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Post by endymien on May 14, 2009 17:20:16 GMT -5
(Alright peoples, this is that game I was talking about. It's called 'Looking Glass.' The rules are simple, you write a story of your character when they are completely alone. Include their thoughts and make it reflective. It is supposed to help you develop your character, and let other people get a better understanding of why your character does the things they do. You do not have to post in turn, you can do a character multiple times in a row, and they do not have to actually be looking in a mirror. xD It is always a good idea to stick a rating on your story. I know some characters here have shady business, so please rate with G, PG, PG13, and R at the top of your little tale. No X stories, thank you! We have some young fellas here. If you would like to comment on others stories, please keep it in ooc [brackets] just to keep it tidy! Have fun, and I hope you all enjoy!)
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Post by malicia on May 14, 2009 18:17:42 GMT -5
A bit of Kohana!
The bear was sitting under the shade of an apple tree, a peice of wood within his paws, gently caressing it with a knife to make it form into a sculpture. Of what? The bear did not know yet. He looked into the sun setting down quietly... The little peice of wood had a face in it, a pretty little face of a young woman... He looked down to it and shook his head a bit, Thinking of his dear Eliza. Carefully carving her to life . He tought long and longer about his life, what it ment to him... The past, his village, the white men killing a girl of their own. With sorrow in his face, he spoke to the statue "I miss you eliza, your touch, your smell, that smile of yours. I miss how we walked by the river bank and sometimes stoped to look at the fireflies. Why such pain in this world I will never know. I try to find the answers and to repair what has been wronged, for you Eliza. But I can not seem to find the key. Forgive me love." he took a deep breath, still talking to the wooden doll. He gave her a form, curvy, plump, Eliza was not a skinny girl. She seemed jovial and playfull. A little mink girl with a pretty dress and ample bosom. She had long hair. He remembered it golden like a dandylion field in bloom. Her eyes were like the noon skies, pale blue, but vibrant... He remembered it too well. His knife was stabbed into the soft earth on which her was sitting to rise up, hidding his eyes. Kohana was wondering, but still discussing with the doll. "I met this woman, Molly, she is nothing like you, a lovely woman yes, but far from what I would had expected to find. You always seemed so calm, like the pond we so oftenly slept at. But Molly is like fire. Raging accross the plains. She makes me smile, but not in the same way... I have so many more questions I would like to find answers to. Why is love one word but so many emotions? The world is so much bigger than what I used to think, so vast, so beautyful... But at times I find life so shallow and meaningless. Eliza, so young, eager to live and your own took that away from you for a bit of land and money."
He placed the small doll on the floor, laying it carefully on a leaf and got himself up, picking up his knife. Walking torwards the river some to look at the stars. He had been there all morning, all day and was thinking to stay the night. Breathing fresh air outside the town was a treat. Huffing a bit, he got himself undressed and entered the waters. Not the swiftest swimmer of course, but quite at ease in the element. Closing his eyes for a moment, he wondered to himself silently, why things were how they are. So tempted to just give up and head down the bottom to simply not come back up... The bear had a side he wanted none to see. Sometimes he just found fighting another day was useless, pointless, meaningless. With all the violence he has seen, encrusted in his mind, the blood shedding, his father, his clan, his wife... All on the floor, missing peices and drowning in their own redness... The rest, driven away by point of gun. He remembered the mediocre land they had settled the clan in, arid, dusty, nothing would grow. He remembered leaving on a rainny day. He swam around for what seemed to be a few more hours.
Out of the river, he sat himself down on a patch of grass, shaking his head. He burried his face with his paw and sighed painfully... "For Molly, I will keep going, I will care for my sister and her child. For Eliza, I will still live for her. I could do many good things, things that would make her proud surely..." He rolled up comfortably and used his clothes as a pillow. Head was pounding, but soon, the bear fell sleeping.
