alle_k00l

FLUFF! Chapter two

2007-08-05T15:09:46Z

So, this is chapter two for ya, please enjoy, and REVIEW! thankies. that's all i have to say today. this is for charlie manson/catiglrprime, whatever else your sn might be, M. luv to ya.

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Chapter Two

Roulette in the Morning

“Izzit morning yet?” Christian wrestled his eyes open, to find a pair of Jade ones with slit pupils staring back at him. The kid was wide awake. Christian yawned, and once again allowed his heavy eyes to drop shut. The only thing he just was NOT proficient at was getting up in the morning. “C’mon! C’mon, you said that today we could paint a mural on the front of the house! You sa-aid!” Christian rolled to his side, attempting to dislodge Kain from his chest.

“Lemme…alone.” He mumbled, wondering why the Kat always had to get up so early. He wasn’t a small child (though he acted like one) and he definitely wasn’t a regular pet, so he was not the type that had to put outside to go to the bathroom in the morning. The least Kain could do was hang out by himself for a few hours while Christian got some much needed rest. But noooooo, Kain insisted on bouncing into Christian’s room at six in the morning, and this time carrying a paint bucket no less. Had Christian promised to paint a mural with Kain today? He had. Oh gods, why didn’t I just buy a regular cat?

Kain watched his master slowly beginning to function. It was always like this in the morning. Secretly, Kain treasured these quiet times, early enough that the birds were still chirruping, and yet the warmth of the summer sun radiated through the open window, carried by beams of liquid gold. The master looked like an angel, sleeping there, surrounded by clean white sheets, and sunlight. Until he started to really wake up, that is. Kain came out of his reverie, and noticed Christian’s tired eyelids beginning to flutter. Quickly, he removed himself from his sitting position on the master’s chest, a mischievous grin spreading across his face, replacing the expression of bliss from a moment before. He scuttled backward, towards the far end of the room. Yes this morning the master would definitely be less than angelic. And Kain intended to be a safe distance away, but not to miss the show.

Christian sat up with a jerk. He blearily shot a black look around the room, hoping it might graze any early risers who might be lurking in the shadows. Suddenly Christian realized that the room was way too bright. Oh, great. That’s why he’d woken (well, semi-woken) up! The stupid cat had opened the blackout blinds. “Kaaaaain?” Christian growled, his voice slowly rising with the drawn out syllable.

“Yes, Master?” Kain grinned, executing a mock salute from across the room. Christian aimed his black look in that general direction, knowing he would miss. Nothing really got to Kain.

“You won’t get to paint any walls today unless you let me sleep for another two hours! Wait…make that four….and I want a martini as well, bartender….” Christian slumped back onto the bed, mumbling to himself. Kain giggled, and hopped across to close the blinds back up, knowing that the pot of coffee he’d put on would wake the master up fully soon enough. Then, on a whim, he bent over and whispered in Christian’s ear,

“Well, I don’t have a martini, but how about some leftover anchovies? They’re fresh out of the trash.” Kain couldn’t stop himself from laughing aloud as he exited the room, followed by the master’s somewhat louder, and more angry rumblings about something along the lines of ‘piranha pizza….with leg braces’.

“Do I smell Costa-Rican black brew? What kind of horrible person are you, to force me to come downstairs! You promised me two more hours of sleep!” Christian inhaled the steam from his mug deeply, already in heaven, drinking in the scent. Kain sat across from him, tapping his feet on the chair legs in rhythm, while contemplating his own mug, which consisted mostly of half and half, and sugar.

“Master, it’s almost seven. Beside, I never promised anything, you were talking to yourself.” Kain grinned oleaginously, but quickly swallowed the smile as he coughed lightly into his hand. Morning throat. Or a hairball. Uugh.

“If you didn’t promise anything, then I didn’t either. We can hire some contractors to paint the mural.” Christian stirred his coffee around, watching the swirls of dark and darker liquid. He didn’t want to go outside. It was Saturday, he was off work, and it promised to be supremely hot outside. All Christian wanted to do was sit inside, and maybe play a few board games with Kain. Maybe even sit at the window and watch other people suffer in the heat. Ooh, and he would certainly take a look at girls sun tanning in (and sometimes out of) their swimsuits from the window facing the beach. Christian smiled to himself.

“NOOO! I wanna paint it! Master….are you having old man thoughts again?” Kain watched Christian turn slightly pink.

“Look, Kain, they’re not ‘old man’ thoughts. They’re healthy, young man thoughts…and you should be having some too soon enough yourself!”

“Yeah, I know.” Kain blushed slightly himself at this admission. He secretly thought sun tanning was a gift from god as well. “But…they are old man thoughts if an old man is having them.”

“KAIN! I’m not OLD! I’m only twenty three! You quit it!” Christian almost stood haughtily, then remembered his treasured coffee, perched precariously on the edge of the cherry hard wood table. His precious coffee, right above his even more precious (Or at least vulnerable) lap. He forced himself to sit still.

“If you’re not an old man, how come you never bring girls home? I mean, you woulda’ thought someone your age would be going out…” Kain put on his innocent expression, biting his tongue to keep from cackling. Christian blushed even more furiously, and scooted his coffee mug to the center of the table, murder in his eyes. Kain scrambled from his seat, almost knocking over the chair in the process.

“Maybe they never came because I NEVR ASKED ONE!” Christian roared, dashing towards Kain. The young Kat high tailed it (literally) out of the room, making his break for the back door, and patio which he was skinny enough to crawl under.

