telephone conversations started by perfume
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cridecoeur: (i'm not here to save you)
So basically I have written the most annoyingly formatted scenes in the history of creation. And now I am giving them to you! This is the revamped first novel in the space dragon universe, and in revamping I apparently lost my mind and thought, hey! In the original novel it's half-told through footnotes, because the narrating character is psychic, and the story is two-leveled, I should do that here, but in, like, a style that suits Nikolao!

Ha ha ha ha, what have I created, etc. If it weren't for rich text formatting I would have wept profusely trying to format this. I am madly, deeply, truly in love with the rich text feature. (I should be proposing any day now.) I suddenly understand how people do awesome things with footnotes! Wow!

title: the ghost in my mouth
author: [personal profile] cridecoeur/[personal profile] dextrocardiac
prompt: prompt #173 for [community profile] stayintheroom and lost colony for [community profile] parthenon. i, uh, kind of twisted the prompts to my own nefarious ends.
rating: pg-13
pairings: um, this story will eventually be nikolao/pipra, but pipra's like ten in this one. so, basically, none.
warning: subscripts. lots of them. for real.

There's... really no good quote to take for this. Read on, I guess! )

The man who mistakes divinity for superstition
has made a fatal mistake."
Nikolao Luchjo

The drumbeats[1] (120 beats per minute, rapid, leading through the final stages of dying) were audible even as we stepped from the drop ship. The night was humid and hot – even after dark there is little escape from the heat, during Amah’s summers – and as Dioscorus stepped from the ship beside me, he grunted in surprise.

“Still not used to it,” he said, when I slanted him a look. “Never been anywhere this hot.”

“You’ve had three years,” I said, “I’d suggest you adjust.”

Dioscorus grunted, again, and walked away without any further reply. I sighed and followed behind him (in the distance voices were raised to singing, adding another tone, higher frequency, stimulating the higher mind) and behind me came Vespera and Venka, Vespera already suffused with white light, Venka shifting to long lean muscle[2], Jejohil Temol (54 stretches per hour, mottled, rippling green to hide among the brush). We had not landed far from the camp, just far enough for the rest of the Tijojil not to be disturbed by our landing. Soon I could clearly make out their shapes, thrown by firelight.

“Vespera,” Dioscorus said, and she nodded and went ahead of us. As she broke from the scrublands, into the circle, cries were raised, before a sudden silence was thrown over them, as Vespera’s innate light soothed them to mind-blankness (veritable mass hypnosis, patently unbelievable until I met her) .

We broke from the shadows and into the circle, passing blank-faced dancers and drummers, to where a man lay (breathing thready, weak – we had little time before he came up, soulless and mindless, trapped between worlds, undying). in the center on a pallet woven of river reeds. Beside him sat a small child, neither obviously male nor female (womanly curves at their hips, flatness at chest, leanness in musculature, and delicacy in facial features) with the soft haze of light about their head that signified one who traveled to Zejohus Mbuol, the Dying Lands, to heal fractured souls.

“Cefus Aru!” I said, shocked into indiscretion[3].

Dioscorus looked at me in a way that said, quite clearly, that I was lucky it was only he and Venka and Vespera who had heard me[4]. I was careful not to apologize, simply turning back to regard the child, taking a deep breath (trembling somewhere in my chest). Their eyes were closed, seeing into another world, but their face was expressive, radiant. I took another, steadier breath.

“I’m going,” I said and hesitated only a moment before crossing the distance and crouching down to sit beside them. I looked at their face a final time (trying to memorize features that would, no doubt, change in Zehojus Mbuol, making the attempt rather futile) before closing my eyes and reaching for my heartbeat and the world behind it.

#

I traveled down the roots of the brush land, through a tunnel of packed-dirt walls and emerged on a red-rock mesa, where above hung the planets and stars (overlarge, hanging close, an impossible gravitation had Zehojus Mbuol played by the otherwise unbendable laws of the universe). Astoo was not immediately visible, and so I called for her, ending on a shrill whistle. A sudden flutter of wings and she was beside me (a bird, small in size, feathers riotously purple and red, wing span no more than two hands across) twittering and dipping her head. She turned once in the air, then darted off, wings fluttering, and I was quick to shift (four-legged muzzled, 32 stretches in an hour, pure white, an unsuited predator for the mesa, had my intention been to hunt or hide) following her.