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Post by endymien on May 14, 2009 18:18:16 GMT -5
[PG 13-R] Molly Abernethy looked into the mirror, but the woman staring back was not her. A finger to the reflective glass surface, half expecting the image of her mother to ripple like water on a pond. No such thing happened, the green accusing eyes continued to stare at her like a ghost from her past. On a well known path, her paw then moved to her ribs, a deep shaky breath taken as she felt the body underneath her faded cream night shirt. It was not that what was underneath surprised her. It was a deformity after all that had been long in the making, and something that had never been different in her adult life. Begun from the moment the master of the house had decided she was enough of a woman to dress like one and stop acting like a little boy. She could remember the pain of her first laced corset, the inability to breath and her frail young body being forced to become something it was not, like it was yesterday. Those who had, though, had been dead for many years now. She did not mourn them, and felt no pity in her heart for what had happened. Deformation like this was a beauty for this time. Bones under constant daily pressure had grown into the desirable S shape of the time, and irregular meals had given her the waist line thought of as perfection. Under that baggy night dress she was just like the artist depiction of an ideal woman’s body in those corset advertising flyers. She used the body, but she hated it. Despite the hate and pain, tomorrow morning she would lace the thing herself. Provided there was a tomorrow morning. Through her rumbling thoughts her gaze remained focused on her mothers face. No. Not her mothers, the nose was quite too small. She grinned. There was a saying, ‘like father, like son.’ Another was ‘boys will be boys.’ Well, she thought, like mother like daughter.. one of her slim paws placed on her abdomen. And girls will be girls. Were she to have a baby at the time, she could have no guess what it would come out looking like. Four men all had the potential in showing up in the child’s face. Five if you considered the mystery of her father’s genes that had managed to almost entirely skip over her. A narrow nose. She touched it, thinking back on the master and the nose she believed she had inherited. It’s a shame wealth wasn’t a natural born trait, or she would have prayed for that rich stranger. Seemed like most everything save looks was depending on the raising. Thank the powers that be - she wouldn’t have to worry about screwing up a child. Clumsy shaking paw grabbed a shot glass stolen from work filled to the brim with a foul smelling liquid. It streamed and dripped over the rim as she steadied her hand. To the mirror she raised the glass in a toast. “I may see you in Hell soon, ma.” She had a flair for the dramatics, a stage life could have been successful. Raising the glass to her lips with a furrowed brow and a grimace she poured the liquid down her throat. Longest seconds that had ever passed came in the most silent quiet she could ever recall before being interrupted by nausea. Shot glass fell from her paw to the floor, crashing splintering shards over the old wooden chipped floors. Doubling over she began retching in a waste paper bin until anything identifiable in the mess were covered in the ruby red of her own blood. Wouldn’t they be happy. So like a woman. Silent, clean, red like a jewel. She wanted to laugh, dizziness made her sway and she fell to the floor on her back. A large dagger of the broken glass stabbed into her lower back. It would add to the artful white lines that already decorated her back. Cold sweat filmed her body before weakness demanded her eyes stay shut. Hours later the sound of glass shifting under weight was the only sound that filled the small inn room. Two paws grasped the edge of the vanity to steady herself as she stood up. The reflection was different this time. Golden hair clung to the sweat sticky cheeks and forehead. Tomorrow she would tie her corset, she would flirt with the boys. Most importantly, tomorrow she would live. An unconvinced grin fitted on her mouth. Because Molly Abernethy looked into the mirror, and the woman staring back at her was herself.
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Post by Yarla on May 15, 2009 7:21:33 GMT -5
Peprika
(pg 13 to R unno..)
There sat a form, lithe, muscled and toned. Her form bent over the water of Brenton’s foreign water passage, the river…no not the river. A river, a river that was not her river, her river was the liquid elixir of the soul, soothing currents a plethora of ecosystem. As the water rippled from the curious peeks of fish, so did her reflection, and as her reflection writhed and contorted so did her mind….so did her mind…
“She is not strong enough, hit her again. What is she gonna do about it” A solid punch thrown, smashing into small otter maid’s face. Red...she saw...red. “Runt…” Jibed the sadistic little calls of her tormenters. A pleading peek to her older brother, a whimpering little call for help. Laughter follows. “Do it on your own….what do you need me for?” came his despondent response.
Ripples, ripples, tormenting confusion as the voices, the lovely voices cried out to her. “Rika” the whisperings raged and bubbled within her … “Rika…” Young eyes glaze over, and an overwhelming cry of chaotic rage reverberates, resonates…collapse of mental well being.
“Stop…stop…guys I think she’s changed….maybe we should quit while we are ahead?” Heckling laughter “No, the little bastard doesn’t have the gift, the elders just made it up to cover for her being the smallest of this years litter. Isn’t that right Riiiikkaaa.” Dirt kicked into a young otter maid’s eyes….gritted teeth.