“Okay! I’m SORRY!” Kain shrieked, wrestling the intricately carved wooden screen open, and bursting out into the yard. He hopped on one foot, trying to regain his balance, and redirect his momentum back the way he’d come, his tail flailing wildly with the effort. Christian came careening out the open door, just as Kain flung himself under the safety of the low wooden deck. Panting from running in the heat, Kain slid himself farther into the nest of cobwebs left by spiders over what he deemed centuries. With a gasp, Kain realized his tail was still sticking out. He quickly flicked it under the patio as well, pressing his ears flat against his head so no dirt or bugs would get in them. Glancing back, he could see Christian glaring at him from the yard. Kain risked a bit of relieved, true laughter now. “Okay, if you really think it would be that easy, then I dare ya ta ask a girl if she’ll got out with you!”

“FINE! I will, if you don’t ask me to paint that mural with you!” Christian fumed.

“Aw, but master, I really wanna-”

“Come out from under there, and then we’ll talk.” Kain considered, weighing the options. Some minimal pain, and a chance to embarrass master, or he could stay under the porch, and fry slowly in the heat. Kain braced himself, and scrambled out from the cobwebby cave under the porch.

“OWW!” Kain mewled loudly as Christian grabbed a large handful of his hair, and yanked him to a standing position on the lush lawn grass.

“You know, for someone who normally seems like an innocent little kid, you’re rather conniving, and knowledgeable about adult life. What have you been reading?” A few months previously, Christian had taken on the task of teaching Kain to read. Kain was a quick learner, albeit a little ADD seeming.

“Oh, you know, master…just the internet. I found this site with a bunch of fan fiction…” Kain squirmed, trying to break Christian’s iron grip on his hair. “Just put me down!”

“Fine…but we’re going inside to talk. It’s way too hot out here.” Christian, despite his words, didn’t loosen his hold on Kain’s hair, in order to drag him in through the door. With a sigh of relief, Christian plopped down onto the cushy leather recliner in the living room, and steepled his fingers, ready to bargain. “So…what’s this deal?”

“Okaaaay…if you ask a girl out, and she agrees, then…I won’t paint the mural on the front of the house. It’ll be on the back instead.” Kain perched on his favorite stool, out of place with the rest of the comfy La-Z-boy furniture in the room.

“What kind of deal is that? You still want me to help you paint it, right?” Christian quipped dubiously. Truth be told, it was a big leap. He wouldn’t have some weird painting on the front walk for the neighbors to gossip about. But he would still have to go outside in the heat. So, that wasn’t enough to bargain for. Kain had to put up some larger bait. “I don’t think so. You can’t tempt me with just that.”

“Yes, master, but wouldn’t it be nice to paint it out back? I mean-” Kain attempted lamely. He knew he would have to bet something else. He figured he might have some luck, however. The master seemed to be losing his morning grouchiness. It was like playing Russian roulette in the mornings, living with him. In the mornings in particular because of the shouting lack of the generally present copious amounts of whisky when anyone played that game. “How abou’ I cook dinner for a week?” Kain ventured. He prayed this chamber wasn’t loaded any more that the first bunch he had dared to empty this morning.

“Now that’s more like it! But, wait, Kain, are you going to make the same thing every time?” Christian grinned, watching Kain’s frustrated expression as his plan was ratted out. “Yes, something smelt fishy there. Which is exactly what I DON’T want flopping on my dinner plate the rest of the week.”

“’Kay, master, sir. I’ll make dinner, AND I’ll read the cookbook and find new recipes. And I’ll make some cookies too.” Despite how he seemed, Kain was a good cook when he put his mind to it, and proud of it. All that he lacked was the memory to take things out of the oven or off the stove before they became dragon-style dishes (as in burnt to almost nothing.)If Kain managed to keep the food safe, it was an irresistible deal. Kain snickered to himself. Like a girl would date master!

“Alright…that sounds like a deal.” Christian wondered to himself why he let Kain get away with all the pranks, dares, and tomfoolery the young cat pulled daily. He also wondered why he cleaned up after Kain, and helped him in times of need or want. I guess I like responsibility. Funny, how that’s never applied in the rest of my life. Christian shook his head to rid it of his somewhat tenebrific thoughts, and stood, tugging on the bottom hem of his T-shirt peeling the thin fabric from his sweaty body. He really didn’t deal well with heat. “So, sir, when do you propose we commence the mission? Over.” Christian pretended to speak into a walkie talkie, producing static-y noises at the end of the diction. Kain warily dropped off his stool, ducking back behind a couch, and clutching his own invisible communication device.

“I propose a use of code ‘red-swimsuit’ force upon the beach babes at three o’ clock. Go when you see my signal. Over.” Kain wormed his way around behind Christian, now carrying an invisible hand gun along with his invisible walkie talkie. The height of military technology, that. All completely invisible.

“Alright, I copy that. Now proceeding to find code red-swimsuit, which, for your information, my grandmother gave me, and which I think is horrid. The military always has to have the total scoop, correct? Over.” Christian cradled his non-apparent device, beginning to head upstairs towards his bedroom. Darn if that kid weren’t the quietest…he swore he had no clue now as to where Kain might be behind all the mess of couches. That is, if Kain had been moving since their last exchange. Christian shrugged, as he reached the foot of the stairs. Apparently their game was over. And there was no way in heck that Christian was actually going to wear those revolting red swim trunks. So, just to change the subject…“And how am I to know your signal for the commencement of the mission? Over.” Just behind Christian, Kain tensed his leg muscles, grinning widely.

