Retreat

o__o

2009-12-19T07:52:46Z

Oh. My. God.

Avatar? Awesome.

No, seriously. It's like, a plethora of color was suddenly thrown into my eyeballs, making my vision... grand.

And y'know what? That is totally a political anthropology movie. Heh. heh. heh.

Music

2009-12-11T23:51:23Z

I seem to like music the best when I have no idea where I got it. In this case, I have an album and a song on my computer by The Rasmus... with no idea where it came from. And boy, one song and I got addicted. ^_^ Looking them up, I can see why they're so popular... in Finland. Heh.

droaerion @ 2009-11-27T02:42:00

2009-11-27T08:41:31Z

Fucking Deja vu.

Feel like I'm gonna cry.

No Peeking! Just guess, or show off your knowledge!

2009-11-26T04:09:31Z

Trivia:

Which U.S. President officially declared Thanksgiving a celebrated holiday? Why?

droaerion @ 2009-11-24T19:27:00

2009-11-25T01:27:11Z

Nothing brings your mortality into perspective like an ambulance showing up in the neighbors drive. I just hope it's not for the old man. Their car followed, but tomorrow I'll drop by.

It's two days before Thanksgiving, so I really hope it's not something serious. I wonder if they'd appreciate lasagna and company, as cheap as that sounds, I don't really want either of them stagnant in suffering.

droaerion @ 2009-11-01T15:34:00

2009-11-01T21:46:38Z

Ugh, talk about a freaking odd dream. I occasionally get horror dreams (I can't call them nightmere's, and they're more of a horror story)

I woke up just after watching the body of some guy I killed to make sure he was actually dead. He deserved it, having had every intention of raping and killing myself, my dream companion with red hair, and my dream sibling that couldn't decide on whether it was a seven year old boy or a thirteen year old girl. Actually, it was pretty inventive if I do say so myself. He threw the kidsibling into the torture chamber and turned on us and right when he was about to break my arm (man my elbow hurt when I woke up, it was behind my head) the redheaded companion grabbed his keys and stabbed him. Attention turned, I was tossed the keys and shoved them in his throat. Those must've been really long, sharp keys, you know? Because eventually I hit the vertebrae and was all in between and twist and shove up to snap the neck while red head was yanking on the dude's head.

Yeah, as I said. I watched to make sure he was dead. Apparently at one point in the dream he was Ganondorf, even if then he wasn't, the impression of not actually dying and rising to kill you with your back turned stuck.

Other odd points of the deam.... I think the first part was different, and I went back to my world or whatever and that's when the sibling came. But apparently I was "Byzantine descended" which was why not-Ganon originally wanted me (we had conflict in dream part one, too.) That stemmed from Age of Empires II all night last night, I'm sure. In dream part one, where I met everybody, I didn't have my wits about me. Apparently I had some stone attached to me (and at one point I thought I was playing a video game and was faced with the Gods and figured - Hey! It's not just me! The wouldn't be able to program that, if I had a faulty sphere!") that wasn't a normal one like everyone elses, it was cursed. So I was seeing like, siren's who were my fictional dead mothers who had green hair that tried to seduce me into jumping a cliff, and other mishaps. But it gave me super powers! So I wanted my lack of sense back when facing not-Ganon.

There were other parts, like the fact that the world we were in (it wasn't ours) was full of famine and depression and the ground infertile. But that was incidental.

Well, it's not the rhubarb recipe I promised someone a year ago, but... this is really good

2009-10-14T21:36:54Z

Ingredients:
1 stick butter / margarine
1 package graham crackers
1 tsp cinnamon
1 bag semi sweet chocolate chips
1 can marzipan paste
1 bag finely chopped walnuts
1 cup dried cranberries
1 can sweetened condensed milk

Instructions:
Heat oven 350 F / 175 C. Melt butter or margarine in a 9x13 in pan in the oven. Crush graham crackers and cinnamon into fine powder, and pour into melted butter. Mix well until it's all moist crumbles and push into bottom of pan, and let it bake in the oven for two minutes to set.

Pour half of the semi sweet chocolate chips over the surface, covering evenly. Roll marzipan between two sheets of wax paper to fit the pan, and lay over chocolate chips. Pour remaining chocolate and half of the chopped walnuts chips over marzipan, and the sweetened condensed milk over the entire mix. Spread evenly, and top with more walnuts and the cranberries.

Bake in oven for 25 minutes, remove and let sit for at least ten minutes before consuming.

---
Simple, yeah? It was a modified recipe from who knows where, and that called for coconut but I didn't enjoy it that way, and thought - marzipan. Gift of the gods, that. I still need to figure out that stupid graham crust though, because I keep trying to get it to settle and it's not. Oh well, I'll figure it out.

I know not everybody likes cranberries, but they work deliciously with this. Hmm, maybe dried sour cherries next time? Too bad raspberries don't dry well.

I just got my itty bitty red tail kicked...

2009-10-11T03:07:27Z

...by Miles Prower. He blew my barrier, spun around when I was confused, knocked me over, grabbed me, flew in the air, slammed me down and ended in spin attack right on my middle while stunned.

I just got my butt beat by a cpu Tails.

Tails.

Geez. Ten years blurred the memory of Sonic Fighters quite well, didn't it?

Writing

2009-10-03T05:15:10Z

So anyway, this is the latest oddball on my mind lately. I've been playing and replaying ToS for a while, and while I did oneshots of it, this is actually going somewhere. Usually I myself am ambivalent about before/during Kharlan stories, but darn it, this plot put the juicy fish eyeball on the hook, tempting me and tempting me.

Title: I am Balacruf

Disclaimer: I do not own any plot or characters pertaining to Tales of Symphonia, nor the game and franchise itself.

Warning: Extremely sensitive material ahead in the form of attempted rape.

“You want him to live in eternal damnation?” – Yuan

A foot slammed into his side, forcing a cry out of the boy’s mouth. He hiccupped, feeling another foot put weight on his back. “Daddy… Daddy….” He cried out, eyes catching the still figure a span away. “Don’ leave me, Daddddyyy…”

One of them, a booted foot pushing down on his spine, spat at him, saliva catching on his face. “Shut up, you’re just a bastard son of a Balacruf whore! Not even worth the space to exist.” The man’s companion kicked him again for good measure.

“Scum like you think you can live in our kingdom? Ha! Fucking trespassers, your father deserved what he got, creature, and as soon as we find your mother she’ll go back to being the slut she is, you hear me!” He snarled, filthy dark hair clinging to his forehead. “And you; you’re pretty, too. Exotic, like all you fucking Balacruf descendants. If it weren’t for the fact that you make us so aroused you’d stay nothing but a memory.” He groaned and licked his lips, before adjusting yourself. “Fucking whores, the lot of you.”

One of the others, sitting on the prone form of the boy’s father, licked blood from his shiv. “I second that, if this fucker wasn’t so strong I’d not’ve minded getting off from him as well! Too bad he’s dead now.” Cruel eyes locked with the boys, and he grinned savagely. “Ye hear that? D-E-A-D. Yer Daddy won’t be able to save ye, mongrel.”

“Daadddyy noooooo.” He moaned, and then caught his breath as the pressure on his spine increased.

The man stepping on his back laughed in his face, his own hair longer than the others but equally filthy. “You gonna cry, brat?”

The boy clenched his eyes shut and withheld another whimper. Cry? No! But, daddy…

The brunet – the one who had been kicking him had wandered away, checking the perimeter before letting out a guttural string of curses. “Where is Iflan!! He should have that Balacruf scum already, no problem!”

The blood licking blond sitting on his daddy laughed. “Maybe he decided he wanted her all to himself for a while, huh? Last time he didn’t get his chance to put it in before you, oh great Leader, finished her off.”

“Ha! His loss then!” The man on top of him shouted. “He gets a used woman but I’ll bet this brat’s gotta tight ass, yeah. See how small he is? Can’t be more than seven. Mmhmm…” He adjusted himself again, panting and undulating his hip mid air. “Can’t wait… Leader, can’t we start?

“I’m fucking waiting! Didn’t you see that woman before she ran? Mm… I’m not letting Iflan take’r for himself! Besides, I like pussy more than ass, and nobody starts without me!” Leader snarled, whirling around and started to pace again.

The boy could feel heaves running through his body as he tried not to cry. His Daddy was dead and they were going to do the bad things to him. And Mommy too!

Just then the fourth man, the one that had fled after his mother, stomped back into the clearing, with no prize.

Leader spun to face him, anger in his eyes. “IFLAN! WHERE IS SHE!”

Iflan held his dirty but unbloodied hands up and backed away. “Leader, she’s gone. Threw herself right into the ravine.” His voice stuttered a bit, but none noticed. All attention was on Leader and his muttering.

“Fine. Goran, tie the bastard up and strip him. He’s mine.” Leader said, hands moving to the laces of his pants.

Goran, the man on top of the boy, groaned but knelt. “And I was lookin forward too.”

The boy sprung up, finding a renewed energy at the lax on his back. “NO!” Hands grabbed him and he twisted. “Lemme go!”

A fist struck the back of his head, making him yell out. “Fucking Balacruf brat!” Goran growled, shoving the boy to the ground again. “You’re just getting what you deserve!”

Leader approached, pants discarded and knelt behind the boy. “Get his pants off.” He muttered, eyes on the slim, pert boy-ass as he stroked his cock to full width.

“No, no no no no!” The boy babbled, twisting as much as he could in the men’s grasp as his hands were tied. Over his shouting, he thought he heard a thump but didn’t dare look. “NO NO NO!”