“Cut it out iffen yeh know whats best fer yeh…” Came the muted warning, the maid’s tone like the cringing screech of the gates of hell opening up to enslave a soul. “ooh I am soooo scaared…” The maid stands up slowly, head tilted and eyes, blood lusting eyes that did not, and should not belong to her opened wide. Blood curdling screech, eyes rolled back…she lunged.
Another ripple.
Blood on her hands “but oi thought yeh loved me….” The gun sat pointed towards the sun, as the otter lay nestled in the crook of her arms. “Rika…” “Don’t call meh thah” gurgling laughter that drew blood and caused him to wheeze for air. “Pep…still my gal. I do love you..thats why I did it…they would have gotten you…and I could not bear it..” “Cadence d’nah speak yer gonnah be all roigh allah oi gotta do is…” “No Peprika…it is too late for me…get out of here or they will find you….” “But..”
Water droplets maneuver her image for a final time as a fish darts by after a struggling bug.
“RIKA! KILL HIM DO IT NOW!” A well placed throw, the enigmatic enthusiastic spurt and geyser like shooting of blood as the blade snapped cruelly into the jugular vein of her opponent. “BEHIND YOU!” Her rudder, solid, bursting the tender skull of one who would be foolish enough to attempt a cowardly back attack. Maniacal laughter. “To your right!” “got eh sah!” Second blade snapped outward as she literally danced out of reach newly acquired bangles ringing and tolling out death to anyone in range.
Dangerous maneuver of her hips, the winding of her body, the placement of arms and feet, such a lethal combination of woman hood and fury. The blade, always snaking out and retracting, painting and staining the earth crimson. The spectacle, when seen from a third person view quite gruesome. For as the otter killed she danced where her enemies lie. “RIKA, RIKA…No…No NOOOOOO”
SPLASH
It had seemed while her scattered memories took over, the otter had fallen into the river, thus breaking the train of thought. Surfacing easily, the otter maid sputters and crawls to Brenton’s shores. There had been a reason why she left that place…it was not her river anymore. As the minutes ticked on, the maid sinks to the ground, and curls up into the fetal position and rocks back and forth slowly. Eyes closed, miniature salty rivulets slither down her cheeks…she ached. Every part of her ached…but most of all she hated. She hated like nothing else in this world…the name, the being, the essence, the person, the reflection.
She hated Rika, and in hating her, she hated a part of herself that refused to stay submerged beneath the depths of happier memories within her mind.
(Faaaaiiil)
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Cage Oukami
Greenhorn
The way I see it, I AM the justice around here.
Posts: 21
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Post by Cage Oukami on May 15, 2009 14:46:56 GMT -5
Darkness. He was standing, his grip on the butt of his weapon firm. He heard the sound of feet shuffling on the grass and ducked quickly. A whisper, right where his head would've been. Another shuffle and he raised his weapon and immediately the sound of two heavy wooden objects colliding cracked through the still spring air. He moved easily, blocking and ducking from the sound his opponent's feet made on the grass. This was it! One mistep and Cage lunged in. He swung his weapon and felt it crack on his opponents hip. The man cried out in pain and Cage removed the blindfold and looked around. But in the crowd he saw only blank faces.. He looked up in time to see one of his best friend's face explode in gore. Men rode by on horseback, shooting into the crowd. These people he called family were being murdered by his own kind. Cage ducked into a tent and picked up his 'fathers' sword. He ran out just in time to watch his 'mother' cut down by a man on horseback. With a roar Cage charged and-
Cage awoke, gasping for breath. He looked around quickly and sighed. Nightmares from his childhood.. He looked down at all the scars that ran across his body. The red slashes of fur in his midnight pelt. He stood and stretched, squinting in the morning sun. So much had happened since his childhood.. Damn, it was hot.. He glared up at the sun and began to walk along the street aimlessly. Sure, his life had a new purpose now, but that didn't stop the scars of his past from shining through. After a few hours of wondering, he stopped and started to laugh to himself. Damn, he hadn't killed in sooo long.. His silver eyes scanned the street and he cast a crazed look at a man who was staring at him from across the street. The man cried out and fled. It was so hard to resist.. but Cage let the innocent man live another day. He looked up at the sky and roared in frustaton as he holstered his .44 Dragoon. Someone would pay.. Not enough people had been punished for the sins commited that day so long ago. His parents- the real ones. They had suffered at the hands of their only son. So many more would suffer.. But so many more had to be saved..