“Like THIS!” Kain howled, springing from behind the furniture to tackle Christian. With a wobble and a surprised ‘oof’ the blond went down under the unexpected weight, tumbling both of them onto one of the many accumulated sofas. For a second Christian couldn’t breath, but as he regained his air, the surprised expression he wore slowly melted into a scowl. Kain winced. Maybe he should better stop playing Russian roulette, even if no whisky was necessary for him to be reckless enough. Christian’s frown deepened, while Kain realized he ought to disentangle himself and his skin from the master, or it was possible that he would lose it. Christian growled loudly as Kain fought his way from the couch. The blond took a deep breath, and Kain braced himself…

“Payback TIME!” Christian shouted as he grabbed for Kain, and, pinning the boy’s arms down with his knees, began to tickle the kid for all he was worth.

“NOOO! Stop it! AAAGH!” Kain shrieked, laughing uncontrollably, and twisting in Christian’s grip with all his strength.

Suddenly, the giggles being wrenched from him caught in his throat. Kain went from a fit of laughing to a worse fit of coughing, suddenly limp, unable to fight back.

“Oh gods, are you okay?” Christian removed himself from the young boy’s arms, suddenly serious, and seriously worried. “Kain? Look at me here!” Christian pulled Kain into a sitting position, wrapping an arm around his side, and facing the boy, so as to cradle his head into Christian’s shoulder. The blond frowned worriedly as he felt the coughs wracking the younger boy’s body, and the desperate grasp of the black haired child’s fingers on his arms. He could do nothing to help, save rub Kain’s back in comforting circles until the fit slowly faded.

As the last vestiges of coughing subsided, Christian felt Kain drop his grip on Christian’s sleeves, and collapse flaccidly onto the older man, completely worn out. “Kain?” Christian ventured, “Are you alright?” He gently brushed some purple tinted strands of hair away from the boy’s tight shut eyes. Slowly, Kain’s breath returned to normal, and he forced himself to straighten back up, rubbing his watery eyes.

“I’m fine, master. Let’s get ready to go to the beach!” Kain grinned, with a little effort.

“Okay…” Christian slowly stood up, gently grabbing Kain’s arm to lever him off the couch as well. “But I think you should rest for a few hours. There will be girls at the beach all day.” The blond man worriedly supported the smaller boy, walking them both upstairs, and settling Kain down in his room for some much needed rest.

End Chapter Two: Roulette in the Morning

Characters copyright Charlie Manson

Writing copyright AllE K.

FLUFF!

2007-07-19T12:32:41Z

Chapter One

Hide and Squeak

“One! Two, three! FOUR! Aaaaaaand…FIVE! Ready or not, here I come!” The lanky blond man slowly uncovered his eyes, and turned away from his position facing the wall. Taking a deep breath, he began to stomp towards the back of the house, booming in his deepest voice, “FEE, FIE FO FUM! I SMEEL THE BLOOD OF A KITTY CAT MAN!” Then, suddenly falling quiet, the blond waited for any noise which might give away the smaller boy’s presence.

Not thinking the noise would end so soon, Kain had to labor to stifle his giggle. He snorted with amusement, and tried hard not to squirm when knowing footsteps headed towards the broom closet he had chosen as a hiding spot today. He knew what was coming next.

“My, I think I heard a little mouse squeak in that closet! I wonder….” Kain held his breath as he listened to footsteps creak nearer across the lavish, rainforest hardwood floors.

Running his hand down the front of the closet, Christian remarked, “I think that kitty cats like mice. Maybe there’s a cat here as well? Well…maybe not.” The blond turned as if to go and search the rest of the house (well, mansion, really) and took a few steps in place, gradually making them more quiet, feigning walking away.

However, Kain’s sensitive ears picked up the quiet breathing of his master, who still stood outside the closet door. Refusing to be caught being careless, Kain held his breath, and squeezed his knees to him, drawing his tail back behind himself, away from the shafts of light pouring through the small slits in the wooden door.

Christian listened hard, waiting for some other small noise to betray Kain’s presence, even though he already knew that the small, black haired cat boy was right behind him inside the broom closet. The moments ticket by. Finally, loosing his patience, Christian turned and stared at the quiet closet. “I Know you’re there, Kain! Come on, I’m back from work. Why don’t you just come out, and say hi? Hmm?” No response. Christian frowned. Normally Kain would obey Christian’s every whim. Maybe he really wasn’t in the closet.

Kain sniggered mentally, twiddling his fingers in the semi-dark, and cramped closet. He had never disobeyed master before (well, not a direct order; finding ways to work around things was one of Kain’s skills) and the small thrill of doing something possibly dangerous made him grin with excitement. Not that he thought master would ever hurt him. Master was always nice, and Kain had learned to discredit the stories other Kats spun at the Store, which, as far as her knew, was his one and only origin. He decided he would hide until master broke down and looked inside the closet. It was a power play between them, to see who could last longer.

Today, however, Christian was very tired. He was prepared to deal with some light fun, but his newest job as a temp at a programming company was really leeching the energy out of him. Weren’t pets supposed to come when they were called? Christian sighed, and reached up to massage his temples with long, tired fingers. It wasn’t like he actually needed the money, and he would have much preferred to spend the time with Kain, but the family expected him to work. Living up to expectations. All the time. He was glad that Kain didn’t have to deal with any pre-set obligations which had nothing to do with his personal feelings. But right now…Kain was expected to get out of that closet. “Hey, Kain, seriously, come out right now. I’m really tired, I want some dinner. Are you hungry?”

