Always Alone

Hey there! Here's a lovely little piece on my ever-depressed young witch/werewolf, Cleo!

Cleo sighed heavily. She glanced around at the cheery lights, the fire blazing in the hearth, the smell of pumpkin spice coming from her favorite candles…everything was right, so why wasn’t she happy? Her family was out of town for the holidays, so she had the house to herself. Not that they knew that. She hugged her red sweater tighter to her skinny form and carried her mug of apple cider over to the couch. The cat was nowhere to be seen. No surprise there.
She wrapped her sweater-covered hands around the mug and sipped it, scorching her tongue. Double sigh. She flicked her wand at the stereo and Christmas music with the lilting tone of the Celtic women drifted into the living room. Outside, it was cold as a fridge, but no snow. It never snowed in Limerick, though it rained a good deal, probably contributing to their sky-high suicide rates.
She shook her head. She’d come here to have a nice warm evening. So, like all her plans, it was going great. She set her mug down and picked up the crumpled up bit of parchment she’d set on the coffee table earlier. It was clear by the way it was wrinkled and beaten she’d read it dozens of times, but she read it again, drinking in the words like a dozen cups of rich apple cider. It was the last bit that really made her heart warm: With love from the deepest depths of my heart, Rackal.
Even now, it made that stupid, silly smile cross her face which would make her die of embarrassment if Rackal ever saw. She held the parchment to her regrettably flat chest. Rackal. Her…what? Friend was too casual for what they were. And yet, she hesitated to use ‘boyfriend’. It too, seemed inappropriate for her relationship with the Orro heir. And they’d never actually been on a real date.
“Oh, who cares?” she breathed to herself. She cast a dismal look down at the letter. If only he were with her now! But no…she wouldn’t want that. Then he’d have to see this little hovel where she’d spent her childhood, and there would be questions. Always questions. Not just Rackal, but everyone. With those ridiculous, concerned looks on their faces. Like by growing up poor, she was automatically bound to have psychological issues.
Again, she shook the thoughts from her mind and laid back on the worn but comfortable couch. For the first time in weeks her toes and fingertips didn’t feel like icicles, her breath wasn’t visible inside and her stomach was full. She really had nothing to complain about. She thought about turning on the TV and watching some cheesy Christmas specials, but for now she decided to just listen to her music. She picked up the letter and read it again. She’d memorized it the first run through, though, so she didn’t have to read it to know what it said. But it was something else letting her eyes skim over Rackal’s elegant, careful script. It was more like the words were from him, then when she simply recalled them from her memory.
Had she replied? She couldn’t remember. She must have. She was terrible about getting back to people. She was so busy! Especially now that she was balancing multiple part-time jobs, trying to get a hold of that scientist in Romania and having to keep up payments on her decrepit old apartment. No wonder she’d broken into her parent’s house. Suddenly, she was gripped by a terrible fear that she hadn’t replied. What would he think then? It was Christmas and she didn’t even reply to his letter? She’d kept them all. They were all stowed in a water-proof box beneath her bed back in the apartment, and she’d started marking the ones she’d replied to, but then she’d forgotten to mark them. She must have replied to this one. It was so heartfelt. And the invitation to come over was so sweet, even though he must know she’d never on her life take it up. The less his parents knew of her, the better. In fact, she’d prefer to stay off their radar altogether. Would she kill and die to spend Christmas with Rackal, whether it be in his lovely mansion or a cardboard box? Yes, absolutely. Would she put up with the insults, snide comments and general hostility that was sure to come of her appearing anywhere on the Orro property? No, not a chance. She took enough abuse already without welcoming it. I’m sorry, love, she thought with chagrin.
Drawing the quilt over herself, she curled up on the couch and carefully folded Rackal’s letter, setting it on the table, but just as quickly snatching it back and placing it beneath her pillow, where her hand could rest on it. Perhaps, miles and miles away in London, Rackal could feel that she was thinking of him. She hoped so.

Wartime Jigs

So, haven't been doing a lot of review lately. Sorry 'bout that. Tech week for my play is upon me, and I'm busy as all out. Instead, enjoy another vignette about my nameless couple. Much to my displeasure, I was forced to name a few people in this one to make it clear.

“You should go dance,” Xavier said lazily from her left, indicating the rest of the group, spinning around in gleeful circles to the sound of fiddles playing.

“Not a chance,” she said, crossing her arms and legs, sullenly refusing to look at the man on her other side, who was showing the same level of apathy towards the situation.

“You should mingle with kids your age,” Xavier said. She snorted and cast a glance to her right. Yeah, kids her age. What a joke.

“I don’t want to.”

“It’s being broadcast back home.” She sat bolt upright in her seat.

“Then my family will see this?” she asked.

Xavier nodded.