He stumbled into the town's Saloon and sat down at a table. He looked around in time to see a small exchange between a couple. The female left,leaving the man with only a hard on and a card- the queen of hearts.
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Post by endymien on May 16, 2009 13:38:01 GMT -5
[Awesome job peoples! And, btw Yarla, not fail. Brenton has some sad little peoples. ):]
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Post by endymien on May 16, 2009 14:05:16 GMT -5
[G. Giving a note, though I think it is mostly obvious. Not adult Endy- eight year old Endy. Something less dark! :3]
Endymien heard the clicking of his shoes against the stone streets, felt the wooden gun in his tight grip, smelled the urine scented gutters. With indescribable joy he pushed forward, faster. He was winning, he could not even hear the sound of the two boys behind him.
The escape had been planned perfect. Little feet began to slow and he started gasping to catch his breath, hands on his knees and bending over. The sweet sweet feeling of success!
Lifting his head he caught his reflection in the glass window front, the eight year old was a good deal shorter than those stuffy adults passing by, but he was a man!
He had personally on his own just robbed the biggest bank in New York with out a single other kid, then escaped from the island prison.
All of this had, of course, happened in Jack’s bedroom. Child’s paw lifted the gun to the window, closing an eye, he made a noise with his mouth. “Psht psht psht! Cssssss sht! Cringling!”
The window of the shop was being shot out, innocent bystanders screamed in horror as Demi the Devil of the Streets, The Sharp Shooter of Ney York, The Fear of All Good Men Ever in the World, robbed the helpless little store.
He would have to tell Jack later of his tremendous act, and the wonderful new nicknames. Surely it would lead to another life time sentence in jail. Or maybe even a hanging. Another escape, and another robbery. Nothing to think about or worry about. Bed time was avoidable if he played his hand right. Dinner was always delicious. This was the life. He let his bottom flop down on the street corner, which had certainly at one point or another been used as a toilet. His corner. The shop behind him, home. It would take more than a prison to keep him away, more than his death!
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Post by malicia on May 25, 2009 21:45:26 GMT -5
Sweet sixteen of Katharina!
The young damsel was dressed richly, gown of silk and lace, very beautyfully sewn. The pale blue and soft lavander looked simply ravashing on the young feline. Her face was delicate and her lips were full. Her body was perfectly perfect, she seemed to have everything on this sixteenth birthday. The pastries laid in front of her after the copious meal of venisson and patridge. Feasant stuffed on the table while the music rang clear for all to dance. Many young men, pretenders, came to ask for a dance from the young Archduchess.
Everything should be perfect no? all a young girl`s desires were there, for her... But she denied the dances, refused the meals and rejected the festivities. Once all were enjoying themselves and all wished her a happy birthday, she vanished from the scenery. She walked down to the stables. The night was rainy and the floor was muddy. Shoes sank into the mud with a squish sound. Amused, she laughed and took them off, catching onto invisible notes of music in her head. The steps she used were lighter, more playful than the Viennese waltz all were dancing inside the castle. The stable boy caught her doing so and got a violing, fiddling on it to accompany her! She danced as the skies poured, her feet covered in mud and dirt. The pretty dress all smooshed down and soaked. The young girl's hair got undone and fell onto her shoulders. A bit of a laugh was given.
She twirled and jigged, thinking how she desired this simple life. Finally, after a long while, she sat herself down on a log with the stable boy, smiling to him. "These people inside, they are hypocrits, vaultures. They never noticed my abscence, they simply gorge themselves with food and wine and dance like sinking rocks and sticks. They disgust me Samuel, they truely do." The young man hugged her, but remained silent. The two lovebirds seemed quite happy at that moment. Katharina was purring, breathing softly as she closed her eyes. She taught this was bliss. That music should be enjoyed, not an instrument of torture, that food should not be so heavy and that wine was the source of all evil. Amidst the rain and horses, she enjoyed having her dress dirty and her feet grimmey. She pulled the young man with her to the stables, where it was warmer and hugged onto him. His scent was musky and tempting. Unlike the scent of all these faux charmings that smelled like they soaked in cologne for hours. She hated the powder and the lack of natural in them. But her joy was soon cut short as mother came in with two guards... The pair was taken appart. The young man sent who knows where and poor Katharina was sent to bathe and go to her room. Another man of prestige was standing with the foul ones, dressed sharply with a smug grin on his face. The girl, in confinement, knew what was comming.