Kain squeezed his eyes shut, and resolved to wait.

Christian sighed again, this time more frustrated. He was sure Kain was in there, and he really couldn’t deal with this right now. Fine. With a quick, decisive step, Christian turned and wrenched open the closet doors. Inside, huddled on the floor, tail swaying playfully, was Kain. “Is something wrong?” Christian growled, “Why didn’t you listen to me?”

Kain felt his ears droop in mortification, and looked away. “Sorry.” He mumbled miserably. Master was angry with him. He had thought he would cheer master up with this little game, but it had done the opposite. Kain watched the master turn with a quick, habitually clean movement. As always when he left the house, he was dressed immaculately in a smart brown suit. It suited him (pardon the pun) and yet Kain had a small inkling that whenever the master put on a suit, he could not truly be himself.

Shaking his head, and trying to lift his droopy ears (which were still feeling quite diffident) Kain followed the master to the kitchen. It was spotless, as it always was. Except for when they had made brownies. Kain grinned at the memory. The kitchen had looked like a chocolate tornado had hit, and he and master had been plastered. That was the first time Kain had learned not to turn a mixer on high, and then just drop it in the bowl with brownie recipe times 5 (they had been expecting company) apparently brownies and mixers didn’t get on. Eggs and chefs, Kain surmised, got on even less well, what with the recipe books always telling you to ‘beat the eggs to a froth.’ Kain giggled to himself again.

“I see you bounce back quickly.” Master remarked, glancing over as the Cat boy perched himself on one of the tall, spinning stools surrounding the countertop. “This time, I really thought I’d broken your heart.” He grinned at Kain apologetically.

Kain shrugged, and squiggled farther forward on his stool, quietly accepting the glass of orange juice Christian passed to him. The blond man turned back to the fridge, replacing the orange juice on its shelf. Popping the freezer open, he grabbed two ice cubes, handing one to Kain, and gnawing on the other. Kain bit into his, relishing the spine-shivering squeak. Kain had never used to like ice cubes. The strangest habits he picked up from Christian. It’s like I’m raising a son. Except, he’s only about seven years younger than me.

“OH NO! Brain freeze!!!” Christian bawled, then moaned dramatically, gripping his head, and falling to his knees on the slick marble floor. A smile spread across Kain’s face, and he tried to stifle a hoot of laughter. “Kain! Kain, I-I don’t think I’m going to make it!” Christian moaned again, and crumpled farther onto the floor, still clutching his head like his fine boned hands were the only thing holding it together. “Oh-owww-Kain, please t-tell mother that I really did hate that hand k-knitted sweater she sent me last year, and that that birthday cake was really store bought, not made by me! Tell her I’m S-SORRY!” With that, Christian collapsed all the way to the floor, curling his head to his knees to hide his wide grin. By this time, Kain was in a fit of silent laughter, wheezing around his small pink tongue, and holding his sides as If they were splitting.

“I gotta go call an ambulance then! Be right back, master! Don’t die yet! You haven’t fixed the moving raccoon beanie baby!” Kain dashed out of the room, heading in the direction of the cloakroom.

“You still like that thing? I thought it go old a month ago…maybe that was when it broke.” Christian muttered, standing, and reflecting on annoying, noise making, raccoon-things. He glanced across the counter, and noticed something. “KA-A-AIN!!!! HOW MANY TIMES DO I HAVE TO TELL YOU TO PUT YOUR OWN DISHES IN THE WASHER?” Christian shouted to wherever in the house Kain might be, picking up the empty O.J. glass that had been abandoned on the counter.

“Hello? Yes, this is ‘Pizza Central.’ Can I get your order, Ma-am?”

“Oh…okay, just one with a lot of anchovies, kay? Wait…did you just call me ‘Ma-am’? I’m a b-”

“HEY! Kain, gimme the phone! I’m sorry, miss. Cancel that thing with the anchovies. Just a medium vegetable and feta sounds good tonight.”

“No! That’s not fair, Mas-”

“Kain, I told you to be….oh, fine then. Ma-am, could do half of that pizza with anchovies as well?”

“Umm..yes, of course, sir. So, that was a medium veggie and feta, with half anchovie? Would you like that delivered?”

“Sure, that’s sounds gre-Oy, Kain, the counter is not a diving board! No, get off!”

“Well, I’ll send your order in, sir. It sounds like your son might be a bit of a feisty one. But they’re the healthiest, right? Thank you for your business.”

“Yes…thanks.” Christian plonked the receiver down, blushing furiously. The pizza lady thought Kain was his son. He had to laugh at it. Kain was so immature for his age. It wasn’t surprising for them to be mistaken for father and son. So…why did that bother him so much?

Kain glanced upward, meeting the master’s ironically amused expression. What was wrong? Why was the master laughing at himself? “Did you get mine then?”

“Yes, Kain. I ordered you a full half of pizza with anchovies, which you will later decide you don’t like, and pick off each and every piece.”

“Will NOT!”

“Will too. You do every time. Hey…why are you chewing on the phone cord? Kain! You could get electrocuted!”

“What? I wanna chew something! I’m hungry! Do you want me to bite your leg instead?”

“No…thanks. Sharing is nice, but I’ll wait for a bigger occasion to receive rabies.”

“Aww…but I love to give big gifts!” Kain grinned mischievously upwards.