“Hurry, hurry,” she said, “He’s going to wake up,” and I pressed my lean muscles for all they were worth, stretching long over the mesa, running hard.

We came upon him in the sudden way things happened, here, and I shifted to a halt, claws biting into the dust. He spirit was not old or decrepit like his body had been, but spry with youth, timeless. A child held on to one of his hands, clearly neither boy nor girl, the same Twice-Born who had sat beside him in life (features hardly shifted, as if they did not play by the usual rules of World-Walkers). Beside them sat Jortur (four-legged, long-necked, ornately horned, coat the color of rich earth) watching with an unnerving intensity.

The child blinked up at me, several times, before smiling and swinging the arm they were holding.

“It’s okay,” they said. “He’s better, now. You can take him.”

Astoo circled several times, twittering. “Be quick,” she said, and I shifted again, back to my common form, standing up from where I crouched among the rocks. I closed the distance between us in two strides, only stopping when bare inches separated the spirit and I, looking into his eyes. I set one hand on his cheek, his form cool to the touch, leaning closer so that my lips nearly touched his ear.

“E hepus gosen,” I whispered. “Fummus en, ‘A cefus hepur oc.’” and then I kissed him firmly on the mouth, sealing the words between his lips. He vanished, entirely (his spirit for the gates, his next life buried under his skin). I stepped back, closing my eyes, tipping my head back and breathing out the smoke that filled my lungs.

When I looked down again, the Twice-Born child was watching me through big, blue eyes, smiling. He reached out with the hand that had held the spirit’s, only to take mine, turning it palm-up, and touching a curious finger to the blood-red crystal imbedded in my palm.

“U cefus temol,” they said and then bent down to kiss my palm, directly over the crystal. My body was suddenly filled with such heat, felt as if it had been split so wide open that I crumpled to the ground, one arm across my stomach as if trying to hold in my guts. I gasped, feeling my mind blossoming open, suddenly, thoughts visible, spiraling, written clearly across the air. The child reached out to touch them, smiling wider, then closed their eyes and thought, my name is Pipra, clearly, in my own mind.

The pain vanished, suddenly, leaving only the noise of a fresh link between us, thoughts spiraling around each other, intimate.

Cefus Aru,” I said and was suddenly flying back, upwards, through a dirt-packed tunnel, along the roots of the brush-land, Pipra beside me, with me, to the Living World in which our bodies waited for us.



[1] Now that they think I do not come for them my people have taken to using their drums to try to lead the dying through to the other side. If they had chance to ask me I would have told them that such efforts were futile. Only the words I kiss between their lips can lead them through to the next life.

[2] She had, at least, activated her personal shield, first. Perhaps she had actually learned from the darts she had taken in our first trip to the camps. Near death experiences did seem to be the only thing that would teach Venka a lesson.

[3] I had been entirely ignorant that one of the Tijojil had birthed a Twice-Born, an event which had not happened in well over 200 years. I could hardly fathom what that meant for my people and, more importantly, the course of the war and the survival of the resistance.

[4] The LimmilI took ill any reminder of my heritage and the goddess I had supposedly renounced.

cridecoeur: (Default)
So my Dreamwidth anniversary is swiftly approaching. (I can't believe it's been almost two years since I started this journal, how did that even happen.) I am determined to finish something in time to post it on July 20th. So I am taking a poll. I bought paid time specifically so I could do this. So I would love you if you took, like, 5 seconds to check a box. Or multiple boxes. Whatever floats your boat, etc.

This poll is anonymous.
Open to: Registered Users, detailed results viewable to: All, participants: 0

In what universe would you like to see me to finish an original piece for my dreamwidth anniversary?

View Answers

yellow roses 'verse
0 (0.0%)

space dragon 'verse
0 (0.0%)

like flowers 'verse
0 (0.0%)

without body 'verse
0 (0.0%)

heartbeat 'verse
0 (0.0%)

machines and spirits 'verse
0 (0.0%)

cupid's chokehold 'verse
0 (0.0%)

space dragon au 'verse
0 (0.0%)

suffer 'verse
0 (0.0%)



Wasn't that fun?

