May. 14th, 2013 01:01 am
tanager: [Final Fantasy] Kadaj (resolve)
Title: Smile
Warnings: Graphic violence, strong language
Word Count: 407
Notes: Please heed the warnings. This doesn't really have a plot or purpose, other than to capture an impression. Written for the theme "incite" on this bingo card.


“If I have one goddamned thing left to say, smile. Smile when they smash your nose and crack your head against the wall and shove you down to pound you into the dirt, even if you can’t stay on your feet, smile. When they’re looking down on you to see you looking up at the maggots they are, when they want to drink the tears rolling down your cheeks, don’t look the hell up.

Smile. They'll beat you )


Feb. 26th, 2013 12:46 am
tanager: (bright tanager)
Title: Alyssa
Word Count: 891
Notes: I probably won't be adding to this old character sketch.

She was dressed in a double-layered peach day dress of cotton and velvet, and she absolutely loathed it. Alyssa hated how the top bit attractively into her waist and how the heavy skirt billowed outward over an even heavier petticoat, making running impossible. Her mother, on the other hand, was positively glowing with pride—and a hint of vindictive triumph—as she introduced her daughter to the Duchess of Elanton, Lady Henrietta Amelia Bouchard.

Lady Bouchard had two daughters. )


Dec. 6th, 2012 10:55 pm
tanager: (fallen)
Title: Stranger
Warnings: Language, mention of violence
Word Count: 312

Another swallow. The half-empty mug clanks down on the counter. There’s a science to this, getting a good buzz going while keeping a white-knuckled grip on the clarity to see a gun pulled—a spark catch—even a spider skitter across the discolored wood wall—

To see the young officer maneuvering past the lively tables, advancing on Will’s nicely solitary corner of the counter. Will warns the man away with a glower; the intruder meets it with a quirking of the stupid grin on his face.

“You the one who took Rakarta back from the traitors?”

The obscenely cheerful question yanks memories by in a flash: boom-shriek-roar-boom-bellowing orders-bodies falling-charging forward-boom-dropping back-dark red on ground-bright red on walls: “THE PEOPLE WILL RULE.” Not my business.

“Fuck off,” he grunts, as the stranger claims the nearest of the half-dozen empty barstools beside him.

“Just got back in from Ettsboro,” the man continues, as if he’d been asked. He’s more drunk than Will ever lets himself get, but Will can’t quite dismiss him as one of the careless idiots who’ll be buried (if he’s lucky) in a few months. The man’s eyes, which haven’t budged from his yet, are a vivid blue. Their intensity, even wrapped in alcohol, drives off the tempting label of a happy fool. This is all wrong. His voice is brash, loud, and too familiar, and Will likes it.

With a long pull from his drink, the man settles in. He sets down his empty mug and calls for the bartender. “Another beer!”

Will stands abruptly. “I’m done for the night.”

He’s not going back to the barracks to play cards with the men, like some officers do in the evening. Bloody team bonding. He’ll keep them alive, if he can, and that’s it. They’re a fighting unit, not some two-point-four-child family. The word slashes into him, bleeding out his frustration.

Notes: I randomly generated Will's personality using this D&D personality generator. The guidelines I got were "Motivation: Protection, Nurturing, Family Values," "Instinct: Hostility, Aggression, Attack," and "Approach: Disciplined Commander." I really like the idea of defining a character by their motivation, instinct, and approach.


Aug. 11th, 2012 11:35 pm
tanager: [Final Fantasy] Kadaj (resolve)
Title: Prayer
Warnings: Pain, self-injury for a purpose
Word Count: 265

She walked further into the cold.

However strong her will, she could not stop the shivers that racked her body or the instinctive clench of her arms around herself. Her fingers, wrapped around bare skin, could feel the miniscule bumps that the chill had raised all along her arm. The wind caressed her gently with icy fingers.

Physical sensation bombarded her mind, binding her fast to the earth even as she strove to soar beyond it. One—step—at a time.

She dropped to her knees in the snow. Her shoulders curled forward, of their own accord, acting sensibly to minimize her exposure. She could not stop one moment of weakness, clinging to even that scrap of protection, and then another—gritting her teeth as an excuse—before arching her body back, allowing the death cold to enter her freely. Her arms, in the motion of being flung out, jerked as the cold landed to feast on every part of her body, a flock of birds, a stabbing of knives, before she managed to continue and force her hands down on, into the snow. They thankfully numbed quickly. Her mind danced wildly among the field of pain that was her body, skipping here and there, no looming tower of particular agony to hold her attention.

She turned her head up toward the sky, an almost uniform blue-gray, and gulped in huge breaths of needles that stabbed at her throat and lungs. In, out, in out cold out in cold cold.

I give up my body. I place myself in your hands.

(Do not abandon me.)


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