“Oh-Kain, what did you do this time?” Christian groaned and rushed off, Kain in tow, to search for dead mice, or other people’s clothesline pilfered laundry.

“Master? I Don’t like anchovies, I think.” The master groaned, tilting his head backwards, and apparently begging the ceiling for mercy.

“My martyrdom is confirmed! They’ll make me a saint like sixty years after I’m dead or something. You better be there to make sure and drop unwanted anchovies on my grave.” Kain glanced up at the master, who was melted as if boneless in the leather recliner, while Kain sat cross legged on the ample carpet. The master looked tired. Suddenly, Kain realized what the master had said.

“Master, there’s no way you’ll die before me.” Kain said, plainly not joking, as he curled his skinny arms around Christian’s leg.

“Oh? Why’s that?” Christian felt himself relax with the reassuring touch and warmth.

“Cuz you’re so smart! Of course!”

“Umm…hun, life doesn’t quite work that way.” Christian smiled at the simple logic.

“It can for you!”

“Wow, aren’t we determined! Why so passionate on this one?”

“Cuz I love you! You raised me, basically, and you take care of me. Haha…and you let me annoy you, too. So, I’ll call you ‘Dad’ now.” Christian glared down into sparklingly gleeful jade eyes, and reached up a hand to give a casual noogie to the youngster.

“Kain, I’m not that fricken old!” Kain momentarily ignored the rebuttle, too busy leaning into the hand ruffling his hair. He purred contentedly deep in his throat.

“Thas okay then…I’ll just call you mast..er..”

“Kain, why won’t you just call me Chris?” The question was directed upward to the ceiling once again, since Christian’s neck was getting tired. He leaned back into the welcoming cushion of the recliner, waiting for a reply. When it never came, Christian glanced toward his feet once again, to find a soundly sleeping Kain, limbs still tightly wrapped around Christian’s leg. “Time fore bed, I guess. I always end up having to carry you upstairs. Why is that?” Christian dragged himself out of the chair, trying to gently dislodge Kain’s arms, and finding himself touched and amused at how tight they stayed even while the boy slept.

End: Chapter One-Hide and Squeak

Characters copyright Charlie Manson

Writing copyright AllE K.

this is a peice of fluff i did for a friend, with her characters. so it may be a bit confusing for those of you who don't know her characters, but please bare wiht me. you can also go check out her art at www.theotaku.com/users/charlie_manson

please enjoy. this was pure fluff, but i am writing another chapter. just cuz it's fun, you know.

luvs, AllE K.

dusty dust dust

2007-06-15T03:23:14Z

DUST

Dust. The dust surrounds, dancing around itself, slowly falling once again to the ground. Occasional swirls mark the passing of a truck on the dry dirt road winding into the distance. Slowly, I walk forward, away from the road, into the wastes. The horizon stretches, endlessly empty, faint lines of darkness along the very edge of the earth frame the glaring sun, cliffs and cities spattered across the desert. A curious hawk, resting on a lone cactus, cocks its head sideways, contemplating me.

My throat tickles with floating particles of dirt and stone, as I try not to inhale the chocking debris. I roll my tongue around my mouth, trying to escape the gritty, swollen feeling of dehydration. The heat waves across my field of vision, rippling reality, painting watery illusions ahead in the sand filled space.

The smells of fuel from the last passing auto-mobile dance through the dry, sterile smell of the air. The fickle breeze whips my hair against my face, pushing me back toward the highway, back to where I came from.

With a hasty cough into my arm, I continue to walk onward, felling the pebbles and rock particles slide treacherously under my tough boots, the catalyst of dried mud holding the sand flat collapsing under the weight of my footsteps. Every movement is registered, every sound is infinitely louder in the stifling quiet of midday. A lizard skitters underneath its rock, sensing my presence.

Ahead of me suddenly looms a shape. A ruined house. I trudge around the collapsed glass sliding doors, managing to quickly stop myself before I tumble into the dried shell of the pool. With a small jump, I push myself over the polite little ornamental wall of orange plaster, strolling across sand-covered lotus-patterned tiles, to the porch over looking the pool. One small cactus dares to grow in this abandoned place. Once pure white painted columns rise, majestic in their round strength, holding the weight of the sky, of the sun, of the roof. Little else stands, as the desolate, and pummeled mansion continues its solitary existence, abandoned by its rich, fickle creator. Nothing contends with the desert. The quiet emptiness swallows all, pulling it away into the distance, burying it under the sand of ages.

I sit in the shade of the columns, on a pile of scattered facing stones, and wonder how many dry ruin’s bones lie under my feet, how many testaments to the failed attempts of humans to infringe on this secret nothingness.

A week later I return to the lonely stretch of highway with the bent and rusty sign, and the single cactus, now empty of perching birds. The news said a sandstorm blew through. No one was harmed, since no one was out here in the blaring expanse of summer. I stroll out onto the sand, feeling the familiar crunch and give of the earth.

There is no house. There is no tiled court, no empty pool, no sad, majestic pillars. Only sand dunes, endless, waves in an ever changing sea that is always the same. Scuffing my boot in a pile of sand, I turn and head back to the car, stopping only to bend over inquisitively and pick up a small piece of glazed, lotus-patterned tile.

This desert world is its own. It belongs to the empty, lonely sun, to the endless horizon, to the occasional bird, lizard, or kangaroo mouse. It belongs to the midnight spring monsoon, to the blooming cactus, to the rare frisk of breeze. To the deep, frosty nights, to the tapestry of the far away stars, to the endless blue sky. To the red blood of the sunsets, the peach tinted sunrise. It belongs to the dust.