His pants were ripped, and he felt rough hands touching him. “Not the bad stuff. No, no!”

“Goran, back off.” The leader grinned savagely and yanked the brat’s hips, before stating conversationally, “You know, I enjoy taking my fill of these Balacruf leftovers.” Briefly, he brushed a thumb over the boy’s smooth backside and over the puckered hole before scoffing. “Blood will be enough, and it’s more than you deserve, scum.”

“The only blood being further spilled today is yours.” A foreign alto voice spoke up, and from the corner of his eye Leader could see the edge of a huge sword against his throat, from the space where Goran had been a moment ago. “Miserable wretch of a human, may your future in the afterlife be rife with pain!” The stranger hissed, viciously slashing the human’s throat.

Blood gushed out, and the Leader slumped, dead, on his intended victim.

“Hmph, you brought Damnation upon yourself. Worthless humans.” The stranger muttered, then kicked the man off of the boy before kneeling. “And eww, I’m getting human blood all over my new pants.” He said in an undertone, before resting a gentle hand on the boys shoulder. “Hey, you okay?”

Fearful eyes looked up, at him from the side, and the man – being – spread his hands open. “I won’t touch you after I get these knots on your wrists undone, how about that?” He asked, gentling his tone before deftly untying them. “Alright there?”

He was startled as the boy shot up and backed away, but sympathizing. “Hey now, everything’s fine now…”

The boy’s head shot up, wild, bright red hair flying everywhere. “Everything’s NOT fine!” He shouted, his young voice cracking. The other watched, concerned as the boy, ignoring the fact he was bare waist down, stumbled over to the dead body. Then: a muffled sniffle. “Daddy…”

Oh. “Oh.”

Well now, the half-elf certainly and quite suddenly felt stupid.

The rescuer studied the human boy then, as he cried on the odd man, his father’s, chest. They didn’t look much a like, but that wasn’t saying much. The man had bright green hair after all, while the child was clearly a redhead. But… the half elf guessed the boy could have gotten the red hair from his mother, especially if the woman he’d seen an hour before was the dame.

Her terrified running and consequent self murder was the reason he’d followed the bandit in the first place, after all.

At the same time, he’d heard the bandits muttering about them being of Balacruf blood, and they’d been practically extinct for centuries now with only a spattering of full blooded clans. They were “unique” and apparently the kid took that to large levels.

Still, he had to do something. “Hey, kid.” He called out. Sullen eyes met his, and the half elf stilled. Did Balacruf people typically have creepy red eyes…? No matter, he needed to get the kid out of this place of bad memories.

He conjured a quick mental map. They were about equidistant of three weeks between Sinoa Lake and Old Balacruf Proper. They a bit closer to the Mausoleum, though it did not do them any good, being on the other side of the channel, but he thought there was a settlement around here somewhere, along the northern coast. “We need to get out of here. Tell you what, I’ll carry your father’s body and when we get to” a name a name, what was it something with a ‘P’? “Pherkad we’ll give him a proper burial.”

The boy looked around at the blood and guts strewn ground and then up him. The boy’s own face was stark white and his odd red eyes were swollen from tears. “Will you find Mommy’s body first?” The question was quiet in comparison to the previous yelling, and the half elf marveled at the steady tone.

“Alright, I’ll be right back.” He turned and left, going into a sprint as soon as he was past the tree line. He didn’t want the human boy out of his sight for a moment. Quickly, he reached the river that fed into the Channel, and looked about him. There. It took some effort but he got the soaking wet, bloated dead body out of the water and was headed back, forcing himself out of the mental mantra of “ewe ewe ewe”. He might be vain and haughty but this was someone’s mother.

When he arrived back the odd boy was gently stroking his father’s hair, muttering, from what the half elf could tell, prayers. But some of the solemn utterances made him pause; why would the boy be asking of Ratatosk, Lord of Monsters and Maxwell, Lord of Birth? Then, setting down the boy’s mother, he decided that the quirks were none of his business.

“Hey, kid, we need to get going.” Those eyes looked at his again, and he had to admit they looked like a more reasonable wine shade after the initial shock of seeing red eyes. “By the way, what’s your name?”

The kid looked down, and bit his lip. “I don’t want to tell you.”

Ah, right. Balacruf. Weird customs, them. “Alright. Then it’s only fair I give you a temporary name until we reach Pherkad. You’ll need to tell them some name if you want to be taken in, and I need to call you something.” He eyed the boy, running a list through his mind of nice, solid Sylvaranti names, looking for one that wouldn’t get the boy noticed and maimed, again. “Okay, got it. Aurion. Do you agree?”

The boy grimaced, and then muttered “Such a stiff name.” before nodding. “But what’s your name? I can’t call you no name either.”

The half elven man grinned, and picked up his father before his mother, then speaking up in a casual, cheerful tone. “I didn’t tell you? My manners are going.” He waited a tic, started to walk, and then continued. “My name’s Yuan. Yuan Ka-Fai. Nice to meet you.”

droaerion @ 2009-08-19T21:29:00

2009-08-20T02:31:56Z

It's funny but... quite inadvertantly, I've gotten a new hobby. Wood working, of sorts. It started with when I made my own staff for Renfaire, then I made another for a friend, another in a different wood for myself, and then someone asked me to make a HP esque wand. It's not true whittling, making shapes out of blocks of wood, but it's woodworking none the less.

Now if only I could get paid for it...

droaerion @ 2009-08-13T15:03:00

2009-08-13T20:06:49Z

...wow. Seriously? It's machinations. Not mechanisms. Unless the manipulations are due to hard wiring I doubt that it would be "the old man's mechanisms." right after referring to emotional string pulling for desired results.

Spell check won't catch it, you say? WELL IT SHOULD'VE LOOKED WRONG!

Mechanisms. bah.

It jumped, went clunk, and then click click click

2009-08-07T15:49:02Z

The car is... not dead, but not drivable. Am stranded an hour from home until at least tomorrow. Greatest apologies to people I have to talk to.

To Inveigle a Padawan into a Puppet

2009-07-11T08:29:04Z

Alright! This is my party like it's 1999 entry. As above, it's called "To Inveigle a Padawan into a Puppet" and yes, it's three and a half hours late. Uh, whoops! I'd get into the TMI about why but I already did to poor wild_huntress But it's done... so now to get some sleep and brace myself for my godbrother / cousin's wedding.

Title: To Inveigle a Padawan into a Puppet
Author:

droaerion
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Pre-Q/O
Warning: Angst Ahead
Disclaimer: I do not own any plot or characters pertaining to Star Wars. Star Wars is owned exclusively by LucasFilm, not me.
Notes: This is my answer to challenge #10, I think it had something to do with new twists on overused plots... well it's a bit overused. I'm using the emotions of the Dark Side in Obi-Wan, caused by Qui-Gon's folly.

Ever since Obi-Wan’s argument with Qui-Gon regarding the boy, Anakin, outside the ship, a stony silence threatened to permanently deafen their training bond. Obi-Wan withheld a sigh and glanced at Qui-Gon from the corner of his eye, but if their bond felt like it held a ravine, the man himself was immovable as a fortress, staring off into space.

Carefully stamping down on the urge to twitch, Obi-Wan stood – smoothly, not abruptly – and made his excuses to the handmaiden, Padmé, the Skywalker boy, and his Master before leaving swiftly. The boy waved, and Obi-Wan made forced his face into a slight eye smile as he shut the door. With a quiet “woosh” he was alone.

The façade dropped, and Obi-Wan wearily trudged towards the bunk, shedding his tunic and boots on the way, uncaring of the mess left behind. Obi-Wan had to admit: he was drained; physically, mentally, emotionally and even, he thought to himself, within the Force.

“I’m alone.” Obi-Wan whispered to himself, the words going no further than the stark room. “And I’m a fool.” With that he scoffed, rolling onto his side and curling into a tight ball. “I should have known better, at least; I knew Qui-Gon liked the boy but to utterly disregard me, my words from the whispering of the Force…

“Augh! How could he do this!” He raged, throwing himself into a sitting position. “Ready for my Knighting! Since when, I want to know! Not two weeks before he handed me my ass in a spar and it’s still a miracle if we get back from a mission and I’m not submerged in a bacta tank! I’m no more ready to be a Knight than… than… he is to willingly sit on the Council!”

Gritting his teeth, Obi-Wan shot up from the bed and began pacing, hands flailing wildly about him. “I still haven’t chosen my own style, much less began to learn it. All I know is from his knee, and now he’s pushing me to Knight with no weaning, for what? Some brat with a midichlorian count so high it almost broke the registrar! I, I…!” Obi-Wan unclenched his hands from his hair, the pads of his fingers pausing at the base of Padawan braid. “I don’t want to give him up.”

Throwing himself back onto the bed, he pulled the pillow over his head. It was a scratchy thing, the kind Obi-Wan only appreciated when he and his Master were almost collapsing, exhausted from a most tedious mission. But right now all Obi-Wan wanted to do was bury his head in the ground and ignore the world, so he ignored the rough linen irritating the skin of his face and neck.

“I don’t want you to not be there anymore, Master.” He muttered quietly, squeezing back tears. It was too late already; Obi-Wan doubted very much if Qui-Gon had heard the slightest peep from across their bond with how strained it was.

“I am a fool.” He repeated in a whisper, “A fool to have loved, a fool to have hoped… fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice, shame on me. When will I stop being a victim, Master?” Obi-Wan bit his lip and quieted his tears before resolutely forcing his mind into sleep.

