http://spectacledotter.wordpress.com/

So check it out! There is fun stuff there!

Okay so it is NOVEMBER 1. You know what that means, right? RIGHT?

It is NATIONAL NOVEL WRITING MONTH.

As usual, I am posting the month’s novel on this blog. HOWEVER things are a little different from what they were last year. I am taking this Seriously. Because of this, the page with the novel is password-protected. I do want people to read it, but I also want to know who is reading it. So if you are interested, send me an e-mail, IM me, or drop me a direct message on Twitter and I’ll send you the password.

TODAY’S UPDATES: Chapter 0 and Chapter 2.

WORD COUNT SO FAR: 1792.

Now I have to go write essays. Priorities!

I kick the door open and emerge onto the rooftop. It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust to the sunlight, but when they do I see trees and hedges—this is a break spot. It’s probably got a nicer doorway than the maintenance hall I just came through, but that doesn’t matter now. I need to move.

They’re after me.

I run down the roof, between the box hedges, until the way ahead is blocked by a fence. But there is a break in the hedges, and, oddly enough, a piece of wood sitting in the break. It’s like an arrow. I don’t even break in my running, I just turn, follow the wood, and jump.

The next building is close enough that I can land with no problem, but the roof is far enough down that I have to roll as I land to protect myself. I have to keep my momentum. I keep running; when there’s a gap, I jump over it, when there’s a fence, I climb it. I don’t stop. It’s quiet right now but that won’t last—they’re after me. I need to find someplace safe.

As if he read my mind, Merc says through my earpiece, “Should be some cover just ahead—the scaffolding. Try to lose some of the heat in there.” The twin buildings next to my current one are undergoing construction. There’s scaffolding covering the sides and cinderblocks covering the scaffolding. Merc’s right—that will be good cover. But first I have to get there. There’s a maintenance shed near the edge of the building—too high to climb onto, but there’s also a pipe on the shed thick enough to climb up. So I do. From there I jump to the next roof—keep running—and use the long piece of plywood sitting irresponsibly on the ledge as a diving board to shorten the gap. I land on the scaffolding, and keep going.

The scaffolding is a maze built into the side of a building. Walkways that only go halfway and piles of cinderblocks that block the path are everywhere; I have to keep running, keep climbing, to find my way through the maze. Luckily, running is what I do best. Runners see the world differently from other people. We see the flow. Rooftops become pathways and conduits, and the space between one building and the next is only a minor obstacle. The possibilities are endless; everything is the next possible escape route.  To us, running is not a physical activity—it is an art.

There’s a gap in the scaffolding, too large to jump over; but there’s also what looks like the metal beams that make the floor of the scaffold, but folded to the side. The effect is that it forms a wall. I can use that. When I reach the edge of the gap, and the wall, I jump up and land my feet on the wall—I don’t stop running, I never stopped running—and run across to the other side. That trick only lasts a few seconds, but those few seconds make all the difference.

Gunfire. They found me. I glance behind me and see the silhouette of a helicopter rise up to my level. It’s shooting at me. I have to move faster.

There’s another large gap now, and no wall to run across, and for a moment I think I’m doomed—until I see the ladder. I slide down it to the next story of scaffolding, and run. I turn the corner and find another ladder to the upper story. I climb it, and I see a small stack of cinderblocks in front of a sandbag. The perfect springboard. I use it to leap up to the next story; but now I’m stuck. The scaffolding is blocked and I can’t get over it—the only escape is the next building, but that’s too far to jump—and then I see the small bar laid across the gap. It’s narrow, but it’s flat and it looks balanced. More importantly, it’s my only option. I can hear the sound of the helicopter getting closer. A deep breath, then I carefully make my way across the beam. I almost lose my balance or twice, but I make it.

I grab onto the edge of the walkway above and scramble up onto the narrow metal beam, ready to run forward—but the helicopter suddenly flies up, directly in front of me, and opens fire. To run forward would be suicide; so I turn around, and find another gap, but another wall. I use the wall and run across the gap to the walkway that just edges out around the corner of the skyscraper. I turn the corner, blocking the line of sight to the helicopter—at least for now—and keep running, looking for the next way up.

I slide under a piece of wood balanced over two stacks of cinderblocks, and keep moving. I should be okay—except a cop comes up on the walkway, blocking my path at the corner. But I have enough momentum now. At the right moment, I go into a slide and kick out. He falls off the ledge; there were no safety rails at that particular spot. I don’t even pause, I just keep running.

I let myself fall through the next gap, as there is nothing on the other side to jump to. Instead, I turn around and run back across the building. There must be some way, some hole in this maze I can exploit. Up ahead I see that the safety rail is gone—broken or just not there, I don’t know—and the metal beam of the scaffold has extended beyond the edge of the walkway. I could jump from there. I run across the beam, and, at the last moment, jump. For a brief, terrifying second I am airborne, weightless—but then I land on the scaffolding of the next building, and I have to keep moving.