“Come on,” she grabbed the other man’s hand, jerking him off his feet and dragging him onto the dance floor, despite his adamant protests. “New Year’s Eve jig,” she said to him.

“I don’t know it,” he drawled, folding his arms.

“You’re a terrible liar,” she snapped. “Don’t be more thick than you can help. EVERYONE from home knows the New Year’s Eve jig.” She gave him such a glare that he relented and allowed himself to be pulled into the dance.

To his surprise, she did know the jig, and although she wasn’t the most graceful dancer, she had more energy than the would have thought she could muster for an inane function like this. Ah, the New Year’s Eve jig. It definitely brought back memories; of cold, icy streets, snow softly falling, fires smoldering in the fire place and the sound of lively fiddles playing. The New Year’s Eve jig was all the good things from home, and none of the desperation.

But at the same time, he couldn’t help but feel like a moron. Dancing a jig. He was a bloody Commander. He was THE Commander, and he was dancing a jig with a seventeen year old girl, who’d threatened him into it. However, his determination to scowl through the whole thing was soon lost.

As they danced, they got more and more caught up in the energy, and he caught a look at the was something akin to happiness on her breathless face. She spun and twirled and kicked like she had forgotten all the terrible things that had happened to them. She didn’t hesitate to link her arm with his and dance in a circle, as it required, when the time came. In fact, she seemed oblivious to all her typical boundaries, but he had no doubt that this was more for the sake of letting her family see she was alright than with any desire to be close to him. Even so, she seemed to get more and more light on her feet as they moved, as though she were actually enjoying it. He wasn’t sure what to do with that. As she’d pointed out, he was a terrible liar, but she could give lessons in how to deceive.

She let him wrap his arm around her waist and take her hand and dance her up the center of the floor, and then spin her in a circle, her curls flying out around her. As she swirled back for a brief two-step together, and then move on, he thought he spotted a smile -impossible!- on her face.

When they at last stopped, they were in the center of a circle, which cheered and grinned. She lay draped over his arm, panting and he was balanced almost solely on one foot. The biggest grins of course, belonged to Kerwit and the Terrible Triplets, who looked like they were all thinking of a million ways to mock him for this. Orbokov was nowhere to be seen, which was a massive relief. He hated to think what she’d make of this; she was smart enough to see past the innocent façade that the rest of the party saw.

But when he glanced down at her face, shinning and ruddy with exertion, her eyes sparkling with something he’d never seen there before, it seemed worth it. Almost. He straightened her up and started to lead her back to the table, but she unexpectedly caught his hand. He turned to give her a puzzled look, and she hesitated a moment, as if she were going to ask something, but then she said coolly, “Bring me some punch, won’t you?”

As usual, it wasn’t a question. He sighed and let go of her, making his way through the crowd to the punch bowl.

She weaved her way over to the table and sat down, crossing her legs and looking almost wistfully out at the other couples dancing. The words, killed in their voicing by that…that look from him, were still frozen on her lips: Would you dance another with me?

Nightmares

Here's another short with my two nameless people, who seem to have serious relationship problems. But that's the fun in writing about them!

“Clarice!”
He sat bolt upright in bed, his bare, thin chest heaving, his eyes wide, terror pounding in his veins. Again and again in his mind he saw the flames engulf the house, heard his sister’s cry pierce the air. It didn’t matter that he hadn’t been there; he could see it in his mind all the same. The heat felt sweltering even in the tepid air of his bedroom. His hand flew across the sheets and hit the cool indent where she had been sleeping and a pang of disappointment shot through him. She must have left again. Most nights she left. Even several heartbeats after waking, the horror and fear did not fade, but remained as prominent as ever.

He glanced up, feeling eyes on him, and saw her standing there in the doorway, dressed in a sheer bluish nightgown, a lit cigarette in one hand. She was staring at him, looking a little alarmed, and very much like she didn’t know what to do. Moonlight from the tiny window on the wall lit against her bleach-blonde hair, making it seem very out of place against her swarthy skin. She said something, softly, uncertainly. His name. He didn’t reply. The flames licked the edges of his vision, and he could feel the burn sear across his chest once more.

“I thought you had gone,” he managed to choke out, staring off at his terrible vision.

“I woke up…I decided to go out for a smoke,” she said, sounding utterly bewildered as to what to do next.

He nodded slowly, and turned his head away, trying to hide his face in the darkness. She approached slowly, her feet shuffling against the carpet. She put out her cigarette in the ashtray by his bed and much to his surprise, lowered herself down onto the edge of the bed next to him.

She shook slightly (if only he knew the internal battle she was fighting!) as she wrapped her arms around his torso. She rested her chin on his good shoulder and whispered, “I miss my sisters too.”