Obi-Wan had spent the hours leading up to their landing on Naboo in meditation, trying and failing to get a hold on his chaotic emotions. Even with the short time he had vented, they were swirling dangerously. Obi-Wan knew that if any of the other Masters were present they would immediately declare him in no way ready for his trials, what with the most basic teachings failing him.

Anger, sadness, hate… emotions one must let go of, for they lead to the Dark Side.

But it seemed that no matter what he did, he couldn’t let go of it. Obi-Wan knew, now, just how close the dangers of falling were, but at the rate he was going he wouldn’t find any release until something happened. He needed a conclusion of sorts to tie the matter away.

So it was with uncertain feelings that Obi-Wan searched the lush forest of Naboo for his Master. He had been ignoring him, yes, but time was moving and they needed to move with it.

Approaching the large, still form of his Master, Obi-Wan took in a breath, tried to center himself and started speaking. “Jar-Jar’s on his way to the Gungan city, Master.”

“Good.” Obi-Wan heard Qui-Gon say, but nevertheless he stilled; his Master hadn’t even turned to look at him.

“Do you think the Queen’s idea will work?” He asked, steadying himself. If this didn’t work… Obi-Wan didn’t know what he would do.

“The Gungan’s will not be easily swayed.” Qui-Gon finally said, turning to look Obi-Wan in the eye. Obi-Wan could feel some of those emotion’s flowing out of him – even with the boy behind them, his Master did still look to him. Qui-Gon continued, “And we cannot use our power to help her.”

“Um…” Obi-Wan started, but trailed off, eyeing his boots. He didn’t know what words to say, a truly sad thing, but plowed on regardless. It didn’t matter it wasn’t the time, his Master was finally looking at him and Obi-Wan would use this chance to properly apologize. “I’m sorry about my behavior, Master. It’s not my place to disagree with you about the boy.”

Qui-Gon turned to look at him again, and Obi-Wan smiled slightly. Maybe he couldn’t read his Master as well as he could days ago, but, he felt that the great chasm was being breached. “And I am grateful that you think I am ready to take the trials.”

Qui-Gon smiled in return, but his words turned Obi-Wan’s cold inside. “You’ve been a good apprentice, Obi-Wan.” He’d said.

Obi-Wan could feel his heart in his stomach, and the next words his Master spoke were lost to him. His burning ears heard only the ending finality – become a great Jedi Knight.

His Master walked off after that, leaving Obi-Wan to get a hold on his wild emotions. He had not planned his words, per say; definitely not to the end he’d been hoping for, that Qui-Gon would feel some hesitance, regret to pushing Obi-Wan to his trials. It had merely been a hope as the words flowed out of his mouth, for Jedi or not, he was human.

And his Master was still walking a path separate from his own. Obi-Wan didn’t know what to do about that. Not anymore.

Despite his own failings to reign in, let go of his dark emotions, Obi-Wan did feel some positive. He, without a doubt, felt an overwhelming amount of respect for the tiny Queen as she revealed herself to the Ankura Gung Boss. The disguise, Obi-Wan mused, must have been quite complete, for he felt Qui-Gon jerk in surprise beside him.

The only reason that Obi-Wan was not acting the same was because when Amidala had been with Qui-Gon out in Tatooine, Obi-Wan had observed the slight differences between the Queen and her Decoy without Amidala present.

And then the Gungan laughed, loud and reverberating throughout the clearing, and Obi-Wan felt his spirits lift even further. Jest was in Rugar Nass’ voice as he spoke. “You sa no tinking you sa no greater than the Gungans!” He continued chortling, and the expression on his green face was light, “Mesa lika this.”

Obi-Wan smiled, and couldn’t resist a covert glance at his Master. Maybe, this Gungan had a point; no greater than the Gungans… no greater than anybody.

“Maybe mesa, being friends.” Nass claimed loudly, before blowing a giant raspberry.

Obi-Wan could feel the cloud of depression lessening among the cheer, and turned to his Master… but he was no longer there.

Qui-Gon was speaking with the Queen and her Captain while Anakin was pestering her. The bitter feeling rapidly returned, and Obi-Wan turned away from the scene.

Obviously there were some things that could not be breached. It had seemed to Obi-Wan that he and his Master were retaining that old closeness since his apology, even if he himself felt hollow. They had hardly left one another’s side, but it seemed that it had been done out of necessity of the conflict rather than anything solid.

It shamed him, in some ways; because his Master said and repeated that he was ready for his Trials, but did not dare let him lead as a Knight to be should.

Obi-Wan was through with blaming the boy, even if he still retained some bitterness. Largely, he and Qui-Gon were at fault, too stuck in rituals that had gone on for years to find meaningfulness when it was needed.

Obi-Wan wondered if Qui-Gon was thinking along the same lines, or if he was painfully oblivious. He had waited for the apology as he always had… but never admit to his own mistakes.

These deep thoughts led Obi-Wan into meditation on the forest floor, his back turned to the cheer and planning going around behind him.

In.

(Heartbeat.)

Out.

(Heartbeat.)

In.

(Heartbeat.)

Out.

The day passed by in what seemed like merely the minutes to an hour. Soon their small group would be invading the Capital. With mixed feelings he approached his Master. Obi-Wan stood at his shoulder for several minutes before speaking up as the handmaiden Qui-Gon had been speaking with left.

“I know you don’t wish to hear it Master but I truly have felt a disturbance in the Force.”

Qui-Gon turned, a look for faint surprise on his face. “A disturbance, you say. Is it anything like the disturbance on Tatooine?”

Obi-Wan reached out within the Unifying Force, and in that moment let go of his doubts, his sadness. The Unifying Force, much like the Living Force that flowed throughout each being, was present in every action and counteraction of the Universe. It flowed in ways different than the Living Force – did not focus on the connection to individual life, but rather the outside Force as a whole. The Unifying Force was said to hold the possibilities of life as you lived in the moment through the Living Force.

Obi-Wan, contrary to his Master, had a talent, or “sticky hands,” with the Unifying Force.

The Force as a whole was deep and vast, and it was into those depths that Obi-Wan reached. Into the hands of time and profoundness of space. Master Yoda would say that the future was clouded by the Dark Side, and it was true. But even through the veil that hid the Sith Lord Obi-Wan, and many others who felt a connection with the Unifying Force, could feel the intentions surrounding each and every being.

Obi-Wan repeated to himself, action and counter action. He allowed his intent for the future to flow within the Force, and in return that vague, disconcerting feeling that he had felt amplified.

“I believe so, Master.” Obi-Wan breathed quietly, and began to ground himself within the moment, the Living Force, once more. He focused on his Master, with his deep connection with all those Living, felt the roots of life and returned to awareness.

Yet Qui-Gon had meant what he said in back on Coruscant, that Obi-Wan had much to learn of the Living Force. Maybe that was why he seemingly could not follow even the first line of the Jedi Code – there is no emotion; there is peace. Most essential, as tumultuous emotions led many Jedi astray from the Light Side of the Force.

Obi-Wan knew he was merely as grounded in the moment as any other Padawan with little training. A large portion of his being was still one with the Unifying Force. That was one such reason he was logically opposed to his Knighting.

There was little time, however, and they had to move on. Qui-Gon had gotten his confirmation of the Sith Lord’s presence. It had been sick, thickly coloring the Force with a dark miasma as Obi-Wan reached.

They stormed the city quickly and, at first, quietly. That changed as the first droid spotted them, and then it became a heated and dirty battle with the few remaining droids that guarded the city.

Nonetheless they were followed every step to the Hanger, where half their party separated and headed into individual starfighters. Obi-wan was distracted, however, with the cloying feeling in the Force beyond the doors.

/Master,/ Obi-Wan urged, and for the first time in days felt their training bond snap back to life, just as the doors opened. An unsightly face, cloaked in shadows sneered at them in contempt.

Qui-Gon stepped forward, and Obi-Wan tensed. “We’ll handle this,” his Master said, eyes only on the form of the Sith.

As the Queen and her retinue retreated, the battle began.

Lightsaber’s whirred and flashed through the large, dark chamber, and Obi-Wan took a half step back. He tried to breathe, but it seemed as if the Dark Force that emanated from the figure was choking him. Then Qui-Gon was there, attacking again.

This was unreal; the both of them were giving all they could and still could barely hold ground, much less gain it. Obi-Wan leapt back into the dual, and felt his Master move to accommodate him.

/Master, we need more of a plan./ He sent while ducking and lashing out with his own ‘saber.

/I know that, Obi-Wan, but we haven’t the time./ Qui-Gon’s voice echoed through his mind. They were becoming exhausted, and it showed in their movements on the catwalks as the Sith seemed to dance around them gaily.

His mind working furiously, Obi-Wan flipped over the Zabrak and turned on his heel. His lightsaber was caught, but he just applied more pressure. The angle was awkward, blocking Qui-Gon from one end and himself on the other. The Sith was trapped, but then Obi-Wan felt the Force flow from the dark being. It slammed in his gut and threw him back.

Staggering, Obi-Wan recovered as much as he could in the moment of reprieve Qui-Gon gave him. There was little time to center himself, however, and Obi-Wan once again returned to the fray. But that moment made his movements erratic, and the Sith caught his lightsaber with his own on a downward angle. Those cruel two toned eyes caught his own, cunning flashed and Obi-Wan felt a boot connect with his torso with a sharp crack, sending him flying off the walk.

He caught himself, just barely, and his lightsaber wasn’t lost, but damage had been done. Breathing heavily, Obi-Wan gathered the force and jumped; there was no time, he could not leave his Master alone.