I run down a ramp, and see another pile-of-bricks springboard ahead. I use it to leap over a gap and onto a higher walkway, and I keep going. It suddenly hits me that the sound of the helicopter is gone. Merc’s voice suddenly comes through my earpiece. “Chopper got a call from its mom; it’s bugging out. Not for long, I bet,” he adds in a mutter. That doesn’t mean that I’m in the clear. It means I’ve got a few more precious minutes to make my escape. I look up, and see the crane above me—I must be nearing the top of the building.

Run up a ramp, round the corner, and there’s the edge of the rooftop. I scramble up onto the roof; it’s covered in little square chimneys, a large shed, and the crane. There are also two police officers with shotguns. I run towards the first one, standing at the far corner of the shed, and kick the gun out of his hands before he can get off a shot. “Holy sh—” is all he manages to get out before I knock him out with his own gun. His partner rounds the corner and gets the same treatment. There’s no others, though, but that won’t last long. I have to get away.

I look around, and see another crane on the adjacent building. It’s carrying a load of metal planks, and the planks look just close enough to the crane on my building…

I don’t really get a plan. I just know what I have to do.

I hop over the fence guarding the crane and climb up the ladder to the control box. From the control box, I climb up onto the crane itself. I line myself up carefully—there will be no do-overs. A deep breath. Then I run up the arm of the crane and throw myself off the end.

I land on the metal planks held by the opposite crane. I run across them, jump off, and land on a large, soft pad beneath—probably a pile of insulation. When I hop off the pad and run for the door of the building, I hear Merc. “Did you just do what I think you did?” he yells in my ear. “Goddammit girl, I just spilled my Joe all over the keyboard!”

The little arrow in the corner of my vision means one thing: save point. Finally. I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and when I open my eyes again, I’m sitting on my bed. The red stripe over the scene on the TV screen shows that the game is paused. I’ve succeeded. I turn off the game, put my controller on the table in front of the TV, and go down for dinner.

Gamers see the world differently from other people. We see the fun. Places and things become settings and toys, and every action, every idea, is the beginning of the next story—the next possible adventure.

Instead my best friend just told me she isn’t my friend anymore.

I feel kind of shitty right now.

I feel helpless and useless and hopeless and I have no idea what to do. She says she wants to feel good about herself. That she’s tired of us and trying to help us. She’s angry that we’re different and apparently won’t take care of ourselves or fight for our friendship.

I’m trying to get mad. I thought I was fighting and taking care of myself and working on us. I thought we were talking and I thought things were okay. But I’ve thought that before and I was wrong. I want to be mad. I want to be mad that she’s decided what I need to be as her friend, and that I don’t fit those parameters, and therefore I’m not her friend. I went to Missouri to see her, I’m trying to get my life back in order, and I’m trying to be a friend to her and I don’t understand what happened or what I did wrong.

All I know is that I have now been dumped twice by the same girl. And it doesn’t get any easier the second time.

Bye, Becca.

It was at that point that I threw the magazine across the room.

McCarthy’s stance on autism is that it is a disease to be cured. She never uses the word “cure,” preferring “recovery”–like how one recovers from a bus accident, she says. To be honest, that’s not much better, because either way, there is something fundamentally wrong with the child, something that keeps him from being fully functional, fully normal, fully human. According to McCarthy, autism is the fault of MMR vaccines (despite numerous tests and studies proving otherwise), causing issues within the child’s body. From her website: “We believe our children’s bodies are overwhelmed by a combination of heavy metals (mercury, lead aluminum), live viruses (particular from their vaccines), and bacteria. These toxins serve to slow or shut down normal biochemical pathways in the body and lead to the physical and mental manifestations we call NDs [neurological disorders].” Therefore, like any other disease, it can be cured.

This may be reassuring to the parents, but it is dangerous to the kids. It means the parents will spend all their time and effort on bullshit “alternative treatments” to try to cure the mercury poisoning or what have you–and not on giving the kids the counseling and psychiatric therapy they need. It’s true that what works great for one kid won’t work at all for another (I responded really well to Zoloft; I was the only one in my therapy group that did), but that doesn’t mean some treatments don’t work at all. McCarthy, for her part, doesn’t actually endorse not seeking counseling and psychological therapy–but she doesn’t think it’s the root of autism.

This completely misses the point of what autism is.

Autism is not caused by vaccines. It is not a disease, and it is not a biomedical issue. It is not cancer, it is not poisoning. This is way, way, way oversimplifying the complexities of autism. Autism is a cognitive disorder–it affects how you think, the very basic processes of your mind. That is how there can be physical issues associated with it; the brain affects the rest of the body, after all. The way you view the world, the way you process it, the language that it translates into, all of that is changed by autism. It’s so much more basic than toxins, and so much more complex.