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THIS BELONGS TO MEEEEEEEEE. dust. this was for school, just a little something i whipped up in a few minutes. i thought it was fun, so i wanted to post it. enjoy. and COMMENT!

luvs, AllE-K00l

A little random story

2007-04-14T06:11:47Z

AN: Just a little doodle story I ended up doing when I was supposed to be working on something else. It is by no means finished, and not even a complete chapter, really, but I am tired, so I will just post this. If you like it, please review. I doubt I will write more otherwise, but if I get reviews I will just keep going where I left off, since it’s a horrible end for a chapter XP

Kind of a depressing/freaky story……feeling sadistic when I wrote this. Lol. Weird little story, please enjoy. Oh, and by the way, I haven’t thought of names for any of the canon characters, so please comment and give me some suggestions. First story on livejournal: YAY! But I have written other places. R&R! you must! I COMMAND YOU! Look, watch the pendulum swing…….you…..must….read….this….storieeeeeeeeeeeeee……and COMMENT!

Callers

The 1st

The song of The Lost

By Alexandra Kronz Kaethler

Stealthily, the raven haired girl crept out from behind the wagon. The savings box, which was completely unnecessary, but was kept for aesthetic purposes, lay open on the creaky wooden floorboards, its lock picked. She would run away tonight. Being a Caller was a tough business. She didn’t feel like tough. She just wanted to be entertained. Anything that was funny, she liked.

She would have thought she would be sick of entertainment, growing up in a gypsy caravan (all staged for her mother’s amusement: there was no need to travel) but the ‘family business’ seemed to have affected her. She loved funny things. The clowns that danced and juggled, their movements so graceful, yet their faces silly, almost sad, as if hiding something behind the cheerful makeup. The performers who swallowed fire, dancing with the devil. The ladies who acted out the dramas of the opera. I am so similar to them in all those ways. She thought. Trapped inside my very own little performance, hiding behind a mask. Silently, she tip-toed through camp, clutching her satchel with the bread and cheese, and all the camp’s money, unabashed at stealing. After all, what were performers but thieves?

Pushing through the tangled undergrowth at the edge of camp, she made her way in the direction of the road, covering her tracks by way of the forest excursion. She did not want her people to follow her. They always worried over her, but never because they actually cared anything about her. Most were simply enslaved souls, their only purpose to guard her. The others stayed caring out of fear for their own necks. And with good reason, she thought, giggling a little to herself. When she got tired of the continual stream of maids and governesses, she simply had the most recent killed by one of her many Familiars, birthday presents from the head of the family, the Master. He, at least, cared enough to pay attention to her. But only because she was a pivotal component of his plan, with her extra powers, and superb cunning. How else would she know all the intrigues of camp, and of the goal that had been her family’s work for many a generation when she was but six years old? You didn’t pick up on these kind of things easily.

I wonder what they’ll do when they find I’m gone, she mused to herself. It didn’t really matter. Mother would probably have the most recent governess killed, but the girl was not too fond of that one. Nor of any before. She had long since lost all feeling toward humans. Or so she thought.

As she crept on through the forest, the moon rose, peeking shafts of pale, promise-less light through the dying faded leaves of autumn. The twilight forest rustled with the activity of animals readying themselves for winter, and the long cold nights. Only around the small girl was there complete and total silence. The whispers of forest noise quieted as she walked, rising again in her wake, recognizing the power the small child held.

Time passed. The moon ducked behind the looming shadows of mountain, and the sun began to send the first shy tendrils of dawn creeping over the hills.

The gypsy caravan far in her wake, the girl marched on, weary, yet determined to reach the road. As the sun began a gradual ascent into the crisp autumn sky, the girl realized that she should have reached the road some time earlier. The mile or so between the camp and her destination should not have taken all night to walk, even on her short legs. She was lost.

Quietly, she vented her rage on an unlucky bird that happened to be passing. With a twist of her fingers, and a whispered incantation, the bird was brought down to the ground. With a calm face, and complete ease, she slit the bird open with a word, leaving it to bleed out its life on the forest floor. Wrinkling her nose at the smell the panicked animal produced, she walked on, feeling a little relieved for dispatching something. After all, she thought, it is what I was born do to, isn’t it?

Suddenly, the woods opened up around her, into a small clearing, with a few lonely ferns dotted here and there among the blanket of moss. Suddenly realizing how tired she was, she paced to the center of the opening, gave it a scrutinizing glance, and then settled comfortably into the moss, to wait for the night, her preferred time of travel. She had no doubt that she would be able to find her way to the road, when the time came.

In a large city situated on that same road, somewhat closer than the girl expected, a ten-year-old boy stood, aimlessly tossing stones into the port town’s river. The wharf docks rose on either side of him, all encompassing, in the shadow of which he had lived most of his life.

There was nothing to do. His street gang was mostly off gathering food, though he suspected that a few of his fellow boys were paying visits to the wharf-side gals’ house. He would have to talk to them about that. They had no money to waste on the cheap entertainment offered there. Food was the main point of interest for his gang.

Hearing approaching steps behind him, he turned away from the Beautiful vista of the port, with its bustling ships. He raised a hand in greeting, expecting his own gang members, so the impact of the club blow to his head was lessened. Clutching his stinging fingers, and reeling backward, he stumbled into a wooden pier, farther jolting his head. The world swam nauseously before him, as he tried to regain his balance, and assume some sort of fighting stance.