They had moved on, nearing a corridor of some sorts, and it was with horror that he saw them enter as he followed and, with a sharp hiss, became separated by a barrier. /Master!/

Qui-Gon ignored him; in the middle of a wake the Jedi Master ignored him. Obi-Wan felt that pain return to his chest, and in turn looked passed the form of his Master to the red-toned Sith.

At first, the Zabrak was focused on the closer form of his master, pacing like a caged great cat, but then those burning eyes caught his. Obi-Wan felt his heart stop. Dark power leaked from those eyes, and their cruelty seemed focused on himself.

Red lips curled into a smirk, and it seemed as though the Sith was seeing into his very soul. His heart, full of doubts: anger, sadness, pain… they all seemed to amplify as the Sith captured his eyes across the distance.

/Master!/ Obi-Wan called faintly, panic running through his mind. /Master please!/

Qui-Gon either ignored him, or couldn’t hear him. Obi-Wan didn’t know which was worse: that his Master would willfully ignore him or that the Sith had some power that put a barrier in their mind’s closeness.

The Sith grinned savagely, and then the barrier’s opened. His Master and the Sith resumed the furious dual, moving swiftly into the open chamber up ahead. Obi-Wan ran as fast as he could, but just before he breached the room the barrier once again snapped in place.

He could only watch, horrified, as he Master’s stamina was slowly whittled at. Qui-Gon would not win this battle, and Obi-Wan didn’t know if the barrier would open in time. Maybe, if Qui-Gon would switch to a different, less taxing defense form, he could…

But his Master wasn’t doing so, and Obi-Wan could only watch on.

A blow to Qui-Gon’s side kicked him far, and the Sith’s attention shifted to him once again. For the first time, Obi-Wan was glad for the barrier that protected him, as those eyes gleamed maliciously. A gravelly voice spoke up, coming from the Sith.

“So you are the old man’s…” Catching his breath, Obi-Wan glanced to his Master. The Jedi was obviously dazed, and Obi-Wan couldn’t help but wonder if the Sith was using the Force to do so.

Red lips smiled, but it seemed more like a grimace and sneer combined with an upward turn of the mouth. He spoke again, “Very impressive.” The Sith was once again pacing like a caged beast, eyes on him. “I could kill him like this, in his disoriented state. Have him throw himself into the core, or fall onto his lightsaber. You Jedi are so weak minded…” Too fast for Obi-Wan to see, the Sith’s lightsaber hit the panel on the side of the corridor, causing the barrier to glow even brighter than before. Trapped.

“What would it take for me to spare him?”

Obi-Wan’s heart was in his throat, his emotions running chaotically as ever. Fear was predominant, but that anger was two sided. He was raging fury at the Sith, but that leftover anger at his Master seemed to have surfaced.

“Obi…Wan…” His Master’s voice, quiet and struggling, called from the opposite end of the room. The Sith turned furiously and brought a hand up. With it, the prone form of his Master rose from the ground and slammed into the wall. A weak hand was clutching at a nonexistent arm around his throat.

Yellow and red eyes turned on him again. “Well? I will not kill him if you put down your light saber.”

Obi-Wan’s eyes were caught on Qui-Gon; though the words registered, he knew his Master would never forgive him. Blue eyes slit open and that message was echoing as Qui-Gon’s mouth moved silently, “Obi-Wan…”

The Sith, however, seemed to have caught that message, and brutally slammed Qui-Gon into the wall again, before sending him across to the core.

Qui-Gon scrambled and just caught himself on the edge. But he was weak and still tiring rather the regaining strength and could only hang there, just barely.

The Sith’s attention turned to Obi-Wan again and flexed his hand in a silent threat. “Put down your lightsaber.”

Qui-Gon… Obi-Wan’s lightsaber dropped from his hand, clattering loudly on the metal floor. Qui-Gon’s eyes snapped open, looking on in horror. The Sith grinned, but victory was not his just yet.

The Sith reached into the Force once more and lifted Qui-Gon, setting him on the ground, prone. He was not done, however, and once again spoke. “You have many emotions flowing through you. Anger, sadness, hate. I wonder, what would it take to turn you to the Dark Side.”

Before either Jedi could react, denial on their lips, a loud crack echoed throughout the room followed immediately by a strangled scream from Qui-Gon. Obi-Wan’s eyes widened and Qui-Gon clutched his arm, snapped through the Force.

The Zabrak spoke once more, “Jedi. Kick your lightsaber into the barrier. If you do not, I will snap his other arm. If you deny me once again, it will be his legs, both of them.”

Anger flowed through Obi-Wan; an anger and fear that colored his reasoning and powered his leg as he sent his lightsaber skittering across the floor, hitting the barrier and causing it to erupt in a shower of sparks. The metal warped and the crystal cracked.

The Sith watched on with a sneering face and released his clenched hand.

The Sith’s manipulations were sound, and the anger and fear with in Obi-Wan was only increasing. Fear for Qui-Gon, anger at the Sith. It permeated the air like a foul stench, but Obi-Wan was past the point of reigning it in.

That awful smile appeared on the Sith’s face once more, and Obi-Wan felt his resolve weaken further, taking a step back.

“You wish to kill me.” He said, eyes burning into Obi-Wan’s own. “You cannot kill me. You haven’t the power to do so.” He declared, the gravelly voice echoed throughout the room.

“But listen, Jedi. If you do not kill me, I will kill your Master.” He emphasized this with another crack echoing throughout the room. Then another, and another: an arm, and both legs were cracked.

Sharp teeth shone in the red light, and the Sith tensed. At that moment, the barrier slid back, but with it came an odd sound. Obi-Wan’s eyes widened, and he hastily leapt back just as the red saber flew through where he had been.

Minutes passed with Obi-Wan doing the best he could to dodge. His lightsaber was no more, and thus he had no means to defend himself. The Sith took advantage of that, chasing him throughout the room. It was only as he almost tripped over Qui-Gon’s body that he remembered his Master’s 'saber.

If only he could find it, Obi-Wan thought, leaping back from another lazy strike. Qui-Gon was almost out cold, half delirious from the pain. One glance showed why – that odd sound had been his bones shattering. More bacta for you, Master. The idle, ironic thought ran through his head and then was gone.

There. Close to the edge of the core opening, on the other side of the room. Gathering the Force, Obi-Wan leapt backwards towards it, but for once the Sith didn’t follow.

Obi-Wan’s blood turned cold, and he halted before picking up the ‘saber. The Sith’s eyes were on his Master's listless body.

That grin surfaced, evil and cunning, and the Sith called out to him. “Little turmoil, I can kill him before you get back over here.”

The Zabrak continued blithely, “Remember what I said, if you don’t want me to kill him, you have to kill me first. Well guess what.” A serious yet nasty look warped the colored face. “You haven’t killed me.”

The Force swirled, and Obi-Wan panicked. “No!” He shouted out, fear running through his heart and reached.

The Force released the deadly hold on Qui-Gon’s heart.

Eyes gleamed, and teeth grinned. “Yes…”

Anger, dark and heady, flowed throughout his being, and Qui-Gon’s lightsaber appeared in his hand. In seconds, he was across the chasm what irony crossing a chasm to Qui-Gon’s side and the green saber flashed. Red blocked it, but Obi-Wan used that reach, familiar and unfamiliar to what he was used to, and then it was gone. Qui-Gon’s saber sank in the Sith’s shoulder, and anger fuelled Obi-Wan as he twisted it downwards.

In seconds, the Sith was literally in pieces.

Then reality returned, and Obi-Wan’s eyes widened. He dropped to his knees and his arms trembled as he tried and tried to let go of that dark and heady feeling that flowed throughout his being.

“Oh, Force. What have I done?” He whispered brokenly.

A sound distracted him, and Obi-Wan turned. Qui-Gon.

“Master. Oh, Master I’m so sorry. I never meant and oh Force…” Regret washed in him, the feeling amplified as every other feeling had been. Blue eyes slid open and caught his own.

/Obi-Wan…/ Qui-Gon’s voice echoed in his head.

Obi-Wan jerked back, panicked. “No! Master, don’t! I’m filthy, I… I… I’ll taint you! Like that thing did me!” Tears sprung into his eyes, and Obi-Wan choked.

Obi-Wan. Qui-Gon continued, voice firmer and yet still ridden with pain. /You must let it go, Obi-Wan. You are not meant for the Dark Side; your emotions, while “heady” are pure./

“How! How can they be pure! All I’ve felt for the past week has been pain and anger!” Obi-Wan flung his arm to the side, and pushed away the marvel at how the Force easily coalesced around it.

/Everything you have felt, Obi-Wan, has been amplified and forced through the presence of a Sith./ Qui-Gon’s voice paused, and his body let out a shuddering breath of pain, /Always two, there are. This Sith reached to you in Tatooine, and I believe another did so on Coruscant./

Obi-Wan looked down at his hands, clenched in his lap. Could it be true? Earlier, when locking eyes with that Sith, it had seemed to draw out those darker emotions…

/You must let it go, Obi-Wan. The Council, the Force will forgive your mistake, but only if you make it one/. Qui-Gon’s eyes were closed to the real world as he spoke through their bond. /Please./

“I…” Obi-Wan started, and then stopped. A denial. How powerful, the Sith, the Dark Side, to influence him now.

But he didn’t want power. He wanted Qui-Gon.

So he let it go.

“Almost died, you did.” Yoda’s yammered into Qui-Gon’s ears, and he withheld a sigh. “Much power over you, the Sith had, to shatter your bones and release such poison. The Dark Force.”