The best way I’ve found to describe my experiences with autism (as an autistic myself, mind you) is that it’s an operating system. Brains are the fastest, most complex, most powerful computers in existence, and like all computers, it has an operating system. Neurotypicals have one; autistics have another. My operating system is autistic. This can make it very, very hard to interface with the rest of the world. Input can be difficult to handle, especially if it’s a file type I’ve never seen before or that I’m not equipped to handle. Have you ever tried running .exe files on a Mac? If you know how to use a certain system, it can be just as functional and just as useful as another–but you need to know how. It’s taken me a long time to learn how to use my operating system, and even now it’s a difficulty. Now imagine someone else trying to interface with me, putting their system against mine, and you can see how communication can be a huge issue.

Isn’t that more complicated than mercury poisoning? It’s like being from a different planet. You can’t cure being from a different planet. You can evolve and adjust and adapt–but not cure. Telling parents their autistic children can be cured is giving them false hopes, it’s completely misinformed, and it’s offensive to us autistics. We are not something to be cured; we are not a blight. We are another kind of humanity–but that doesn’t make us less human.

I am trouble, yes. I am a puzzle, a problem, and a fascinating project, to various people. But there is one thing I am not.

I am not a disease.

I’ve been playing a lot of Mass Effect and Final Fantasy X lately, and that’s given me some food for thought on Japanese (or Japanese-style) RPGs and Western (or Western-style) RPGs. Basically the two of them are decidedly different, and the way in which they are different–other than WRPGs’ turn-based-combat-phobia–is their style of storytelling, or more specifically, their style of roleplaying. JRPGs tend to have a passive style of roleplaying, while WRPGs have a more active style.

What do I mean by this? Well, let’s take Final Fantasy for example. Your typical FF game has a definite, linear story, a specific main character that is uncustomizable outside his equipment slots and ability pool, a bunch of party members, and a lot of cutscenes in which you do nothing but watch. The actual playable sections become a way to get from Cutscene A to Cutscene B and learn more of the story. It’s almost an interactive movie, albeit occasionally it feels like the “interaction” is walking from one theatre to another in order to see a movie that is weirdly in parts and scattered throughout the city. 

Here’s the thing, though: often the playable sections are really fun on their own merits, with an engaging combat system and lots of minigames and sidequests (though in FFX the sidequests are all collection stuff). In Kingdom Hearts especially, the most fun part of the entire game is the combat system. I could go back and play through the whole thing just to fight the boss battles again. In fact, once I beat FFX that’s exactly what I’m planning to do. It’s good, clean, bash-’em-up fun, and that means someone in the design department did their job right. The storyline is engaging and well-told and keeps you wanting to get from Cutscene B to Cutscene C, just to see what happens next–even though you really don’t have any control over it. This lack of control means the player really has a passive role in how the game plays out.

On the other hand, all WRPGs I’ve played take the “roleplaying” part very seriously. More commonly in WRPGs, the player creates–or at least heavily modifies–their own character and directs how the character interacts with its environment. Mass Effect does this on a massive scale, as does Fable, Knights of the Old Republic, and Neverwinter Nights. In the end the story is essentially linear, but the player has a greater hand in the direction the linearity goes. The player chooses what his–or her–character says, how it acts, the friends it makes, even the morals it has (although moral choice systems aren’t limited to RPGs alone). It’s much more about the player actively shaping the story, rather than watching the story unfold.

However, this does not mean that WRPGs are inherently “better” than JRPGs. Many JRPGs have engrossing storylines that would be good fantasy stories in any medium, as do many WRPGs–and many more are boring, repetitive, and generally rubbish. The way they tell the story does not truly affect the individual worth of that story, and either way can be equally fulfilling for the player. It’s all about style. Many Western action games actually have passive storytelling, so it’s not limited to JRPGs only. Roleplaying simply has a different meaning for the Dungeons and Dragons sect of Western culture.

Personally, I enjoy both styles. It can depend on the mood I’m in which one I’d rather play, just as it can vary between playing an action game or an FPS. I honestly don’t think that one is superior. In the end it comes down to a matter of personal style and taste. 

By the way, I changed the name of the blog to better reflect what I write, which tends to be much geekier than artsy. If you know where I got the title, you … get … something or other, I haven’t really planned that far ahead. …shhhh

In other news, Christmas. Christmas. CHRISTMAS.

I am so insanely excited like you have no idea. I can’t wait to get home and go Christmas shopping, though I should probably order my dad’s gift. I’m getting him something online but I’m not telling what it is (mostly because I think he reads this. HI DAD). I don’t even know what I’m getting for my sister. I just love getting Christmas presents. My mom actually had to talk me out of getting even more presents for Allie and Becca just because I’d found the absolutely perfect t-shirts for them even though I’d already decided on what to get them. DILEMMA. T.T (I figured out what I’m going to do for that, though.)