“Tha-tha was dirty! Wha-wha th’ ‘ell is goin’ on?” His tongue rolled in his mouth, tripping, and tumbling his forced words, similar to the feeling he got from lack of water. He squinted blearily, trying to focus his disjointed mind on the group of figures standing warily before him. they had him completely at their mercy, and still they were cautious of him. he grinned inwardly at the affect his reputation had made, but quickly lost any satisfaction as he recognized the blurry figures of some of his own gang members. “Flag? Bitty?” He asked, naming the two whose faces he could pick out from his blurred vision. “Wha in hell’s name is goin’ on ‘ere?”

Suddenly, he felt hands tighten around his wrists from behind. With long trained reflexes, he whirled around, and lashed out at his attacker. But the struggle was over before it started. He received a quick cuff to the head, on top of the where the club had struck, and fell to his knees, trying painfully to hold onto reality, as the world spun even more quickly, and a dull ache in his head began to eclipse his senses.

His vision slowly narrowed to a small slit, while swirling figures circled respectfully around him. Laboriously, the last strains of a sentence drifted to his ears;

“-sorry, mate, but what we gots ta pay, we gots ta pay. It’s off to th’ slave market wi’ you.”

Then everything went black.

The girl drifted awake, evening’s chill chasing her off the cooling ground. She rubbed her eyes, and looked around, briefly taking stock of her surroundings, and remembering why she came to be there. A sudden rumbling in her stomach alerted her to how hungry she was, and she grasped around for her satchel, with the bread and cheese.

It was gone!

The smell of the food must have attracted some animal as she slept, she reasoned. She was lucky that it hadn’t been something dangerous, and that she was safe. All the same, she was infuriated.

Another grumble of protest from her stomach reminded her of the more urgent matter of food. She had now gone without for a full day, and she needed water as well.

Rising, and stretching her arms above her head with a groan, she set off in the direction she deemed most likely to lead to the road, from where she would proceed. She remembered the carcass of the bird from last morning, but whatever had gotten her cheese had probably found that too. She wasn’t that adventurous in her eating habits anyway.

There must be some kind of inborn sense in all animals that kicks in when physical needs are denied, because in very little time flat, she stumbled upon a dirt trail, leading up through the woods towards a woodshed. She had found one of the many wayside camps used by travelers, stocked with dry wood, and graced with a fire pit. She found it somewhat ironic that she had stumbled upon this saving grace by way of what was probably the trail to the john.

Hearing the loud ringing of almost-drunken voices, she crept closer to the flicker of firelight, coming from between the trees. She still had the safe box of the caravan, and she did not want to venture being robbed, or even noticed. She would be being searched for very thoroughly by now, and any person could be an Akuma.

As she neared the circle of light, with the growing dusk in the forest to her back, she began to make out words.

“Got a real nice ‘un today, from some lads up at th’warves. Musta been jealous o’ their mate or sumthin’. Tha’s no fine way t’ treat a bud, sellin’ ‘im to slavers like us, but, y’know, I ain’t complaining.” A chorus of harsh voices chuckled at this last comment. “’Ny ways,” the speaker continued, “Th’ boy’s as pretty as you please, but ‘e looks to be quite th’ strong li’l ox. E’ll fetch a nice price at the next market. We have t’ wait till there, since there’s no sayin’ what kind o’ relatives he might ‘ave, what might try ta’ get ‘im back. I says we get far away from th’ port, an’ sell our haul at a nice inland town, and move southerly.” Muttered grunts of approval, and agreement were uttered at this plan.

This, the girl thought, is what I ran away for. Excitement, and adventure, and the rough of the highway. I want to see some people treated as badly as me. The dregs that civilization spat up. Crouching closer in the thick underbrush, she grinned to herself, absentmindedly pulling twigs out of her long, dark hair. She could imagine how frantic they were back at the caravan, busy as ants, searching for their lost queen. I’m more important than mother! She thought with triumph. The Master really dotes on me. But just because I’m part of his plan…she gloomily admitted. No one really cared about her for her. That was the real reason she ran away. If she had wanted uproar, all she would have to do would be to kill a few of her family’s demon familiars, and claim there was an exorcist around. That would roil up a thundercloud.

Sighing, she settled deeper into the ferns, hoping these coarse highway men would entertain her.

They certainly did.

The one who had spoken earlier, left his seat on a log by the fire, and rumbled off towards the edge of camp. There, the girl could make out the faint glint of metal, and a few muted murmurs, which ceased as the big man neared.

She watched as he carelessly tossed aside a few of what looked like rag dolls, but, to her surprise, made small, cowed noises of protest when jerked away. Finding what he was looking for, he pulled a heavy iron key ring out of his satchel, and set to work. A few seconds later, he made his way back to the fire, carrying a limp bundle, that the girl realized with a shock was the body of a boy, no more than ten years old. She watched with mounting glee as the rough man talked about the circumstances which had brought this ‘prize catch’ to him. He said he had bought him at the Warf town, while the other slavers were out to lunch, from a bunch of kids who were desperately trying to sell.

“An’ I would ‘ave given twice as much, but they looked so desperate…,” and here he gave a hearty guffaw, “I just had to take the boy right off!”