“Yes Master.” He intoned, cautiously sitting up. It was the first time he’d been awake and aware since Obi-Wan passed out on him in the internal chamber on Naboo.

Obi-Wan…

“My Master, where is my apprentice?” Qui-Gon asked, favoring the green toad with a look.

Yoda returned it with one of his own infuriating looks and spoke. “Your apprentice, Anakin Skywalker is not.”

Qui-Gon smothered and then released his irritation, but was curious about the emotions it aroused. He’d been speaking of Obi-Wan; there had been little thought for Anakin. That was for later.

And Qui-Gon realized in that thought that yes, Obi-Wan was his apprentice. Or, to be more correct, is.

Still, he had to correct his vexing former Master. “I was specifically speaking of Obi-Wan, Master.”

Green eyes searched his and Yoda ‘hmm’d,’ “So you are, it seems. So you are.” Yoda stood and hopped from the high seat that allowed him to see Qui-Gon on the bed and walked to the door, gimmer stick clacking. “Glad I am to see it, your knowledge of whom your apprentice is.” Yoda waited a beat and opened the door, before calling over his shoulder. “Before the Council, Obi-Wan is. Much learned he has, but not enough to be a Knight, his foray into the Dark Side has shown.”

Qui-Gon felt sadness in his heart at hearing that, a part of him had hoped it was a dream; another hoped that Obi-Wan would keep it to himself until Qui-Gon could explain. With that in mind, he reached out and touched Obi-Wan’s mind.

Surprise greeted him, and Qui-Gon felt his sadness anew at that. They had much to talk about, it seemed. /Master Yoda tells me you are before the Council?/

There was silence for several moments, and for each second Qui-Gon felt a seed of regret sprout. Then Obi-Wan spoke. /Yes. You have been asleep for four days, Master, and you were in a bacta tank for three of them. Two days ago I took the initiative and told them of what happened on Naboo. I thought they would rather hear it for me than from you with me hiding behind your robe like a youngling./

Qui-Gon swallowed heavily, realizing just now that he wanted Obi-Wan to continue to hide behind his robe. /Their reaction?/

/Hard to say, Master, I’ve been in here on and off, answering questions and becoming a soundboard./ Qui-Gon could feel Obi-Wan pause and regroup his thoughts, and the next words were quiet. /Master Windu says they officially agree with your words on Naboo, that I am forgiven for having touched and returned from the Dark Side. More than that, however, they are curious and wary, but not at me. Rather, the power of the Sith that allowed them to manipulate me as they had./

Manipulate? Did that mean that they had checked Obi-Wan and agreed? After a few moments of reviewing the thoughts Qui-Gon had put behind his theory, he pushed the question to Obi-Wan.

/Yes. Masters Yoda, Windu and Ki-Adi-Mundi walked through my mind and personally witnessed the events that took place. Master Yoda noted a foreign struggle, one that started from when you theorized, after Tatooine. Officially I was coerced and forcefully made into using the Dark Side of the Force by a Sith, but that due to the actions of Jedi Master Qui-Gon Jinn I did not fall./

Amusement shot through Qui-Gon, and he smiled. /That’s a mouthful./ Qui-Gon felt Obi-Wan’s agreement, but then Qui-Gon turned serious. /Obi-Wan. I want you to know that I am very glad you did not fall. I do not know if I could have stood it, had you truly done so./

Qui-Gon heard a choked sob through the bond and sent his feelings of love, contentment and pride through to Obi-Wan. /And I want you to know that I am very proud of you, Obi-Wan./

He heard a shuddering sigh, a wave of sadness and love, and then Obi-Wan’s voice came though. /Thank you Master. If it weren’t for you…I don’t know what would have happened./

/All the more, we have much to talk about, Padawan./ Qui-Gon said, and his lips twitched at the shock and bursting happiness.

Obi-Wan’s voice, teasing, came through loud and happy. /Yes, yes we do. It’s not fair that Master Windu knows more about me than you do right now!/

Ahahahahhaha I love it

2009-07-07T00:44:23Z

As my great grandmother would say: simple objects amuse simple minds.

http://www.shopgadgetsandgizmos.com/product/17386/528/

I am so amused. Beyond amused. I've been playing with mine for neigh on twenty minutes. Roll up, catch, throw to the ground, catch, oooh,... the glitter spins!

I swear these are one of the best inventions ever. It started with my sister, who bought one to see if she could have the Bubble Fairy have it as a prop at Faire this year, but mostly for herself. Then my mother saw it. And I saw it. They are more than great, just awesome.

They're bouncy ball snow globes.

I am totally serious. They bounce, and spin and sparkle. Heh heh heh.... There's small ones too, about less than half the diameter of the bigger ones, so like, two inches maybe? those ones go even faster, and bounce better than the big ones. But they get air bubbles easier if you bounce them too much. Heh.

Eternal Machinations

2009-06-18T13:44:53Z

More speicimens? Indeed.

Another oneshot, woohoo. Also ToS verse. This one snuck up and bit me on the butt so to speak, so sorry if it's weird, or whatever. But I was aiming for humor, the twisted kind that makes you look at things sideways.

Eternal Machinations

Two figures sat in a circle in the Great Seed’s chamber, Martel’s body overlooking from above. A young blond preteen was sitting laxly, legs folded and a bored expression on his face while an adult redheaded man was reclining on his elbows, legs spread before him.

Kratos twirled his foot in a circle, secretly relishing in the “crack” that sounded as the joint popped. Mithos grimaced, and looked longingly at the door. “What is keeping him?” he muttered, just as said door opened.

A blue haired half elf strode through the entryway, a stack of folders in his arms. “Sorry I’m late, but the printer jammed.” Yuan stated nonchalantly, before plopping to the ground himself.

Mithos leaned forward eagerly, reaching for the folders. Kratos quickly slapped the half-elf’s hand, and grabbed them for himself. “You know we do this fairly.” He stated, separating them into different stacks.

Mithos pouted and looked over at his brother in law. “Can you start explaining while Kratos’ disorder dies down?”

Yuan smiled and brushed his hair out of his face, grabbing the first folder, ignoring Kratos’ frown. He opened it to show a picture of a young blond girl. “Alright, this is Sylvarant’s Chosen of Regeneration. Her name’s Colette Brunel; her sixteenth birthday is in a few weeks, so that’s when were sending down the oracle.”

Kratos abandoned his organizing to look over Yuan’s shoulder, raising an eyebrow at the other two in the picture. “Friends?”

The half-elf nodded, “Half elf Genis Sage and human Lloyd Irving.”

“Lloyd?” Kratos asked quietly, looking at the out of focused boy in the picture.

Mithos grabbed it before Kratos could, looking at it intently. “Oh yeah, definitely looks like a Lloyd. Look Kratos, he has your stupid expression.”

Yuan cleared his throat before Kratos could lunge and snatched the picture back. “If we can continue without poking at old wounds, please?”

“Sorry Yuan.” Mithos muttered, slouching again.

“…” Kratos looked at Yuan, who sighed and continued.

“She’s a bit… dumb.”

On cue, both Seraph groaned. There was nothing worse than a Chosen who couldn’t compete. Kratos flipped open the Tethe’alla folder, and jabbed a finger at the red headed Chosen from there. “What about in comparison to him?”

Yuan thought for a moment, going over the information he’d gathered from his stake out at Forcystus’ ranch. “Better than him.”

Both nodded, and Mithos spoke up. He was idly flipping through the technical logistics folder, frowning at the Mana levels. “This one’s going to be tricky. We have to give Sylvarant Mana, otherwise it’ll die, and I don’t like giving handouts. Remember what happened when Spiritua failed?”

Both men shuddered. Spiritua hadn’t been clever but had gotten to the final transformation. Then decided to go off and fly on her own to the Tower of Salvation and got eaten by a Wyvern. But Sylvarant needed Mana, so they gave it a go and she became the new “Martel” because her companions survived when she abandoned them.

Then, Yuan scoffed. “I don’t care if it’s tricky, we’re doing it the fair way.”

Kratos reluctantly nodded, and after a moment Mithos did as well. “Alright then” Kratos murmured, and put his hand out. “On three, Yuan, you first.”

“One”

“Two”

“Three”

Yuan groaned, looking at his straw pitifully. “I wanted to be the bad guy!” He complained, looking at the red tipped end.

Mithos and Kratos heaved out a huge sigh of relief and grinned at each other. The last three centuries, Yuan had gotten the role of guiding the Chosen. Each time he did it to their death. This time, at least, he was the double sided plotter. Mithos and Kratos could take his outrageous scheming, but not his overbearing stupidity.

Yuan snatched the straws from Kratos and fiddled them behind his back before putting them forth at again. “Alright Ladies, choose your poison.”

Half-elf and Human exchanged glances, and Mithos spoke up. “Yuan, do you even realize how cliché that sounded?”

Green eyes looked at them blankly, “What?”

On cue, both rolled their eyes and grabbed a straw. A quick glance had both Kratos and Mithos nodding. Mithos was the bad guy – something he didn’t mind, because he got to go all out with making up some obsession with his sister that freaked out the Chosen every time. Kratos got the job of guiding the Chosen, which meant that they’d get through it to the end. That was what was so great about Kratos; if he had to, he’d drag them by their ears to the Tower, but most of the time the Chosen’s “Saw Something” in him that made them succeed.

Yuan was still pouting, but handed off the files. As he looked at his and remembered, however, what his position was, he grinned. “So I’m the Leader of the Renegades, huh? Watch out Mithos, your tail is on fire.”