In other other news, I’m well and truly addicted to Mass Effect. I love this game so much. To the point that Garrus Vakarian and Tali’Zorah nar Rayyah have taken up residence in my head. Irina–my Shepard–isn’t even the important point to me anymore. She is the driving force, yes, but my view of the story is … different, I guess. I’m more interested in what’s going on around Shepard. She affects the world around her, yes, so what is that world? It’s fascinating. With any luck, the next game will be just as fascinating. January 26!

As a result of all this, I have begun to write Mass Effect fanfiction. Yes I am that kind of nerd. It is Garrus-centric because I am a gigantic girlnerd, and features someone who has been close to my heart for a long time. So without further ado, here is the first little bit.

#

“What will you do now, Garrus?” Alenko had asked, turning to the turian. It was an honest question, but it put Garrus on edge.

“I don’t know,” the turian finally admitted.

“Will you reapply for C-Sec?” pressed Alenko.

“No,” said Garrus firmly. That was the one thing he was sure about. No more C-Sec. “I have an idea,” he added, “but there’s someone I need to see first.”

“Who?” asked the human.

“She’s—“ But before Garrus could finish, Shepard came up to them.

“Ready to go, Kaidan?” she asked Alenko.

“Yes ma’am,” he said with a nod.

“What about you, Garrus?” continued Shepard, looking at her former crewmember. “Are you coming with us?”

“With all due respect, Shepard,” he said, “I’m staying. I promised I’d help you fight and defeat Saren, and I did. But now I need to find my own way.”

Shepard smiled at him and placed a dark hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry to hear that,” she said, “you were a valuable asset to the team—and a good man. Turian,” she quickly corrected herself. He laughed quietly. “Whatever way you find, I hope it’s the right one for you.”

His mandibles clicked together as they shifted into the turian version of a smile. “Thank you, Commander,” he said. “I hope so, too.”

#

Flux is as Flux always is in the evening—or as “evening” as it ever gets on a space station—full of neon and people. He passes the dance floor, which seems a little fuller than usual, then the stairs to the quasar stations, and finally he finds what he’s looking for.

She’s sitting at a two-person table next to a window that looks out over the Wards, sipping a strange green drink from a short spherical glass. She is human, with long, light blonde hair and fair skin with strange blue markings. She wears an orange bra with no straps and blue pants, with a green belt slung around her hips. Her midriff is left bare. It’s unusual—most women on the Citadel wear dresses in the latest style. This woman’s outfit looks like nothing he’s seen on anyone in the Citadel.

It does make her easy to find, though, so Garrus guesses he should be grateful. He sits down at her table with no preamble, and she looks over at him. Her eyebrows raise, but otherwise she seems hardly surprised to see him there.

“Samus Aran,” he says bluntly. A slow smile appears on her face. He notices her eyes are light blue and her lips are crimson.

“Garrus Vakarian,” she replies, and takes another sip of the green drink.

Before he has the opportunity to speak further, however, a waitress appears, requesting his order. It’s with forced cheer that she does so, he notices absently. Trying to keep up the atmosphere of fun and fancy in this shaken time. Perhaps, judging by the amount of people in the club, she isn’t the only one.

He orders a Makara fizz, and the blonde woman orders hasperat and a refill of the green drink. After the waitress leaves, the woman turns to Garrus. “Whatever it is,” she says, “I didn’t do it.”

“What?”

She laughs softly. “What do you want, Vakarian?”

He leans across the table to look into her face. She looks back evenly. Her eyes really are very blue. “Advice,” he replies after a moment. “I need your help, Aran.”

Aran raises an eyebrow, then breaks his gaze to drain her glass of the green drink. She examines the empty glass for a moment, then sets it down on the table. “So,” she says, “a former maverick C-Sec detective, a known associate of the Spectre Irina Shepard, and one of those involved in the recent siege of the Citadel, wants the help of a bounty hunter from the Terminus Systems.”

It does sound very weird when she says it out loud like that.

She looks out the window, then looks at him. “Did Shepard not invite you on her next conquest?” she asks.

“No,” he replies flatly. “I left on my own. That’s why I contacted you. I … well, I need a change of career.”

Her eyebrows shoot up momentarily, but then those crimson lips curve into a knowing grin. She gets it. “You want to be a hunter,” she says.

“I have the skills,” he says, “but I don’t have the contacts.”

“Which is why you came to me.”

“You’re the only contact I have in this kind of field.”

She laughs and leans back in her seat, crossing her arms under her breasts. There’s a moment’s pause, and Garrus gets the distinct sense that she’s looking him over. The waitress comes back with their drinks and the hasperat, giving Garrus a slightly odd look as she does so. She may have seen him on the vids with Shepard, he thinks. Famous by association.

“Why?” asks Aran finally.