She stood in front of her mirror, dressed once more in an expenssive gown. Crying. It burned, these clothing burned so much to her. The shoes were crippling. She looked to her chamber maid desperately, knowing fully well why that man wanted her away from the stable boy. Deals had been made. The young duchess was horrified. She didn`t see herself in her mirror, she saw what she would become if nothing was done! She saw the horrors of being taken without a choice, she saw more of those horrid people around her. That prince wanted thed her to be his wife, more like his silent slave. She cried.... Long into the night, sitting in front of the glass. Until she broke! "I will NOT let THIS happen to ME!!" she roared, grabbing a stone vase and throwing it at her image. The glass shattered in hundreds of peices and so did her mind!
Katharina packed everything she could with the help of her chamber maid. Anything of worth in her room was taken to be used as tokens. The girl was smart enought to know she would need it. She packed her birth certificate where it wouldn`t be seen. From her window, she climbed down in the most modest dress she owned. The solid vines held her lithe body well. Sneaking passed the kitchen and torwards the stables. She told the old stable master that she needed to leave. He picked the fastest horse of the lot and sent her off to a friend of his his, to send her to America. She hoped, hoped so hard she could be free. Just sixteen today, a royal fugitive. But she knew, being brave would take her long ways. Resolved, she wouldn`t fear death.
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Post by The Gun-Born Wolf on May 25, 2009 22:48:21 GMT -5
WHOO! David's Past. Rated PG-13 or Rated R. Whatever.
David's Past Ch 1!
His footsteps became heavy as he ran through a nearby forest, arms full with guns. He rushed through every tree and headed towards Abdera. A overgrown branch tripped David as he fell face first into a puddle, yelping first. He got up to his knees and looked at his reflection: Innocent blue eyes, black hair, young cute face of 8 years of age. None of which screamed hostile. His slim arms began picking up the weapons as he headed towards Abdera that now homed a bonfire in the middle of the town. The scent smelled of bodies. His fear arisen and he had ran even faster towards the town. Ducking and hiding on the earthen walls, unseen to the eyes of the Whitemen upon the near Verandas. He fled into his sister's gunshop. His stance became statuate as his sister, V, pulled a gun on him and would onhly hush him as he whimpered, dropped the guns, and scurried towards her feet. Tears began forming around his eyes as his head as carressed between his sister's loving arms. He clenched his eyes tight as torches passed the window near them, his sister's arms hugged tighter but her thumb cocked the hammer back on her gun. As the scene followed V, took David by the cheeks and would coo to him as her fingers traced and wiped the tears from his eyes. She began eyeing Nicholas, in his carriage still sound asleep, and the other sister, Mercedes, whom began loading the weapons.
"Shush... Hush now, Canor... Look! I have something to show you!" Velvet began comforting as she held David in her arms, "Schofields! They're for you... I-I-I'll call them Spades! After your favorite card..." she presented him with a single Black-metaled Schofield Model 3, the ivory grips looking for engraving. Her arm still held him while her other hand searched for the knife. As she had it, she began carving solidly into the grips a Spade. Handing to him, she hushed, "There, there... Don't be afraid." David looked right back into her eyes and only began crying silently against her budding bosom as she still held him. Hugging him close, she'd coo again, "Everything's going to be alright... Don't worry-" She stopped to place a paw over his mouth as a figure appeared over the paper-overed window that shown a silhouette of a man with an extremely large hat. The man handled the door and realizing it was locked, faltered and carryed on. Velvet kissed David on the cheek and would walk over to the door, her own gun cocked.