Kratos ignored that very deliberately, instead perused through the file. Most of the time the Cruxis file and the Renegade file didn’t change; just major personal for the most part. The Chosen file though, was never the same. “You think the teacher will accompany us?” Kratos queried, looking through the list of villagers.

Mithos looked up from his own file and scooted over, caught sight of the name and went for the picture file. “Ah-hah. Huh. She’s pretty.” He remarked, staring at the picture of “Raine Sage” relaxing in the village square.

Kratos shook his head, “It says here that she throws erasers at her students.”

Yuan smiled broadly, “She’ll be quite the companion then, won’t she?”

“…”

“…what?” Yuan asked, brushing his hair behind his ear.

Mithos shuddered, “You’re such a pervert, Yuan!!”

Kratos stood up, also glaring at Yuan. “I have no intentions of making her my paramour.”

Yuan sighed, then grabbed the picture from Mithos’ grasp. “I wouldn’t have done anything. Or said anything.” He amended.

“Grr…” Mithos muttered, before marching out of the room. “Cheating on my sister are you, I’ll show you.” Jerking the door open, he turned on his heel. “You’re going to regret being the traitor, Yuan! I’m going to have fun being “Lord Yggdrasill”.” He said the last part in a high and mighty tone, before marching out the door.

Kratos headed towards the door as well, but paused to give a parting message to Yuan. “I’m going to head out and work on my alibi. I suggest you do the same.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Yuan muttered, wondering how it was they almost always ended up arguing at this time. If it weren’t for the fact that they got so bored, they never would have continued with this entertainment.

But it had been four thousand years! That was a long time to live! Granted, they created “Cruxis” over three thousand years ago, but still.

Like little boys, they needed to keep their hands dirty. Life was their play dough, and the best thing of all was saving the World.

“You don’t blame us, do you Martel?” He asked softly, gazing at her entombed features. Then they hardened. “One day, we’ll find a way to germinate that stupid see you’re imprisoned in, but until then keep it alive a little longer okay? We can’t have the world dying on us yet.”

-- End

Memoirs for Angels Forgotten

2009-06-17T08:12:09Z

New story time. Man, I am Sooo Cool! As Zelos says.

There's my crazy moment of the day.

It's another Tales of Symphonia fic, called, as above, Memoirs for Angels Forgotten. Just a oneshot drabble for now, about a thousand words.

Maybe next I'll post my dilemma with my Party Like its 1999 fic. I got to the max word count of 2500 words and realized that I needed more room to actually get it done. Sad, isn't it? I'll have to rehaul it. Well, there's still three weeks (and doesn't that make me sound bad.)

Memoirs for Angels Forgotten

a hero to regenerate the world

Kratos awoke slowly; the world was blurry through his eyes and everything around him was stained a rusty shade of red. He exhaled, trying to…

“Lloyd!”

An amused laugh stopped him as he threw himself up, a very familiar laugh at that. His eyes caught on the familiar blond figure standing a few feet away, his son asleep in his arms.

Mithos. Origin, no, Lloyd.

“You needn’t worry, Kratos, your baby boy is just fine.” Blue eyes looked at him from aside, and Kratos carefully pushed himself up. “You know, I didn’t understand why you were infatuated with that human girl, Kratos. In fact, I thought it disgusting but I suppose humans can’t help who they love. But looking at this boy, your son, I think I have a new respect for you.”

Yggdrasill slowly turned his gaze back to his son, and Kratos finally staggered to his feet as the half-elf continued. “I don’t know if I can forgive you for deserting me in the first place but looking at him, I realize we have one thing in common. Just as I will never abandon my sister you will never voluntarily loose sight of your son. I think you’ll be relieved to know that my interest in your son is genuine. He’s strong for someone so young.”

Yggdrasill’s words were echoing in his head oddly, and Kratos swayed on his feet. “Mithos… what are you saying?”

A smile turned on those familiar fake features. “I’m saying that I’m going to let your precious child live. But don’t you worry, teacher, you will be punished, in the most painful way. But that is not now. No… he is three, correct?” At Kratos’ cautious nod, Yggdrasill gave a quiet hum. “In fourteen years you are to accompany the Chosen of Sylvarant.”

Kratos sighed but nodded; this at least was a familiar if exhausting task. “Do you believe this Chosen will succeed?”

Yggdrasill let out another disconcerting laugh and Kratos forced himself to relax the instant tension it evoked in him. “Kratos, Kratos, haven’t you realized yet? I thought that this was part of the reason you left and now I see it was merely for petty reasons! It’s not a belief. This Chosen must succeed. Sylvarant is about to run out of Mana and I am not kind enough to just give these inferior beings the Mana running through the Tower of Salvation. They must earn it.”

Well, Kratos thought, he actually had taken that into consideration but over the years he’d found it was better to let Mithos have his own conclusions. A lesson painfully learned at that.

Those eyes were on his son again, and Kratos had to wonder why Lloyd was so quiet. A spell, perhaps. Origin knew that Lloyd had an extra sense purely for detecting trouble; his midnight whines had saved him and Anna – do not dare think Aurion, stop – more than once from incoming troops.

And a chill ran down the swordsman’s spine as his leader smiled down at Lloyd. Something was not right.

“And it is because they must prove themselves that you are going… and I, Mithos,” On cue the false image of a Half-elven man turned into the eternal child, “Will accompany you.”

That cold smile caught Kratos’ eyes again and he clenched his fists. “Mithos… that is fourteen years away… are you sure?”

“Do not question me, Kratos!” Mithos Yggdrasill snapped, burning blue eyes meeting his. “You’re punishment has been decided. You, I’m afraid, will never remember this conversation; not for years to come. And Lloyd… Lloyd will grow up with his father thinking him to be dead.” He smiled again, that unpleasant sight and before Kratos could do more than ask Origin for protection Mithos had gathered his Mana and unleashed it.

Kratos’ body fell to the blood and gut strewn ground once again, and Mithos put his hand down. “Kratos, you fool.” He whispered, before jumping down the cliff. The toddler in his arms was still out cold, and looking around Mithos couldn’t find any sight of the human bitch that had stolen his Kratos.

Then, a flash of green. “Come out, Protozoan.” Mithos called confidently, and was rewarded with the sight of the bloodied and injured animal. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to harm the brat. Quite the contrary.” Weary and angry eyes met his and Mithos almost longed for the days when they had shown with trust. “I will put him down in the tall grass and leave. In return, you will go to whoever took the body of his Mother and bring them to precious “Lloyd”. Does this agreement stand with you?”

Mithos could see the moment the worry in the Protozoan’s eyes won over the suspicion at himself and the confusion over where Kratos was. Well, ideally it would be a long time until they met again. “Good. I, Mithos Yggdrasill, hereby take this vow. From the moment the last word of this pact is spoken and this boy is on the ground until he is grown and capable, I will not touch him.”

Familiar eyes kept his own for several seconds, before the Protozoan bowed its head. It, Noishe, accepted the vow. Mithos stood by his word and put the child in the grass, briefly covering him from sight. Then, sighing, he took out his wings and turned to leave. Noishe started to do the same, but stilled as Mithos turned. “Protozoan, Kratos has no idea, and when he learns that Lloyd is alive you will not tell him. Besides, right now, he’s fairly lacking the drive to defy me again.”

Noishe’s eyes glared at him, but after several moments the creature let out a concession in the form of a whine. “Good.” Mithos whispered and flew to the cliff top as Noishe took off at a run.

His eyes caught his former teachers, and for a second he felt regret. It soon passed, and Mithos cast his eyes down the cliff. “We will meet again one day, Lloyd Aurion. For now, farewell.”

Closing his eyes, Mithos gathered his Mana, wrapped it around himself and teleported. Kratos would never know.

-- End

Basically in my head Mithos would join them early on, probably meet Genis when he’s frantically searching for Kratos and co in Triet, and Mithos calling Kratos “Master!” and attaching himself to the journey. Then those doubts would be piling more and more and more and that’s about where my inspiration split into so many ends I don’t want to tackle them.

But man, I am sick of typing “Yggdrasill”. Suddenly I don’t blame the stupid people who type out “Yggy!” from Pronyma in all seriousness.

Uhh

2009-05-02T03:07:53Z

So, uh, yeah. First entry in a while. I wrote a Greg-the-Vampire fanfic. lame me. But it's nice and polished and stuff, so I'm kind of proud? I'll just think of it as a step into writing again. It's been in sequences lately, started with a three page ToS story, now a sevenish page G-t-V story. I'm hoping eventually I'll like writing enough again to start up on my other stories that have been sitting on my drive for months.

Firebird Rescue!

"Montherth don't cry." Mason sniffled, feeling his tongue stick to the roof of his mouth as he did so. He wiped his eyes discreetly, looking around the room in case anybody came in. "Montherth are big and throng and Ima gargoyleth and gargoyleth are montherth and montherth don't cry."

Digging his claws into his arm, Mason quietly repeated to himself, "Montherth don't cry," with the image of his father, once so cheerful and solemn, being eaten by his pyre.

As shivers started to wrack his body, Mason let out a keening wail, piercing throughout the building. He wanted his father but his father was a flame now and monsters don’t cry.

Not a second later, the door slammed open with a resounding ban, startling Mason into jumping a foot in the air before dropping, much like the stone he was. Luce stood in the doorway, bright red hair on fire in panic. "Mason!"