“I’m sick of regulations, sick of rules,” he tells her. “I want to do what’s right, not what’s allowed. Too often now, the law gets in the way of justice. I remembered meeting you years ago—do you remember?”

“I recognized you, didn’t I?” she answers with a grin.

“Well, I remembered that. Working with a Spectre really opened my eyes. It showed me how things could be done—that you could still do the right thing without needing to justify it to everyone.”

“But,” interrupts Aran, her grin getting wider, “aside from being a Spectre, that’s not really accepted by the Council.”

“Exactly,” he says. “I think I need a change of scenery.”

Aran bursts out laughing, causing a couple of salarians at the next table to look over at them. “You have to be kidding,” she says, still laughing.

“I’m not,” he replies with narrowed eyes.

She picks up the hasperat and takes a bite, chewing slowly as she thinks. There’s a moment’s pause, then she swallows quickly, shudders, then takes a large gulp of the green drink. “That’s the real stuff there,” she says, sounding pleased.

“What?” he says blankly. He can’t eat the same food as humans—their body chemistry is totally different—so he’s never had hasperat.

“Spicy,” she explains. “Really spicy.”

“And that’s … good?”

“Very,” she says with a grin. “If it doesn’t burn on the way down, they didn’t do it right.”

He shakes his head and takes a sip of his own drink. Flux is smart enough to serve turian food—after all, turians are a Council race. The bubbles of the fizz tickle his nose and make his mandibles click.

“You know,” says Aran after a pause, “things are getting dangerous out in the Terminus Systems. Ridley’s gang is getting bolder. They’re attacking bigger ships, larger settlements. I think they’re planning something—and they’re not the only ones.”

“Who’s Ridley?” asks Garrus.

“A turian,” explains Aran, “leads a huge pirate gang. Batarians, krogan, humans, even a couple of salarian scientists—you name it, they’re in his crew. No one knows what his real name is. We just call him Ridley. He calls himself the ‘Space Dragon.’”

“Sounds like he has a flair for the dramatic,” comments Garrus.

“Oh, big time,” agrees Aran. “But he manages to get people to follow him, obviously. I go up against his gang all the time.” She takes another bite of hasperat and he takes a sip of his drink.

“So,” she says after a moment of chewing, “do you like working with others?”

He shrugs. “Yeah,” he says, “I didn’t do it much in C-Sec but I like it more than working alone.”

“Comes with being a turian, I bet,” says Aran.

“It does,” he says, nodding. “Why do you ask?”

“Well, you want to get into the hunting business,” says Aran, “and I need a partner. Terminus is getting a little dangerous for the solo hunter.”

“So,” he says slowly, her meaning beginnning to dawn, “what you’re saying is…”

She holds out her hand. “Offer’s on the table, Vakarian. Pair up?”

He gives her hand a moment’s glance, then slides his taloned hand into hers. “Deal,” he says.

WARNING: SPOILERRIFFIC

11:56 AM

Kim: So.

Kim: New Moon.

Alexanthra: jhgfdfgfgh

Kim: Two words: /fucking hilarious/.

Alexanthra: xDDD

Kim: So Bella turns 18 and promptly decides she’s an old maid

Kim: And is all TURN ME BEFORE I GAIN GREY HAIRS

Kim: And everyone else is like You’re fucking 18

Kim: Not a big deal

Alexanthra: xDDD

Kim: And then she gets a paper cut and Jasper’s all BLOOD

Kim: So Edward throws her into a glass vase

Kim: And her arm is sliced open

Alexanthra: xDDDD

Kim: And Jasper is like MORE BLOOD

Kim: And we’re like WAY TO GO ED

12:00 AM

Kim: So Ed is all We have to leave

Kim: People are starting to ask Carlisle who his plastic surgeon is

Kim: And Bella’s all TAKE ME WITH YOU

Kim: And Ed’s like No

Kim: PLEASE

Kim: GO AWAY

Kim: BUT D:

Kim: I CAN’T PROTECT YOU

Kim: And we’re like FROM THE ANGST

Kim: So Bella walks around like a mindless zombie

Kim: No one notices

Alexanthra: xDDD

Kim: And then she is all I WANT TO DIE *DOES CRAZY SHIT*

Kim: And we’re like GO BELLA

Kim: GO GET RAPED BY THAT WEIRDASS BIKER GUY

Kim: ED’LL LOVE THAT

Alexanthra: LOL

Kim: And

Kim: Then she voiceovers about wanting DANGER in her life

Kim: We immediately see a shot of Jacob

Alexanthra: ffff

Kim: They start half-dating

Kim: And by half I mean

Kim: She thinks they aren’t

Kim: He thinks they are

Kim: He falls in love and then goes through

Kim: WEREWOLF PUBERTY

Kim: In which he gets a fever, cuts his hair, gets a tattoo, and stops wearing shirts.