Also I tend to shy away from letting my fandom work and my original work mix, which mostly isn't a problem, seeing as I've written two fandom things in the last two years (I'm not even kidding, two.) But in case anyone wants to see it (I know some of you came here from my fandom journal, so who knows maybe you do), I now have an AO3 account to which I'm slowly moving my fandom work including the 1934857 HP fics I wrote back in the day (seriously, I didn't realize how many I'd written until I went to transfer it), which I never bothered to move to my second fandom journal. As such, most people haven't had the chance to see them before now. (God, what a golden opportunity for you, right?) So, you know. Now you can do that.
9th-Jun-2011 03:11 pm - origfic bingo and reading fail
cridecoeur: (failed)
I wrote some more extremely silly things for [community profile] origfic_bingo. Including a story about Cupid in which I lightly sprinkle fandom references over everything. I think most of them are pretty obvious but I could be wrong.

Also, I bought Ulysses from Half-Price books and now am trying to make myself read it. I'm pretty sure I don't get it, not helped by the fact that I can only make myself read like two pages of a book these days with completely losing focus. I'm like a 6-year-old on a sugar high. I didn't have any luck getting myself to read Love in the Time of Cholera, and usually I love Márquez. My next option is Sputnik Sweetheart. I'm in intense fanboy love with Murakami. Maybe I should have started with him.
7th-Jun-2011 07:48 pm - bingo, six ficlets
cridecoeur: (Default)
So the thing is, I think I have given you guys the wrong impression of me, as a whole. Because, by and large, my posts here are of serious content/have at least a little meaning to them/aren't so stupid you just want to roll your eyes. So, the thing: many, many things I write and then let languish on my hard drive are incredibly stupid and done simply to entertain me, spur of the moment, and never meant to be finished. Which is separated only from all the other things I never finish only by original intent. I even have a special file for them. The file is called "what the hell why not - OR - what happens when you have stupid ideas often."

The reason I am telling you this: a forewarning. These bingo fills are really fucking stupid. For real. No joke. I dare you to get through this without rolling your eyes. In fact, I double dog dare you. (Luckily I have no idea what that actually means - double dog? - so you can probably slide by, even if you don't.)

So, my fills.

title: because i like skaters, okay
prompt: celebrity/notable person
rating: pg. and then only for using the lord's name in vain.
universe: amé

Dafydd is pretty sure he hasn’t reached epic levels of pathetic-ness as far as Amé goes - he hasn’t bought notebooks just so he can write their names all over them, surrounded by little hearts and stars, and he hasn’t once stolen an article of Amé’s clothes, even though he has legitimate access, which is more than can be said for Amé’s fans, who don’t - but that doesn’t mean he isn’t kind of pathetic. )

title: when a rock star stalks a fan
prompt: celebrity/notable person. that's right, i was so excited about this one, i filled it twice.
rating: pg-13
universe: mazurka

Marlowe spots him for the first time at a show in San Francisco, which turns out to be where he lives so, okay, not unusual. )

title: this is why you don't let strange men tattoo you
prompt: ghosts/hauntings/afterlife
rating: pg
universe: eGad

Reagan probably should have listened to his mom when she said not to get tattoos outside of parlors. )

title: that was stupid, dude
prompt: free space
rating: pg
universe: eGad

Mister Seed turned away from the controls he was fiddling with - hopefully not to, like, flood the chamber Reagan was in with gas or something. )

title: what the heck... you have breasts!
prompt: genderswap
rating: pg
universe: mazurka

When Chick Reed turned into a girl, Marlowe didn’t even notice, at first. )

title: like blake, except for how i haven't read blake
prompt: fairy tales/folk lore/mythology
rating: pg.
universe: space dragon au 'verse. so au you probably won't even know which character's au forms these are.

Only an angel would hold a protest of one. )

What am I, what am I, etc.

These were also posted on [community profile] origfic_bingo over here where people were very tolerant of my silliness.
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