Greg, tall, solemn, dependable Greg, shoved his way past the firebird into the orphanage bedroom, making his way to their gargoyle charge and kneeling beside the orphan. All the while Luce made a fool of himself, gaping.

"Mason, what’s wrong? We could hear you from across the orphanage." Luce asked, finally kneeling down next to Greg.

Mason hiccupped, looked at Greg – his favorite vampire that looked disturbingly like his father – and broke down. "I want my father, thir."

Greg paused in his calming motions and couldn't help the panicked look he sent Luce. Luce cleared his throat and took Mason's arm. "Mason. I know you want your father. And in that, we can't help you, but we will try our hardest to make you feel better, do you understand?" His keen eyes watched as Mason nodded his head and smiled a bit. "I don't know about you, but Greg looks like he can use a hug. Don't you think?"

"Yeth thir." Mason murmured, then leapt at the vampire, winding his small, stony arms around Greg's neck. Greg was nice, he tried to be scary but only came off as somber and dignified, and it reminded Mason oh so very much of his father. "I know my father can't come back, thir. But can we visith a cathedral, thir? I want to see where he guarded, thir."

Greg blinked, his mind rapidly deciphering through the lisp, but nodded. Before he could say anything, though, Luce butted in. "How about we get some ice-cream first, Mason, a sweet treat to make you feel better."

Greg couldn’t help but count in his mind how many people were on staff today, though in the end he couldn’t say he minded even if it was only Granny Sweets and the sitter.

Mason felt reluctant, but the thought of ice-cream distracted him. "Oh, thir, can we really?" Mason beamed, his eyes and nose a swollen blue from crying. "Leth get ith-cream!" He climbed down from his perch on Greg, whose eyes had turned skyward for a moment before Luce smacked him with a look at Mason. Greg winced, thinking to himself it was a good thing that his father wasn't here to see him acting un-vampire like, and smiled at Mason.

"Let's go, I know I can't wait for a scoop of blood ice cream." He said, standing carefully. "I'll buy you as many ice-cream cones as you want today, all right? My treat, because Luce beat me to it suggesting it."

Mason beamed, "Oh, thir, thank you!"

Luce trailed behind the duo, watching with a smile as they interacted, Mason chattering on happily while Greg listened with blank but attentive face. He couldn't say he hadn't been expecting Mason's breakdown; while they'd only owned the orphanage for a scant few months, the new monsters almost always started crying sooner or later. Mason was unique because it had almost been a month since he’d been transferred here, but, Luce speculated that, Greg said something to Mason that made the gargoyle laugh; the vampire's presence was helping more than any social worker could.

Luce shook himself out of his thoughts and beamed as Greg looked over his shoulder to see where Luce went. He was coming; he just didn't want to interfere in any way.

---

Mason looked wildly around him, taking in the intricate architecture of the cathedral and touching whatever stone wall he could. There was several hundred years of gargoyle history speaking to him, and he couldn't help but beam. Being a gargoyle, every stone had it’s very own life, and they were all whispering their history, from where they were quarried, what they were made of – “It really is interesting that four thousand two hundred and seventy nine stone blocks had more than fossil remains in them!” Mason prattled happily – and who had walked in their halls.

The stones letting off a drab aura while he candelabras flickered with a proper amount of gloom and the wrought-iron fencing on the perimeter made the entrance hall properly intimidating. And, best of all, there was a gargoyle perched on one of the turrets, glaring stonily over the ground. Mason sighed; it was perfect!

Luce sighed. The dark atmosphere, while perfect for Greg and Mason's sensibilities, was chafing his cheerful personality. "I'm going to see if we can get to the roof for you, okay?"

"Oh, thir, thank you! I can't waith to thee the gargoyleth in perthon!" Mason grinned in good cheer, and Luce grinned goofily right back.

Greg cleared his throat, causing Luce to look over at him from the corner of his eye. "If you're not back in half an hour, we're coming after you." Luce nodded and practically sprinted away, wanting to get away from the most desolate antechamber he'd seen in centuries.

Greg's lip curled in a half smile at the phoenix's antics before he turned to Mason. "Let's keep going, shall we?"

"Yeth, thir!"

---

Luce hated to admit it out loud but... he was lost. He just wasn't meant for large enclosed spaces! Still, he didn't dare admit it out loud lest he call Greg's wrath upon him.

Of course, he hadn't meant to get lost after Greg's warning, it just happened. His sense of direction changed when there was no sky above him. And his feet were beginning to hurt.

Still, Luce was doing this for Mason: the gargoyle deserved more than what he was getting and if he and Greg could cheer him up by introducing him to another gargoyle, than so be it.

Even with those encouraging thoughts, Luce was about to admit defeat and slid down to the floor when he noticed a door. It was very discreet, the stone blending in with the wall, but he'd noticed it. Hoping desperately that it led to the roof, he strode over quickly and slipped inside, only to wilt as he noticed that the all the room held was a desk, bed and old crates.

Turning, he prepared to exit the room when he noticed there was no longer a door where there had been. His paled, and he buried his head in his hands. “Great going Luce,” he told himself, “it never occurred to you that it could be a trap door.”

After circling the room once looking for another door, he gave up with a sigh and sat on the bed. It looked like Greg would have to rescue him after all.

---

Greg was in the middle of telling Mason about one of his previous heists that involved a cathedral when his internal clock went off. Pursing his lips, he decided to give Luce until he finished the story to make his way back.

Ten minutes later, with one very entertained Mason acting out the part Greg had played as he was chased by monks, Greg gave up on waiting for Luce. "Mason!" He called out, smiling as the gargoyle's happy upturned face met his.

"Yeth, thir?" he asked, tilting his head in curiosity.

"Luce isn't back yet." He told the child. "How about we go rescue him, hmm? It'll be just like the time I hid the Stave I stole in order to distract the Priests of Columbine Church and had to backtrack after I lost them."

Mason grinned, and pulled out a magnifying glass from his backpack, holding it up to his eye. "Yeth, thir! I'll look for clueth with thith!"

"Good, now, Luce was looking for the roof. Traditionally, cathedral's have a long main hall, and the way up is through a small stairwell off the axis hallway." Greg explained, pointing out the width of this hall compared to the side passage they just passed, then pointing out the amount of candelabras in comparison.

Mason nodded seriously and spoke up. "But we hath to find the path Luth took firth, right?"

Greg nodded, giving Mason a squeeze on the shoulder. "Correct." Greg shot Mason a smalls mile before his tone shifted to wry, "but this place is so caked with dust, I don't see that being hard.”

Mason gave a grave imitation of Greg's nod, slipped the magnifying glass over his left eye again and began looking at the trudge lines in the dust. "I think you're right, thir; he definitely went thith way."

Greg smirked and continued following the path. They continued that way for several minutes, then Greg stopped. "He stopped here, so..." And he saw the door. "Mason, wait here, okay?"

Mason looked at the door curiously, taking in the strange but familiar design. "Yeth, thir."

Giving a tight smile, Greg strode over to the door and walked into the room. His eyes lighted on Luce, and he scowled. Bloody bird was sleeping!

Stalking across the room, Greg gave Luce a hard nudge on the shoulder. Luce blinked sleepily, and then sat up straight as thought lightning had struck. "Oh, Greg! You didn't! The door!"

Greg whirled around, and indeed, there wasn't a door there anymore. He suppressed a groan. "Stupid bird, help me find a way out." he grumbled, feeling around every wall.

Luce sighed, then muttered sullenly, "Don't you think I already looked? I already tested it – it’s gargoylean stone magic.” As quickly as Luce’s “crest feathers” aerated, he deflated. “Mason is out there right? Try calling through the wall."

Greg nodded and walked up to where the door had been, putting a hand against the stone. "Mason! Mason, can you hear me!"

Very faintly from the other side came Mason's voice. "Thir? Are you okay? The door clothed on you. Is Luth with you?"

"He's here," Greg confirmed. "Can you open the door for me? There's no handle on this end."

"I don't think I can do that, thir. I think thith ith a gargoyleth door, thir. There'th a thpell that keepth you in and I don't know how to break it."

Greg cursed their luck while Luce buried his head in his hands at the confirmation. "Okay, Mason, I have a mission for you."

"Thir?" Mason asked, his voice torn between worry and excitement.

"I need you to find the roof and ask the gargoyle what the password is." Greg explained. "We'll be stuck here a while otherwise… but I can tell you how to get to the roof. Follow the dust path back to the main hallway, and walk back the length of seven candelabras. The stairwell is there. Can you do it?"

Mason's voice came through loud and clear. "Yeth, thir!"

---

Mason did as he was told, and found the stairwell easily. He marveled at how Greg knew everything and climbed the stairs.

Despite knowing how important it was to get Luce and Greg out of that room, he couldn't help but be excited. He got to explore a cathedral, and would meet an older gargoyle! It was every orphaned monster's dream, to connect with their kind.

But Mason had a mission! He would find the sentinel and rescue Luce and Greg. It was the least he could do after they had taken him in. He sped up from his previously trudging pace, looking around wildly.

The truth was, he didn’t know what he would do if he lost them, and if he had to face that other, older gargoyle to save them, he would do so gladly.

The stairwell took Mason all the way to the top, and he grinned his pointy teeth in the darkness as he opened a door - a regular door, not a gargoyle door. He was on the roof, on his way to rescuing Luce and Greg, and right there was the sentinel gargoyle, still as a statue.

Mason took a deep breath, let it out, and then froze. He couldn’t do it! He couldn’t rescue Luce and Greg and they would be stuck in the room forever!