Alexanthra: xDDDD

Kim: Bella’s all wtfh

Alexanthra: xDD

Kim: And he’s all I TOLD YOU THIS STORY LIKE TWO YEARS AGO

Kim: And she’s like ABOUT THE VAMPIRES? 8D

Kim: And he’s like ……..you only remember that part?

Kim: And she’s like There was another part?

Kim: And he’s all -_-

Alexanthra: LOL

Kim: So then she goes to this field in the middle of a forest

Kim: And gets accosted by VAMPIRE BOB MARLEY

Kim: Who is all Victoria is going to kill you but not if I kill you first ’cause you is tasty

Kim: And she’s all Okey-dokey

Kim: And then the werewolf pack is like FUCK THAT *KILL*

Kim: And she’s like HOLY SHIT THOSE ARE SOME GIANT-ASS WOLVES

Kim: And then she has dreams about the ENTIRE story Jacob told her like two years ago

Kim: And is like

Kim: ….THOSE WERE SOME GIANT-ASS /WERE/WOLVES

Kim: And we’re like FUCKING DUH

12:10 AM

Alexanthra: xDDDDD

Kim: And then she’s hanging out with Jacob

Kim: Who is like Meet my pack!

Kim: And the pack is like HI BELLA

Kim: And they’re just all happy and alive and puppyish

Kim: And we’re like Awwwwwww <3

Alexanthra: <3

Kim: And then they go hunting Victoria to protect Bella and keep the fucking vampires off their land

Kim: So Bella jumps off a cliff

Kim: Victoria makes a cameo as the Little Mermaid

Kim: Jacob pulls her out of the water and goes W.T.F. WAS THAT

Alexanthra: xDDDD

Kim: And Bella is all Uhhhhhh

Kim: And then Alice shows up

Kim: And is all W.T.F. WAS THAT

Alexanthra: xDDDDD

Kim: And Bella is all Uhhhhh

Kim: And Alice is like WE THOUGHT YOU DIED

12:15 AM

Kim: And Jacob’s like I saved her

Kim: And Alice is like I didn’t see that

Kim: And Jacob is like So?

Kim: And Alice is like YOUR MUTTS BLOCK MY VISION

Kim: And Jacob is like TOUGH NOOGIES

Alexanthra: LOL

Kim: And then they get a phone call from

Kim: Um

Kim: …..some Cullen or something

Kim: Rosalie or Emmet or Esme or something

Kim: It’s a little vague

Kim: But anyway

Kim: Edward went to Italy! Or Brazil, I’m not sure which

Kim: To expose himself and be all I AM SPARKLY

Alexanthra: Italy

Kim: And then the Italian Vampire Overlords will kill him for being gay

Kim: Robert corrects me:

Kim: Being gay in PUBLIC

Alexanthra: xDDD

Kim: So Alice steals a bright yellow sports car because that is INCONSPICUOOUS

Kim: And they go to some Italian town where everyone is cosplaying as Little Red Riding Hood

12:20 AM

Alexanthra: xDDD

Kim: And Edward takes off his shirt and steps into the sunlight

Kim: Everyone has their back to him because they are watching the parade

Alexanthra: fffffffffffffffffffff

Kim: So no one notices

Alexanthra: FAIL

Kim: Bella tackles him anyway

Kim: And is like IT’S OKAY I’M ALIVE YOU DON’T HAVE TO MAKE THEM EXECUTE YOU FOR BEING GAY IN PUBLIC

Kim: And Edward is like Oh

Kim: And then the Italian Vampire Overlords are like Yeah we’re gonna kill you anyway

Kim: And they’re like Well crap

Alexanthra: xDDD

Kim: And then Dakota Fanning shows up

Kim: And is like The boss wants to see you, come this way

Kim: So they go down a flight of steps

Kim: And then another

Kim: And are in this big old stone castle thing

Kim: And then they go down an elevator

Kim: Which is just kind of weird

Alexanthra: LOL

Kim: Anyway, they’re in a big circular room with three vampires on thrones and a bunch of other vampires around them

Kim: If it was all grey it’d be like Underworld

Kim: And they’re like HI EDWARD WE’RE GONNA KILL YOU

Kim: And Bella’s like NO

Kim: And Head Italian Vampire Overlord is like Hey I can’t read your mind

Kim: And Ed’s like Me neither

Kim: And then HIVO is like Hey try your weird Cruciatus curse power on Bella, Dakota

Kim: And she does

Kim: Nothing happens

Kim: And HIVO is like AMAZING SHE NULLIFIES ALL OUR POWERS

Kim: And I”m like No she just nullifies three of them

Kim: That you know of

Kim: That is not all

Alexanthra: xDDD

Kim: And then they’re like LET’S TURN HER 8D

Kim: And Ed’s like NO FUCKING WAY

Kim: And then he and a vampire have a SLOW MOTION FIGHT

Kim: And break like half the room

Kim: And then Bella’s like STOP D: KILL ME INSTEAD

Kim: And HIVO is like You’d give your life for one of us?