David looked at the gun and would grab her dress as she began to walk towards the door. He would only stop as she placed the gun in his hands and would again look through the paper. His paws examined the Schofield as he looked at it with some excitement. Checking the cylinder, he noticed it was loaded. For what? She said everything was going to be alright. Gulping, he only leaned against the counter. His senses relieved but only to find that he was staring back straight at a white hooded creeper that screamed, "Hey, ya'll We got some N*ggers up in here!" Velvet then immediatly circled to fire a round into the throat of the albino ferret. Racing towards David, she took him by the shoulder and ordered Mercedes to follow them, carrying Nicholas upstairs with them. David's heart ran where his feet fumbled. Up the attic, he only winced as the orders to stay put were snapped by his sister who left thereafter. He hugged his legs together, SChofield by his feet, and cradled himself. His body shook and he yelped as gunshots were heard. He cried more as bodies fell and he heard his sister screaming. Slamming the attic doors open a big screaming, "NO!" was heard as he saw his sister overwhelmed and himself was took by both his arms and kicked into the stomach, making him fumble to the ground. His hair was pulled downwards and saw as a white pitbull began heating a large iron.
"This'll teach you N*ggers to mess with good 'ol U.S and A!" The iron was placed under his eye and his senses screamed. His whole body shook and his mouth screamed and yelped as the white hot iron cross was bled into his upper cheek. His feet kicked out from under him which made his lay on his butt, kicking out. The iron was pulled out but he still screamed. In the background,he saw a large white polar bear rip the clothing away from his sister, pinning her to the bed. He screamed out and retracted his leg which was kicked into the groin of his brander, breaking the soft organs. His right hand took the Colt Peacemaker from his captee's obsolete holster. Shooting the one who held him in the testicles and the other in the eye, he threw the peacemaker away after he shot another ferret. He heard his sister's screams and would only imagine the worst. Paw grabbed his Spade where it would fire 5 death shells into the chest of the Polar bear as he almost pressed in against her. The bullets went right through the polar bear, pushing the lungs to his spine and creating the organs into mulch. The large ursine fell out the upstairs window and was dead before he hit the ground. Sprinting towards his sister he could only drop his gun and would be held in his now naked sister's arms again as he repeated, "I didn't want them to hurt you... I didn't want them to hurt you... I didn't want them to hurt you... I-" Another ferret walked into the door way. -------------------------------------
David awoke from his nightmare that played a true story. His story. His hand gripped his own brother's neck and placed the barrel of a Spade into the mouth of Nicholas, "Fucker DIE!" he froze and realized what he was doing before he pulled the trigger. Panting, he let go of his grip. Nicholas only choked and coughed before saying, "It was the dream again weren't? ... I wanna know what happend..."
David only dropped the gun near his feet and would say in solemn conviction, "I ran through a forest..."
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Post by endymien on May 27, 2009 2:22:21 GMT -5
[PG]
[Setting: Train towards Brenton, 6 months past. Molly Abernethy ]
Behind a wall built of hay bales in a stock car. It had worked for a few days now, no one had seen her. For all they knew she had gotten of in Alexandria like she had paid to. Molly did not mind the lack of food, two days was nothing compared to a week. Right next to her although intended for horses was plenty of hay if she became desperate. Unlikely there was any nutrition in it, she had figured. At first the smell had bothered her, stink of horses and sheep. On a brave trip to relieve herself she thought she saw a big old bull. Perhaps that was her imagination though. She was as aware as anyone that she was a little for the dramatics and possibly a bit more passionate than necessary. It had been stated on numerous occasions that she should be put in a home.. what she knew to be a ward. Crazy, but not that crazy. If she were to put words to it, it would be feisty and enthusiastic. Not crazy.
Most prized possession was almost always in paw. A tintype of a handsome fox in Confederate uniform. Lithe, maybe too tall. All the right angles, though. It was style not to smile, but the young man in the tintype couldn't keep a straight face. From the looks of the image, dark fur and eyes light enough to look white in an image of gray. Enough to bring back memories, enough to make the scars on her back sting. Both worth it.
You couldn't call it love. At least not the love of two who were bound to get married. It was beyond the love for a brother though, even though now she realized that is very likely what they were. Dramatic and active imagination would have put it into a Shakespearean tragedy. Two childhood friends as close as any. Both from different worlds, rich plantation owners son and the bastard daughter of a maid. Same age except for a few uncounted months. Hot summers in the humid air fishing muddy water creeks and lakes. Chewing wildflowers and grasses to learn the wild tastes, on multiple occasions growing very ill from doing so. It was perfection save from such strongly differing opinions. Irish maids daughter having run around with the children of the slaves on his father's plantation took a different political standpoint as the inheriting son. There was more, of course. States personal power, disagreement on the presidency. He had said, 'what does it matter, you can't vote.' But when they were counted and a new president elect, a finger of accusation was pointed at people like her. He was afraid of the war, but would fight to prove a point. Things were simpler back when proving a point meant keeping your head under water for more than 60 seconds (the only reason she could count that high, if she recalled correctly). Simpler when there were not arranged engagement to rich daughters of neighbor’s. Simpler when they hadn't realized they were more likely than not siblings of different mothers.