Mason whimpered quietly, the whispering of monsters don’t cry from this morning ran in his mind. A tear slipped down. “Montherth do cry. I cry. I want Luth and Greg.” He sniffled, and saw the proud back of the gargoyle meters in front of him. “Luth and Greg… I’m going to rescue Luth and Greg!” He said firmly, wiping tears from his eyes.

With a resolute nod, he took a step forward, out of the doorway towards his goal. He would rescue Luce and Greg, and he would get this Gargoyle’s help to do so.

And once Mason trudged closer, he could feel his resolve wilting.

"Um, excuthe me, thir, but I need your help." He stood in front of the older gargoyle. It blinked at him slowly, and Mason touched his own stubby horns self-consciously. "Pleath, thir, my Guardian got thtuck in the gargoyleth room and needth to be leth out."

The older gargoyle nodded and flexed his wings before drawing them in. "Let's go."

"Yeth, thir." Mason led the way, though he was aware the older gargoyle probably knew the way himself. It took only a few minutes, and by the time they got there Mason wilted, no longer wanting to pester the gargoyle with questions.

When they got there, the gargoyle opened the door and spoke the password - Mason marveled because it was in the cracking stone language, while Mason had only learned a little bit of the falling stone language. Then Greg and Luce walked out and Mason attached himself to the vampire.

Mason was ecstatic; he had saved Luce and Greg! "Thir! Luth! You're okay!" He beamed as Greg hugged him back slightly.

Luce came up next, bear hugging Mason before turning to the gargoyle. "Thank you for your help…" He trailed off, searching for a name.

"It was no problem. I am Lumachel.” the gargoyle spoke. After a moment where Mason shifted shyly, he turned to Mason. “Should you have a need to speak with me another time, I will allow it.”

Mason beamed, truly happy. "Yeth, thir!"

droaerion @ 2008-12-22T22:17:00

2008-12-23T04:51:52Z

I think... I'm getting inspired to write something again. I've been pretty dedzor for months now, even my reading is half hearted as mcartel</lj> will probably agree to. Everything's pretty blah. And now people are all 'Twilight this and Twilight that' and I'm like, this sucks. The writing is disconnected, the main character is a total Mary-Sue, and you know what? My mother thought it was a pile of poo. And she reads anything. From enjoying the things she has taste in to the sappiest, Oh Clark, how I love you romance novels. She read it through, I got to like, chapter three.

But this isn't about the shoddiness of Twilight, I don't want to be like every other and say something about it, so... What this really is about is this idea in my head.

So it's a vague romance. I haven't thought of magic or modern or whatever, but... the P.O.V. is of this guy, and he's the boyfriend of the actual protagonist. They're not the ideal couple, but they make their way through it. Then something happens, and the protagonist doesn't want to see him. But s/he will talk to the older brother of the boyfriend. This is the part where I either see magic or don't, but either way the two are in this conspiracy, and they don't want to bring the boyfriend into it because they think if they do, his morals will clash with theirs and he'll be on the other 'side'. So they don't tell him. But the protagonist is still half in love with the boyfriend, and is trying his/her best to include him in everything else. At first, the boyfriend thinks that he's being cheated on with his own brother, but eventually sees that that's not the case, but the brother thinks that he still thinks that, so the brother and the protagonist come up with this lie/plan, telling him that they're co-doing something. like writing a novel, or building a business. Boyfriend accepts it, and the pair embellish it a bit, making the lie half real. Planning stage, so to speak.

But the protagonist and the brother actually are falling in love, only the brother holds his family above his growing feelings and stomps on them like a self-sacrificing emo character. The protagonist, feeling guilty, takes a step back from her boyfriend. Except that at that point in time, the boyfriend finds out what's really going on, and, as predicted, chooses the other side. But the boyfriend has depth that was previously unseen, and in a classic love overcomes any obstacle, kills... maybe not the major Voldemort equivalent antagonist, but opens the door for his brother and 'love' to kill them. He's injured in the process, and the protagonist has this huge realization of love and regret.

After that, I can't think of much, either the boyfriend dies, or lives and gives his blessing, or the brother kills himself with the antagonist in the final showdown and neither live quite happily ever after, but the boyfriend and protagonist part on amiable terms. Maybe to fall in love again or something.

The S/He protagonist thing... well, if I had any aspiration for it to be published, no one would read a love triangle of males, but if it were female, it'd seem too much like your every day marysue ish thing.

Oh, and I was thinking, how do we know what's going on with the other two? I figure that the boyfriend reads either his brother or the protagonist's journal or something, maybe if it's magic gets glimpses into their minds? That's not concrete in my head.

Freebees

2008-09-30T00:50:40Z

For the first five people that reply to me ~~and re-post this challenge~~, I will send you something. It might be something I've made, or something cool from my hidden stash, it might be a mix CD, or a rubber duck, a book I think you will enjoy, or something else that is awesome. Whatever it is, I promise that I will get it to you in 365 days or fewer. The only thing you need to do in order to participate is to be one of the first five to reply to this, ~~AND post this very same thing on YOUR LiveJournal - cause it's fun to give people stuff.~~

Honestly you don't have to repost for me, but the limits still five. If it makes you more comfortable to get your britches but not spend forty USD on stamps, great for you I'm crazy.

Guh

2008-09-22T21:53:41Z

Brisingr. Was totally blown away. But of course I was, it's Paolini, the great man he is. Incoherent shocked, though nowhere near as much as I was after Eldest. Still has that characteristic colorfulness.

And speaking of, it's no longer a trilogy. I'm slow on the upkeep that I didn't know until I bought Brisingr. There'll be a book four of the now renamed Inheritance Cycle. Imagination works like that, I guess. Have to keep going.

I'll organize a what happened spoilers later.

Football! Actual football, not 'should be called handball' american footsie.

2008-06-20T21:58:26Z

God, I can't believe that game. Croatia vs. Turkey. 0-0 all ninty minutes, plus the first of the quarter hour half extra and most of the second one. 119 minutes and Croatia scored, 120th minute plus Turkey scored. Just... what a game wow. Of course, the Penalty kicks sucked for Croatia, only one shot out of four made it. Two went hairsbreadth post wide, the one that won the game for Turkey got caught by the keeper. But good god, I honestly didn't know who to root for. I'm a Germany fan myself, and if not them then Sweden, and whoever won was playing Germany in the semifinals. Turkey now, but I was caught between wanting Germany to have a good challenge with each of them, knowing how tacky the bright red uniforms are when they just played Portugal in the quarterfinals with equally red uniforms, or playing against Croatia, who they'd already lost against.

Thinking about who will win in the semi, in a who beat who scenario is stupid. All three teams (Germany, Turkey, and Croatia) have all had growth during their numerous matches. Will it be close, no doubt, but I think Germany will surprise them, because after the talk worthy game that Turkey played, Germany's going to have a hugely different drive.

How annoying

2008-01-30T04:52:31Z

So when I was a kid, the Empire carpet commercial was kind of cool. Anyone who could put blue floors on while levitating the furniture must have been great, and that coupled with the catchy phrase? Pure. Genius.

I'm not quite as groovy about it now that I understand what a commercial is beyond cool toys I'll never get being shown, and do admit that the new, spoofed up commercial looks stupid but...

I have a new hate. Well, not new, but... I mute the tv, turn off the tv, will throw things at the screen when ever a LUNA comes on. It's grating, the people in it make me want to murder, and the song... I honestly have a problem with it.

So yeah, if you ever find me in an kooky house humming, you'll know the cause.

Cats and Dogs

2008-01-12T07:45:50Z

Ah, it appears we've been too hopeful about the fact that they ignore eachother when within a foot of the other. Sure, the dog defers to our male cat, but just now she (the dog) came up to me, Butters on my lap (female cat) and stretched up. They were on opposite sides of the chair but... Butters about killed my leg with her claws. I prodded her off, stood up, and motioned for the dog to follow me out of the room and Butters attacked. Sure, there was hissing, but it's usually just that. This was warfare, she lept about a meter, rammed the dog into the wall and bat at her face. Never have I been more glad that our cats are declawed.

Wow

2008-01-07T19:28:46Z

It's so nice out today, I opened the doors and it's like it breathed life into me, or that I'd been slowly choking to death for the last few weeks. But right now? It's mild and a bit wet but not freezing or snowing or biting me and it just smells fresh. I know it's technically winter, and this'll sound weird, but it smells like it's still fall, or like it's late spring, April ish.

Of course, the sky is grey but we can't have everything.

How disappointing...

2007-12-28T08:47:17Z

I hate when a book doesn't reach my expectations. Hate it even more when I predict that it'll make my stomach sour. An example being, I had really high expectations for Eldest and didn't like it because of what happened to Murtagh. Now this... http://pics.livejournal.com/otterdance/pic/0003f943/ Kill me now. I love the picture... the summary? I don't think I'll even be able to read the book. How sad is that?

The thing is, though, is that I don't expect The Nightrunner Series to be all happy dancing, but just this summary makes me want to puke. Number one, Pirates. yay. ._. Number two, the wording is a set up for a huge let down. I don't care that in the end they meet up and it'll probably be all brief heartfelt reunion but 'We each have our own part, you do this, I'll do that. Luck in the Shadows.' It's just, something will end up coming between them again. That's how it works and it makes me sick.

Maybe I wouldn't have had such a problem if it wasn't written that a large part of the ordeal is the actual separation. It'd be all fine and dandy if it was more along the lines of 'after being captured by pirates and separated, ... mysterious person wants Alec for his unique blood.' without the Seregil part. It makes it look like a priority and a future let down.