Of all the things she could have said, nothing could have unhinged him more. He could feel the sobs catching in his chest, but he refused to let them come. He was stunned that she was allowed this kind of touch, the kind that denoted affection and not simple lust. He settled his arms around her waist and took comfort in her familiar curves, hiding his face in the stray blonde curls that brushed the base of her neck.

All his energy was now concentrated on not weeping. Of all people, she understood best the flashbacks, the pain, the loss…No one else knew it like she did. All had lost family…but their families had died as a direct result of their insurrection, of their dissent. They were the faces, the instigators of the rebellion, and as such the death of their families was on their shoulders alone.

Damn. Too much thinking. A few lone tears oozed from his eyes, and dripped onto her shoulders, tight with muscle that she worked every day. He felt her stiffen in shock, and then her arms tightened almost infinitesimally around him. Suddenly, he didn’t care how rare this touch was. He didn’t care that it might never happen again, that she most likely thought him weak for crying. He’d never seen her cry. She was letting it happen, and she had spoken of her sisters, which she almost never did. So she must care…right?

He pressed his cheek against her shoulder, feeling the silent tears wrack his ruined body. She didn’t speak, but he could feel her discomfort acutely. Yet she didn’t move. She stayed, and offered her shoulder to him. And that was everything at the moment.

After a long while, she said roughly, “No crying now…if the president finds out, she’ll find a way to tap into this water resource.”

He let out a huff of breath through his nose. She never could be serious for long, unless she was insulting someone. He pulled back and they looked awkwardly at one another. At last she said with a touch of impatience, “Well, scoot over!”

Was there no end to the ways she’d stun him tonight? Wordlessly, he moved over a few inches on the bed. She slipped beneath the covers and snuggled into the pillow, close enough for him to touch her. He could hardly believe she was inviting what it looked like…generally, if she stayed, she slept far enough off that even with his arm stretched out he couldn’t hold onto her.

She shifted pointedly, and sighed. Slowly, tentatively, he settled down next to her, and put one arm around her waist, pulling her into the curve of his body. She didn’t protest, or slug him in the gut, which was her usual response. He laid his head down on the pillow behind hers, and wondered perhaps, if she wanted protection from the nightmares too. It wasn’t inconceivable, considering all that had happened. She was human too, after all.

School

Today I discovered the real uselessness of school. After being rear-ended, I went to the doctor to see if there were any ill effects. There weren't, but it was decided I should stay home anyway, lest something develop. Deciding to be productive, I got started on the crap-load of AP World History homework I had to do. Five maps and 3 pages of notes. I managed to finish all of it in less than three hours. I then cleaned my room and the kitchen before school even lets out. This says something very wrong about our school system. I was more productive alternately chatting online and doing homework in three hours than I am in eight hours of straight school. Maybe it's time for a reform?

P.S. Iggy won the poll

Jealous?

Here's a short original I wrote for fun. The charecter of Finnick Wonder-boy was taken from the Hunger Games. Enjoy!

~~Warning: There is cussing and sexual referrences in this. FYI.

Where was she? His eyes scanned the room, but only the few who knew him well would know how intently he was focused on finding something. Her. There she was! Instantly his hand tightened around his wine glass, a muscle tightened in his jaw. What was she doing talking to Finnick Wonder-boy? They talked far too much lately in his opinion.
He watched in dismay as the surly look slipped off her face, and she got that trying-not-to-smile look on her face, and rolled her eyes good-naturedly. Finnick Wonder-boy grinned and offered her something from the palm of his hand; she took and ate whatever it was. Someone mumbled for him to move so they could pass and he stepped to the side, his eyes still fixed on the couple on the far side of the room.
Finnick Wonder-boy leaned in and whispered something in her ear, and she laughed. She laughed! It was short and small, but still! She'd never once laughed at anything he said! She'd almost never even smiled. Most often she scowled and was in general irritated in his presence, like someone was forcing her to be there. And Finnick Wonder-boy! Who did he think he was? If he'd ever tried to whisper in her ear like that, she'd elbow him in the gut, at the very least! He realized he was holding his glass tight enough to shatter it. They were still talking…
Then without warning, Finnick Wonder-boy slung an arm around her shoulders and pulled her in for a lip-lock kiss. Crack! The glass exploded all over him, dripping wine over his shoes and the floor, embedding glass shards in his hand. He waited for her to pull away, to smack that arrogant bastard Finnick Wonder-boy like he deserved. But she didn't. She didn't move until Finnick let her go, and even then she merely rolled her eyes and turned away from him. Of course he leaned over her shoulder, trying to regain favor. She pushed him off, but she wasn't really into it. He could tell. If she really wanted Finnick Wonder-boy to leave, she drop-kick him in the gut. But she didn't. He didn't get it! She never kissed him, and only reluctantly allowed him to kiss her, but only in bed, and she acting like it was kissing a cockroach.
He felt like he was barely a step away from throttling that…that…scumbag, man-whore Finnick Wonder-boy. How dared he? How dared he lay a hand on her, kiss her with those filthy lips that had been across the abdomens of half the women in the Capitol alone?
He was so wrapped up in his thoughts, he didn't notice her until she was standing next to him.
"What's gotten into you?" she asked, taking a sip from her wine glass. "You look like you swallowed corrosive acid."
"None of your business," he growled. "And what the hell is up with Finnick? He ought to know better than to kiss you."
She gave him a long look. "Finnick knows where he stands with me," she said at last, taking another sip of wine.
Spots of red swam before his eyes. She really valued Finnick Wonder-boy over him? He'd MURDER that stupid punk!
"Well you sure make it clear where people stand with you," he snarled.
She looked him up and down, taking in the busted wine glass, the furious expression, and her lip curled in disgust. "You're jealous," she said. "Jealous of Finnick."
"Jealous of Finnick Wonder-boy?" he said in disbelief. "What does that man-whore have that I could possibly want?"
"My attention," came the short reply.
He was so close to losing it and breaking into a full-scale yelling match with her in the middle of the crowded room.
"You think I care about your attention? What would I want with an arrogant little slut who's hardly half my age?" he shot at her.
Her jaw got that familiar set that meant she was ready to kill him. As it was, she said, "Then I suppose you won't miss my company tonight. Or the night after that. Or until I bloody well feel like it." She turned sharply on her heel and strode away, leaving him fuming on his own.
Great. Now she was going to find Finnick Wonder-boy and they'd have a party tonight while he was alone. Just great. Why does everything in my life get fucked up?

