuff.
"You don't want to date me? Well, think it over for a while. I'll just be in my ritual chamber, hmhmhoho..."


About how long do you think the entire story will be, with all three parts?
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XiaoCaity
Royalty


Joined: 27 Apr 2009
Posts: 542
Location: Herding magic lizards

PostPosted: Wed Apr 13, 2011 9:44 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

I enjoy doing that stuff too, especially considering how important to the plot it is.

And yes, Possession of Heart can be used for some crazy stuff. Especially when used to ramp up pre-existing emotions. As dear Penny is going to discover. *evil laughter*

Well, I've only just started Possession of Mind, barely even gotten into the plot (literally, I'm only just getting to the point where I can start dropping hints that poo is Not What It Seems), and I've banged out like seventeen pages already. This is either going to end up as one biiiiiiiiiig book or three short novels.
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XiaoCaity
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Joined: 27 Apr 2009
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Location: Herding magic lizards

PostPosted: Sun Jan 08, 2012 7:57 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

Marks That Won’t Fade

Later, when she is older and wiser and far better placed in the world, she will look back at this day and realise that it shaped her more than any other.

The money comes mostly from running messages across the underside, but the last of it comes from the purse of a man who tried to hurt her mother. He hadn’t expected the sudden knife in the back of his leg, and he dropped the little leather bag as he left. They took it as due payment for what he’d tried to steal. Most of the money went to her mother and subsequently into their food pot for that week, but she’d kept just a little for this.

(Carmella, Ella as she is calling herself at this point in her life, is not a violent person by any means. She prefers to run from fights and from the men with the killer’s walk, but that all goes out the metaphorical window for her family. For the people she loves, no action is too extreme.)

She can’t always carry a knife. Some clients won’t let people into their homes if they bear weapons, and there are places where wearing a weapon of any kind makes her a target or a criminal. And that’s why she’s here, legs swinging in the air as she sits in the tall chair and the ink-stained man reads her forged permission letter.

It passes muster – and rightly so, she called in a lot of favours for it – and the man sighs, an expression of tired resignation flickering across his face briefly before he pulls out an old leather book from his shelves and hands it to her. “Choose one,” is all he says.

She knows, with all their weight and wisdom of a not-childhood in the slums trying to earn enough and learn enough to leave someday, that she needs to make this choice more carefully than any other. If she chooses wrong, she will not be able to change it. This mark will not fade or change in any way even if she lives to be a thousand years old, and the magic of it will be with her each and every day.

Each image is unexpectedly bright considering the age of the book, presented in elaborate detail and followed by strict instructions for mixing the crystal-laced inks and what metals to use in the needles. She is fascinated, and almost loses herself in the notes someone has hand-written after each recipe before she remembers what she is here for.

She studies each rune carefully, all too aware of the fact that this is going to hurt, and quite likely more than almost anything she’s ever felt before. She plans to have this rune inked right over her heart, one of the seven places where runes are strongest, and that means it will be right over bone. She is sacrificing temporary comfort for the lasting ability to protect herself.

She likes several of them. The rune of Wat, the water and ice rune, is flowing and gentle, but far too complex. It will require at least two sessions, and she only has the money for one. Ter, the healing rune, is incredibly beautiful and if she was inclined she would certainly choose it. It will have to wait until later (until her second year at Motav Academy, it eventually transpires), though. She needs something that she can battle with.

As soon as she sees it, she knows that the Frey rune is perfect. It is the rune of fire and flame and heat, and her heart literally skips a beat when she sees it. Three red and orange orbs arranged in a triangle, each orb a knot of lines and curves that blossom out like a flower and connected by a plait of gold, silver and yellow lines that form a gentle circle. It is perfect.

She puts the book down in front of the artist, feeling fierce in her sudden determination and need to bear this particular mark. He looks into her eyes, and seems to like what he sees there because he smiles and examines the instructions and the patterns carefully.

The mixing takes a long time, but she watches every movement of his nimble hands and the shimmering ink with curiosity, and soon enough she’s asking questions that he surprisingly answers without any apparent annoyance. She’s not used to people indulging her like this, but she takes advantage of it regardless. The reasoning behind each measure of crystal and ink is beyond interesting; it fascinates her in ways she hadn’t even realised she could feel.

The time comes, and he loads a series of delicate needles with the crystal-laced ink. She pulls open her shirt, lies back on the table, and shuts her eyes as he traces the patterns into a guideline image with something soft and a little ticklish.

She gasps at the first press of the needle. It hurts, quite a lot, but she forces herself to relax as they keep coming, so quickly that after a while she can’t differentiate where the pain of one ends and the next begins.

After a while she falls into a strange trance. The pain is still there, but it no longer bothers her. Her breathing is steady, her body relaxed, and the work goes quickly. She can feel the pattern coming into being now, the flowering knots and the warm plaits. Her entire body is starting to feel warm, and she is certain that she can feel the ink faintly pulsing in time with her heartbeat.

(This trance will come back with every subsequent rune, but this first one is the most intense and the most powerful, and it is this one that she will remember even when she’s old and her memory finally starts to fade.)