Kim: And she’s like Yup

Kim: And he’s like Okay 8D

Kim: And then he’s about to kill her and then Alice is like

Kim: WAIT

Kim: I HAD A VISION

Kim: SHE’LL TURN INTO ONE OF US

Kim: WE’LL DO IT OURSELVES

Kim: And then one of the other vampires is like You know what this means

Kim: And they’re like What

Kim: She’s gonna give us the Vampire Messiah

Alexanthra: wat

Kim: And they’re like Oh well in that case we’ll let you go

Kim: And off they go

Alexanthra: …

12:30 AM

Kim: And then they go back to Forks

Kim: And Bella’s like So turn me already

Kim: And JACOB SHOWS UP for all of five mintues

Kim: He and Ed almost fight but Bella stops them

Kim: And then Jacob leaves

Kim: And then Ed proposes

Kim: THE END

Words so far: 27,173

Day XVI: Mysterious men in very nice suits, and Kit is still Very Much a Boy. Also, bums.

#

There was a rather large man sitting on the steps of the apartment building when they came outside. He had dark skin and dark hair, and he wore a very dirty old coat that may have been dark green originally. He smiled up at them when he saw them next to him. “Hi,” he said in a low, slightly gravelly voice.

“Hi,” said Dom, scooting past. Kit looked at him curiously, and she gave Kit an exasperated look. “What, they don’t have homeless in your neighbourhood?”

“I guess we do, but–”

“Hey,” she interrupted, “where do I put my stuff?” She was standing next to his bike. He showed her the saddlebags one either side of the back wheel, then handed her the helmet.

“Ready to go?” he asked. He felt slightly uneasy; the homeless guy was watching them.

“Yeah,” she said, putting on the helmet. “You sure you don’t need this?”

“I’m fine,” he said dismissively.

As they sped through the streets, Kit let himself enjoy the fact that there was a girl sitting behind him, pressed up against him slightly, her hands around his waist. It had been a long time since he’d had a girlfriend or indeed been around many girls at all that weren’t possessed. Dom made a nice change already, and he hadn’t even known her all that long yet.

Things were changing really fast, he thought. Hopefully Spencer had made the call–and, even more hopefully, Incubus would agree. If not … well, he’d think of something.

They passed St. Francis Church, where Father Nathaniel worked, and Kit suddenly realized they never used the holy water he’d given them. As he was wondering what to do with it, he realized they were in front of his apartment building.

“That was fast,” he said to himself. Dom, who apparently had heard him, laughed.

“This is where you live?” she asked.

“Sure is,” he replied, bringing the bike to a stop. His was a nice-enough neighbourhood, old but without being a ghetto. The neighbourhood culture was mostly Italian–and indeed most of the signs were at least half in Italian–but he could hear Spanish coming from the nearest window. Besides, most everyone here was several generations from the initial immigration. They were American citizens, but their ancestral culture had carried over.

Dom hopped off the bike and stretched. “Nice area, that’s for sure,” she said.

Kit shrugged. “I guess so.”

“Well, nicer than mine.”

He looked up to see if Spencer was on his usual perch on the roof of the apartment building. No gargoyles were up there, though–he was either inside or gone. “Well,” he said, “shall we? I’ll take one of those,” he added, holding his hand out for a bag.

“Sure,” she said, handing him the bag of books.

Kit and Spencer lived on the fourth floor, in a fairly small but quite nice two-bedroom apartment. Their floor still had Halloween decorations on the walls and paper jack-o-lanterns taped to the doors. “We did this thing last night where if you had a pumpkin on your door, they could trick-or-treat there,” Kit explained when Dom looked at the jack-o-lanterns curiously. “Lot of little kids in this building.”

He unlocked the door, and noticed the lights were already on–Spencer must be inside. “Hey, Spence,” he called out into the hallway, “I’m back and I’ve got Dom.”

“Good,” said a new, deep male voice.

Kit dropped the bag of books. Dom looked at him curiously. “Kit?” she asked, sounding a little concerned. He took a deep breath, picked up the bag, nodded to Dom, and led her into the living room.

Two men were waiting for them. One was Spencer; the other was a tall man who looked to be in his early thirties, with pale skin and dark hair that seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it. His eyes, too, were dark, and he wore a very nice black suit. He looked at Kit and Dom with an even, but interested, gaze as they walked in.

“Good, Christopher, you’re here,” he said, nodding at Kit. Kit caught sight of Dom’s smirk and nearly told her off for it before being interrupted by the man in the suit. “I expect this is Dominique Moreau?”

“Yes, sir,” said Spencer.