Today's Language

This isn't related to any book or movie, it's just a plain ole' rant. People today! Have you ever had the misfortune to be in a discussion with someone who insists on speaking in 'text language' OUT LOUD? This has got to be one of the most obnoxious trends technology has brought about. Using these ridiculous abbreviations like 'Sups' [What's up?] 'Tots' [Totally] or 'lol' [Laugh out Loud] in actually text conversations is mildly understandable, though still irritating. But to use them in face to face conversations as if they were actually words? How lazy are people these days? Or do they somehow think chopping off letters from a recognized English word to make in grammatically incorrect makes them cool?
Whatever the case, these stupid, inane, asinine abbreviations are unforgivable, and use of them should be punishable by death. Anyone who is so pathetically lazy or verbally inept as to have to resort to text speak is obviously mentally impaired in some drastic fashion, and should be given immediate help or be put down for the betterment of society. There are many things we've lost over the years, and some are excusable, but text language should be something we are ashamed of.
For a full report on this, read the next edition of The Barque.

The Heros of Olympus: The Lost Hero

So, this is the follow-up series to Percy Jackson and the Olympians by Rick Riordan. It starts off with three new demigods: Jason, Piper and Leo. Since the writing style is just as awesome as his first series, I'm going to focus now on our new demigods. Warning! There are major spoilers ahead!
Jason is a son of Zeus, and Thalia's sister. Apparently they were separated at birth, yadayadayada. I really don't have any strong opinions on Jason. He didn't really have a strong personality or anything. His powers (controlling air currents and redirecting lightning) were cool, but not excessive.
Piper McLean is a daughter of Aphrodite who has the rare gift of charmspeaking. Piper I honestly find to be a bit of a Mary-Sue. She's always described as 'stunning' and 'beautiful' which I get, since she's a daughter of Aphrodite, but it does go a little overboard. In addition, she's nothing like her airhead siblings, being smart and powerful. She kicks the butt of the head Aphrodite counselor and takes over at the end. Really? So not only is Drew a bully, she can't fight? Piper needs to be taken down a notch, it seems like Riordan is trying to make her perfect, which is sickening.
Leo is cool. I wasn't sure about him at first, but on the second read through, I realized I love Leo. Leo is the troubled kid who makes jokes to cover up his inner turmoil. He's nothing flashy or special like Piper and Jason, he sticks to the background and keeps the group moving. He's got terrible luck with girls (always falls for ones WAY out of his range, ie: Thalia and Kihone, goddess of snow) and his mom died in a fire when he was a kid. He's a son of Hephaestus with the almost unheard of gift of being a firebender. The only problem I have with Leo is at the end, where he becomes head counselor. Just because he discovered Bunker 9 is no reason to dump the head counselor. He's still an inexperienced leader.
Plot! The idea of Gaea waking is absolutely terrifying! I really liked this idea, though I don't think Riordan will be able to top this. The Latin and Greek camps warring was also an awesome idea, and I can't wait to see what the Latin camp has done with Percy! Getting to meet some of the old Greek myths like Midas and Medea was really cool, and I loved Aeolus, the winds master. He was great. In all, this book was every bit as exciting as the first series and promises to have even more action and hilarity in the following books! Keep reading guys!