Four hours pass by in a haze, time seeming to lose all meaning in the face of the heat and pulsing and pain. She’s genuinely surprised when the artist – because he is no mere backstreet tattooist this man, he has far too much skill and delicacy for that – wipes over the blood-laced rune with an alcohol-soaked cloth. The new pain, sharp and violent, wakes her up and she looks down.

Despite the little pools of sluggish blood and the faint brown of the alcohol, the mark is beautiful against her tan skin. He’s done something to the pattern, shifted the flowering marks just a little, and it already feels like it has always belonged there. He wipes it with the cloth a few more times and presses a genuinely clean bandage down onto it, wrapping a couple of lengths around her to keep the padding in place.

She pulls her shirt back on and stands with a tiny whimper and gritting of teeth, pulling the agreed-upon fee out and handing it over without dickering. He could likely get away with charging a lot more, if the work he’s just put into her is any indication.

“Don’t try anything for at least a week,” he warns, although his expression is warm. “Wash it with hot water twice a day and keep it covered until the scabs are fully formed. You’ll know when it’s ready.”

“Thank you,” she says, and she’s never meant it as much as she has now. She presses her hand to her heart for just a moment, letting the heat seep into her with a sigh.

Nine days later, a man points a pistol at her and demands that she hands over the parcel she’s carrying to the overcity. She smiles and fire bursts forth from her hand.
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Enkerzed
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Joined: 13 Jan 2012
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PostPosted: Fri Jan 13, 2012 2:36 am    Post subject: do you have a DeviantArt account? Reply with quote

i know writers or somewhat of a minority on DA, but the ones that do exist are usually good. anyways, you said something about a code for dreamwidth? i don't get what that's about, but i just submitted a request to join. i'm interested in your 'plot bunnies', as you call em.
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XiaoCaity
Royalty


Joined: 27 Apr 2009
Posts: 542
Location: Herding magic lizards

PostPosted: Sat Jan 14, 2012 5:40 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

I see you got a code! It's nice having a follower who I didn't invite. Or attract with kink meme fills. XD
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XiaoCaity
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Location: Herding magic lizards

PostPosted: Sat Feb 25, 2012 6:45 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

The Mad Alchemist's Apprentice
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Aja
Pajamazon


Joined: 21 Jul 2002
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Location: Thataway

PostPosted: Thu Mar 01, 2012 10:47 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

Ah, I like Luke already, sweary fellow though he may be. :D

Love how you get right into these scenes without any expository preamble. It always feels like I'm reading something from the middle of a book; I seem to spend the first 80% of the story trying to pick up context clues to figure out what's going on. Somehow you make it mysterious enough to be engaging without going over the line into confusing, which is impressive. Bravo!
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XiaoCaity
Royalty


Joined: 27 Apr 2009
Posts: 542
Location: Herding magic lizards

PostPosted: Fri Mar 02, 2012 6:30 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

Luke is terribly sweet when he's not being a smart-alec, isn't he? (He's also very annoyed that another of my characters got to the name Lucas before he did.)

Aw shucks, thanks. *blush* Most of these are fun writing exercises to get me geared up to write bigger stuff (and I swear I'll finish some of it one day XD), but I'm really glad you like them.

Coming soon: One of the most surreal moments of my life, a true story as told by one of my characters.
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XiaoCaity
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Location: Herding magic lizards

PostPosted: Fri Mar 02, 2012 6:40 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

Surreal Moment #3421

Yes, this actually happened to me less than an hour ago.

Chess is a character who would do this in the right situation, and she shares my scooter, ergo, she gets a starring role.


So it’s just before midnight on a Friday, and I’m coming home from Kanji’s place on my scooter. I’d detoured through town to refuel, and cause I had to go past a few pubs and clubs to get home, I put my earbuds in and turned the volume waaaaaay up. I have this thing against the doof doof music. Namely, I hate it.
Sometimes I like to sing, and I figure, it’s late, I’m cheerful from sheer exhaustion and spending time with Kanji watching bad movies, I’m going to sing along with whatever comes up at the top of my lungs and bollocks to anyone who says otherwise.
Naturally, the next song is incredibly inappropriate.
That’s right. The Internet Is For Porn. I start belting it out as loud as I can, grinning like a loon and generally enjoying the lovely cool night and the nice empty streets.
Halfway through the song, just when I’m getting to the really fun part, I spot a red signal wand up ahead. Well, hey, I know they’ve been doing roadwork up past the hospital, maybe there’s a detour or something.
Nope! Time for a breathalyser. I end up pulling up next to the middle-aged cop while echoing “The Internet is for porn, the internet is for porn, all these guys unzip their flies for porn, porn, porn!”
His expression when I register the first zero point zero zero of the night was... special. He made me do it twice more before he let me go.
So I set my player back to the beginning of the song and started singing again.
True story.
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Tulsileaf
Mink Sith Lord


Joined: 05 Apr 2005
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PostPosted: Sat Mar 10, 2012 12:40 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

The night is young. Cheese!

I thought Surreal Moment #3421 was about you until I read the post one above. These stories are great. :D
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