Dom mouthed the word “sir” and her smirk grew wider. Kit could have hit her.

“Dom,” said Spencer, who didn’t seem to notice, “this is our boss.”

“Boss?” repeated Dom. “What, so you didn’t have the authority to hire me after all?”

“Well, um,” Kit rubbed the back of his neck, “not exactly… it’s kind of complicated. You could work with us either way, but this way you get paid for it.”

“I am glad they called me,” said the man. “I knew Eve Moreau very well, and I am most pleased to meet one of her daughters.”

Dom looked at him suspiciously, clearly not quite sure what to make of this man. He gave her a slow, cool smile, then bowed a little before her. “I am Dorian Black,” he said, “but Christopher and Spencer tend to call me Incubus.”

She folded her arms across her chest, leaning back on one hip. “Incubus, huh?” she said with a flick of her hair. Kit noticed the red gleam beneath her hair again, and this time he was sure it had come from the missing eye.

Apparently, Incubus had seen it too, for he took a step closer to her. “May I see your face?” he asked her, his voice low and quiet. She hesitated, stepping back herself. “I only wish to see your eye,” he assured.

She sighed. “Of course you do,” she muttered, but lifted her hair to allow him to see her scars. He leaned close, putting his face very close to hers, looking deeply into her scarlet eye. She met his gaze, though hers was a little less calm. Then he took her face in his hands.

There was a moment of silence. Kit and Spencer looked at each other, wearing identical expressions of concern.

Finally, Dom screamed and jerked backwards, overbalancing and falling down on the carpet. Both boys moved towards her, but Spencer got there first, putting his arms and then his wings around her. Incubus, too, stumbled backwards, his hand on his face. “My,” he muttered, “you are a powerful one indeed.”

Dom mumbled something unintelligible and hid her face in Spencer’s shoulder. He held her close. Something about the way they locked together like that made something click in Kit’s head, and an idea began to form.

The idea was quickly sent to the back burner, however, when Incubus spoke up. “You have an ethereal within you,” he said.

“Yeah,” said Dom in a small voice. “She–she’s new.”

He looked at the boys and raised an eyebrow. “There is quite a story here,” he noted, sounding slightly amused. “Do tell.”

Twenty minutes later, they were sitting in the living room. Kit was on the floor with his back against the couch where Spencer and Dom sat, Spencer with an arm still around Dom. Incubus, meanwhile, sat in the armchair with his legs crossed and his fingers interlaced before his chin. “And so you are here,” he said, his dark eyes fixing on Dom. She nodded. “Interesting,” he murmured. “Interesting that you would come to me…”

“Excuse me?” she said, interrupting his small reverie. He looked up and gave her a very small smile. It was rather unnerving, like it had no place on his face.

Incubus stood and went to the window, looking out at the city skyline for a long moment. It was sunset. The other three watched him, none daring to speak. Finally, he turned to them.

“When the ethereal awakens,” he said, “I wish to know. We have much to discuss. I fear she may have come not of her own volition, but was sent here.”

“By who?” asked Spencer. “I don’t think we’ve ever encountered ethereals before–not like this, anyway. We deal in ghosts and investigation not … upper planes.”

“Oh you do,” said Incubus with the unnerving half-smile again. “You just do not realize how much you deal with them. Not yet. But this–this is your first step into a larger world. Things are changing within not only the upper planes, but within this one. Humanity and its mutations have discovered something, something that some of them intend to use against the others.”

“Discovered … what?” asked Kit.

“I do not know,” replied Incubus, “not yet. That is what I wish to speak with the ethereal about. She may have answers I do not. For my suspicion is that she is a messenger–a warning. What did you say her name was again?”

“Phasmatis Lupus,” said Dom quietly.

Incubus looked distant for a moment, then nodded. “Yes,” he said, “I do believe she is a messenger. Alert me when she awakens. Otherwise I think my business here is done.”

He picked up a slim computer bag from the coffee table, then bowed to them. “I will be sending your next assignment in the morning,” he said. “Until then, sleep well.”

Kit went to the door and opened it for him, nodding as Incubus left. “Bye, boss,” he said.

As soon as the door closed, he slumped against it and let out a long sign. “Goddamn but he creeps me out,” he said finally. “You okay, Dom?”

“Yeah,” she said. “I’m fine. I just–I’ve never felt a mind like his before. It was … alien. I don’t think he’s human.”

“Neither do I,” agreed Kit. “Can’t figure out what he is, though. He doesn’t seem possessed.”

“Well,” said Spencer, “nothing for it but to just wait until we get the next assignment and until your ethereal guest wakes up. Things will probably be clearer when we talk to her, yeah? Besides, the important thing is that he accepted Dom as one of us.”

“True,” agreed Kit. “Hear that, Dom? You’re one of us now.” He flung an arm around her shoulders and grinned at her. “Welcome to the Supernaturalists.”