The tintype was a beautiful last memory. Long ago, though not really that long.. Too long to have really held on. Letters sent, but none received. When the body didn't show up after his last fought battle, it was assumed he was a deserter. It was a pleasant thought and one she believed whole-heartedly. It was not believed, however, that they would ever meet again. So the tintype was kept in a book which she couldn't read in a sack that was empty but for the book.
Morning rolled around woken by rough kind hands, sleepy mind remembers being told, "sorry miss, no ticket. Brenton is your stop." Being escorted off the train and only realizing once it had pulled away from the station that her sack was left behind. In her sack her last memory. The beautiful Italian fox grinning at her, what if she forgot his face. Her Armanno, whether he be lover or brother or best friend, would never stare back at her again.
Moments of panic followed by reason. All towns had a brothel, and therefore easy money. But first maybe lifting a drink at the saloon. If not a drink, then a fight. It happened that a man in the saloon reeked, and the owner was looking for a fight just as well.
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Post by Gathero on May 30, 2009 22:41:07 GMT -5
An insight into Gath's childhood
There was a loud knock on the doctor's door late into the night. Tomas got up from his bed sighing. It was always never ending work for a doctor. Making sure he looked decent, he answered the door, wondering what sort of patient would greet him on this dark night but to his surprise, there wasn't any.
Not this time anyway. There was old Ben the grizzled grizzly farmer who looked rather annoyed, holding his younger brother by the scruff of his neck. The young boy of eight was kicking and struggling, yelling "LET ME GO!"
There would be silence between the two adults with the older coyote giving the bear an apologetic smile. With a grunt, the bear dropped the youngster onto the porch and left. It was too late in the night and the boy was a certified trouble maker. "Hey come back here!" Gathero cried shaking his fist futilely at the farmer who disappeared into the night. "Gathero," his brother's voice rang out sharply and the little boy was suddenly reminded that his brother was standing there.
"Get in." That was an order and the youngster scooted into their living room where his brother could get a better look at him. Completely covered in mud and leaves, Tomas could only think of the various adventures his brother had while being out tonight, but he'd probably never find out... at least not until a bill came or something.
There would only be silence between the two brothers, as the older regarded his grubby little brother with eyes that spoke all that he wanted to say. There was no anger, only disappointment. Without a word more, the older sibling left for his bedroom, leaving the youngster alone, squirming uncomfortably in the spot where he stood.
The next day though, when Tomas came back from his office, he found the house spotlessly clean and a simple meal sitting on the table, and a guilty looking little brother, who gazed at the floor, fidgeting a little. The older sibling chuckled, ruffling the hair of his little brother.
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Post by endymien on May 31, 2009 21:18:31 GMT -5
[Young Gath is a cutie! <3]
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Post by malicia on Jun 1, 2009 19:45:55 GMT -5
Letter to Soeur Marie Helene [g rated]
Melissa tapped the quill on the paper a few times and sighed. It was the third time she was pregnant and she was happy. She would have a second child in the living world. She smiled a bit and murred. Gathero was having a nap and she was quite satisfied with that. "Sister Marie Helene, I do hope you get this letter."