“No, Tom, you could ne’er be so kind!” One of the others replied, giving the speaker a mock bow. Angered (mostly from drink) the speaker made a swat at the teaser, which the second man evaded with a bit more trouble than he would have had without that night’s ration of alcohol. The teller got back to his story while the others grinned at one another.

The girl watched all this with cold amusement and scorn, until she noticed that the boy’s eyes were open, and looking at her! He would give her away! Or he might……but he might not, and taking the chance and getting rid of him would certainly draw attention. No, she wanted to watch for a while, and then steal some food when deep night came. Besides, the boy could hardly do much with that soiled rag of a gag in his mouth, and his hands bound tightly behind him. The girl briefly wondered if it would ruin their ‘merchandise’ if the boy lost the circulation in his hands from the binding at his wrists. It was possible that he could lose his hands completely, and would then be useless. But, perhaps they were not planning to sell him as the working type of slave. The apparent leader of the band had mentioned something about his being ‘pretty’, and that being an asset. The girl shook her head, smug, and disgusted at the same time. Surely other girls’ mothers would worry if their daughters knew so much about the world? But not hers, of course. All her mother cared about was her fun little play of being a gypsy. And the Master humored her. The girl sighed again, and absentmindedly brushed some twigs from her hair, stoically ignoring the looks of pleading the boy was giving her. She would watch, and wait some more. But her stomach was starting to rumble again. She had to get some food, and soon.

They boy had awoken, his head throbbing, to the sharp jeers of highway men. Groggily, he tried to remember what had happened to him, but all he could think of was his gang at the Wharves, and something about betrayal…..he could not quite grasp it. He had listened to the frightened whispers of the other prisoners around him, but tried to talk to none, a sour feeling rising in him as he guessed what must have happened. He had been betrayed. For money? For bribes from a rival gang? Maybe, one of his right hand men had wanted prestige? Any way he looked at it, it roused a boiling anger deep inside of him. The anger that he had kept locked up since the night his sister was killed by the drunken sailors, high off of adrenaline and pumped up from bar fights. She had been his last tie to happiness. But then he had found his gang, and made them a good reputation. And, in the end, they had betrayed him as well.

His fury surged, and he struggled against his bonds, and gag for a while, but to no avail. Seething, he calmed himself, trying to take stock of the situation, and decide what to do next. He could see no way to get free from these slavers on the road, but that was his best hope. Once they reached a town, he would be sold, and tattooed as a slave. He had seen it. And any half decent sorcerer could trace the distinct signal of slave-ink. He would have to try to make his break here, in the forest. Thinking furiously, he ruled out all the plans he could come up with. Every single one had a fatal flaw. Fatal to him if he messed it up.

He would have to wait, and see what might come.

Ah, le fin. Wheeeee. I’m so dang tired right now, I have nothing to say. EXCEPT: FRICKEN REVIEW, valued readers. Than you very much. I love you. XP

Sakura-con madness

2007-04-14T02:29:01Z

I just went to Sakura-con, the seattle area anime convention. It was soooooo amazingly fun. I cosplayed as alphonse, who is apparently quite......molestable. which makes me that way when i am cosplaying him. oh dear. i mean, oh ***. Scary people. A couple of Roys at the con were trying to get me to come over to them, but that wasn't bad. just strange, the way they were calling. i didn't go over to them because i had to register. But, on the last day, Some one grabbed my arm, and dragged me to an art room on the third floor, babbling about how there was this costume i would love. when i walked in, i saw.....THE GATE! dun dun dun! but, it wasn't that bad until the girl looked at my hall pss, and said; "Oh, you're a minor! The gate might do....inappropriate things to you." i left. very quickly. And that was the end of my con weekend. rather depressing, but altogether, an AMAZING experience. i got a picture with VIC MIGNOGNA, and his AUTOGRAPH! i bought all three of his cd's. call me stupid, but i never realized he played kougaiji. i knew he played alot, and i could normally recognize his voice, but it's been a while since i watched sayuki, and i really didn't put two and two together. I just went to dance class, and got blisters. on my heels. from doing splits in my new shoes. And my dance partner tells me to 'suffer for my art.' he ticks me off sometimes. like today. So, here's a funny little poem. I can write fanfiction if anyone would care for any. i really am in a slumpo right now, and i need requests to get me moving. so ask me to do something. poem:

This is true love, they all do say

But I don’t really think that way.

The poets speak of love so true

The love that makes its user blue.

The children speak of future love

The kid ‘round the block they’re so sure of.

The bachelors speak of love so shallow

It’s not for them, some weep and wallow.

Other types love do disdain

They say it’s brought them too much pain.

But I don’t buy that kind of love

The kind that flies high like a dove

Then is shot down by poachers mean

From that kind of love I keep myself clean!

The kind of love that I respect

Is not an instant blind percept

But a love that’s earned by work and play

A love that’s worked on every day

A love where all participate

Where looks and cooed words are not the stakes

Where two can talk for hours of

Important things, not simply gush.

Or when you come home from work or play

With downcast head, and deep dismay

A true good love would come and sit

Next to you just for a bit

Talk about troubles in your life

And confide about the daily strife.

A true love means you’re never alone

Your house is not a house, but a home.

You have a friend when you’re in need

Not a painted puppet to feed.

A child’s laugh

A dog’s joyful bark

Some children wrestling at the park.

That is what I call true love

Not the poachers shot-down dove.

Well, i have absolutely no idea. Someone asked me to do this. i normally write about nature when i write poetry. i hate the gushy stuff. so, even when i write about love it turns out like this.....XP.

luvs, Alle_k00l