She couldn`t help but remember the orphange, how she was raised. Surely it was harsh, but it made her into a rather tough woman and she was proud of that achievement. She wrote down quietly: Dear sister Marie Helene, I am writting to you to bring you news. I have long left the colonies to go establish myself in the west. A small town named Brenton. The weather here is harsh and dry. But my heart now belongs here. Since my last letter from the sanitarium, my husband and child passed on. I miss them very much. Sometimes it is hard to not cry at dinner time. I have remarried of course. He is wonderful, funny and quite kind, I love him truely. Jason is the sheriff of Brenton. A very devoted man to both the town and his family. I am quite proud to be his wife for sure. Many younger and more attractive girls had tried to get his attention before and still but he remains loyal. My son, Gathero, named after a true good friend of our family, enjoys life very much. I grow older yes, but I feel like a young bride still. Brenton indeed has my heart. I have been tending to the ill and injured as much as I could and became one of the two practicians. I understand that you are completely against women working outside the house, but I have managed to do both quite well. Surely little Gathero shows interest in the practice. I hope he will also be a doctor like his uncle. I am very proud of him. I am very proud of my whole family. Surely God will be happy that I have worked so hard to make as many as possible happy. I have tried my best to keep faith well alive in my heart. I have prayed for you and the orphange every morning. I would like to ask a favour, if a candle could be lit for a young woman. Her name was Mylene Bardeaux, she was very ill and had accident in which she perished. Such a young girl with so much love to give. I wish her peace and pray for her. A candle at the cathedral would be a gift of hope from her to all the sickly ones. The preist in this town is quite kind, but yet I find him a little missguided at times, I pray that god helps him find his way. From what I know, his life has been a complete mess as well and I am not convinced that he sorted his way out. Malicia is doing fine as well, she married and has twin daughters. She takes good care of them and her husband. A better wife than expected. She lives in the same town. We couldn`t stay apart for long. I know you always taught me that she was a bad influence, but she had done well for herself. I wish you well and the rest of the sisters as well. I am happy with the life I have and I am gratefull for all the things you have done for me.
Sincerely Melissa Verg
Melissa folded the long letter and placed it into an enveloppe, unsure if the woman who she adressed it to was still living. She smiled still. Thinking back to her childhood, to all she had lost and to all she has gained. She saw herself trough that letter as someone who made a difference. Soon she would have another one to make a difference to!
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Post by jasonverg on Jun 22, 2009 0:02:06 GMT -5
PG-13
Confessions of a lawman.
Jason sat on his chair infront of the burning fireplace in his home. He was shirtless and the only thing that covered his torso was a torso holster that had a Smith&Wesson in it. Incidentaly his leather gloves were still on. His mind still dwelled on that fatefull evening when Johnny had been brought in a day after he had shot him. He still remembered how much his wife strived to save him. How bad he and her both felt when he died. And his surprise and horror when he found out he was a State Marshal. Although the details were explained and no charges were ever made the incident weighed heavy on his heart. It was his first kill and it was a night where he could just not get it out of his mind. Mellissa probably already realized he was out of bed. But she better then any wife understood those times a man needed to be alone. His son was sound asleep in his bed. He was glad that he was sleeping more peacefully now.
His mind flashed back to a previous incident during his first time as Sheriff. He had aprehended a angry customer at the Barber Shop over what he considered to be a over priced shave. He only got two steps outside before the man took of running. He tracked him behind the corral when he began shooting. He got knicked here and there but managed to cripple and dissarm him. As he began to pick the man up he spat in his face. And the words that came out of his mouth now spoke louder then they had at that time. "Heh, your a joke you damn lilly livered Sheriff. You aint got any guts underneath that stupid coat you wear. There is nothing more damn funny or stupid then a gunslinger who cant kill. You think you can get by like that lawman? Your just plain stupid if you do. One day your either going to have to kill or be killed. Their aint going to be any in between choices for you."
He shrugged it off. The man was just angry that he was going to be sitting behind steel bars and felt like blowing smoke at him. But now he realized just how right the man was. There was not always a side option. That was the idea of the gun the moment the Spanish and French picked up the matchlock and began shooting eachother on the battlefield. He could not always take them in alive. He never wanted to face up to that fact but now it just slugged him and was starring him in the face. Well it was time to accept and let go of that incident. The strangest part was the fact that the man was a State Marshal did not seem to bother him. Probably because of how crazy he turned out to be and how well the State seemed to understand that. It was time to let go. He had a wife and son to protect and a whole Town relying on him and his deputies. He could not lead two good Lawmen into a fight with doubts like this crossing his mind. He stroked his hair back with his right hand before clossing the doors to the fireplace and then heading to his son's bedroom. He would give his sleeping son a kiss on the forehead. "I love you Gath." He would say lovingly before heading back to his bedroom after closing his sons door. He would remove his holster and place it on the table on his side of the bed before slipping under the covers and wrapping his arms around his wife.
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Post by Gathero on Jun 22, 2009 10:17:58 GMT -5
awww =3
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