Raiyuu

[quote name='Coltonw911']Ramen![/quote] [color=DarkGreen][size=1]Uh ... you know ramen are a kind of instant noodles, and not a greeting, right? Sorry. Right. Your manga. [quote name='Coltonw911][/size][/color']She is goin to an academy to harness this power to fight cockroaches?[/quote] [color=DarkGreen][size=1]Why the question mark? Are you unsure of this? It helps when writing to be definite about your ideas even if you think other people might find them ridiculous. Don't let your own assumptions about how you'll get criticised dishearten you or change your idea for no reason. On the other hand, if you find your [b]own[/b] idea ridiculous, it might be worth a rethink. [quote name='Coltonw911][/size][/color']...born with the element of wind.[/quote] [color=DarkGreen][size=1]In what way? Can she control the wind, or are her character and personality like the wind in some way, so that she [b]represents[/b] the wind? Will there be other characters with other elemental properties, in a [i]Star Cross'd Destiny[/i] stylee? Sounds vaguely like it could be funny - kind of an insane random jobbie, like [i]Excel Saga[/i], what with fighting cockroaches and all ... but if you give us a bit more detail, we can give you far more useful feedback. [/size][/color]

[color=DarkGreen][size=1]While he was waiting, Blackjack touched the button on the inside of his left wrist, calling up his userCP window, and rattled off a quick PM to Leofski. [i]Been here ages and still no sign. It's another no-show. Tell your sources they're full of spam.[/i] Since he had the hovering, translucent window open anyway, he took a quick final check over his Battlefield avatar. Although it was essentially the black Aestivalis machine used by Akito in the [i]Nadesico[/i] movie, he'd recently paid a visit to the Art Studio and hunted down the enigmatic Ozy Jones [/size][/color][color=DarkGreen][size=1]to have a few special little extras added[/size][/color][color=DarkGreen][size=1]. He'd eventually found the avatar editor [i]extraordinaire[/i] locked in an HTML art room, sitting cross-legged in the middle of the floor as insane, mind-bending shapes swirled and zigzagged across the walls, and he'd had to sit outside drinking coffee for most of the day while she worked off her creative overspill. From what he could tell, looking at the tech specs on his CP, she'd exceeded all his expectations, but he'd yet to try any of his new toys out yet. He'd made absolutely sure none of Ozy's modifications contravened the rules. He knew of a few loopholes in the rulebook, but he'd reported them all to the Mod team in time for the next revision of the book rather than try to take advantage. There wasn't any fun in not playing fair; he much preferred to know he'd won by being better, not by being jammy with dubiously legal tactics. The Optimus Prime in front of Blackjack had looked pretty murderous for a few moments after seeing him trying to jump the queue, but had seemed to decide that he wasn't worth bothering over. That was another reason Blackjack didn't rate mecha as everyday avatars: no facial expression, no way to gauge moods and reactions. He supposed that was an attraction for some people. He watched the screen for a while as the queue shuffled forwards. There was a fairly interesting bout taking place between Eva Unit Zero and Megas; Blackjack couldn't recall ever seeing anyone use the massive blue robot before, but now he came to think of it, Megas was a fairly good match, size-wise, for an Evangelion. He found himself actually becoming engaged by the fight. Both pilots seemed to be aware of their own strengths and their opponent's weaknesses, but it was obvious neither one wanted to play the waiting game and bore everyone to death by circling around for ages at a time. They weren't just good pilots, they were [i]showmen,[/i] people that understood there was an audience watching, and that was a quality so many of the contestants here lacked. As Unit Zero scored a lucky hit on Megas' chest armour with its knife, Blackjack's attention was drawn by something in the corner of his eye. The Battlefield was surrounded by queue tunnels, radiating out like the spokes on a wheel, and in the one to his right another comparatively tiny figure [/size][/color][color=DarkGreen][size=1]was [/size][/color][color=DarkGreen][size=1]waiting. Leaning nonchalantly against the mesh, the purple-haired girl seemed entirely unconcerned by the towering Gundams on either side of her, watching the screens with careful attention, like she was mentally cataloguing every move she saw. [i][b]Nice to know I'm not the only 'fairweather mecha fan' here. I'll watch out for her when she goes in.[/b][/i] [/size][/color]

[color=DarkGreen][size=1]You had to time how you walked, this close to the Mecha Battlefield. Moping along inspecting your shoelaces wasn't an option if you wanted to stay vertical, unless your avatar was something especially heavy, like a Gundam or a RahXephon-type ... which, let's face it, most of the people's around here were anyway. You had to keep your eyes on the combatants, towering over the Battlefield's walls, and if one went down, you had to jump in the air to avoid being knocked flat by the mini-quake. When the AIM-chat/coffee incident had first propelled everyone into Cyberspace, Blackjack had kept his current avatar of the time, a Nadesico Aestivalis mecha. [/size][/color] [center][img]http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v629/SheriffMatt/pinkaestieOBavatar.jpg[/img] [left][color=DarkGreen][size=1]Unfortunately, though, much as he had enjoyed being that imposing at first, the practicalities of life as an eight-metre robot had hit home all too soon. He'd been unable to get into the original OtakuBuilding, he'd kept accidentally stepping on unsuspecting n00bs, and ... well ... people had made fun of him for being pink. So he'd quickly switched to a construct of the machine's pilot, Akito Tenkawa, with only the horrible impracticalities of anime hair to deal with. Except then H4XX0r had come along and stomped all over the OtakuBuilding, and James and the Mods had built the new version of the Island, and what should they include but a massive Mecha fighting arena, and then Blackjack had been stuck between a rock and a hard place. Unable to resist the lure of piloting giant robots, but all too aware of how lame it was to be one twenty-four-seven, he'd decided to just stick with the human avatar and just switch whenever he was fighting. A lot of the OBers with permanent mecha avatars considered him a bit of a fairweather mecha fan. And of course, it made waiting in the queue for the Battlefield a daunting experience. Currently he was sandwiched uncomfortably between Optimus Prime and a massive Eva Unit 001, with at least twenty minutes' queueing ahead of him. He tried to content himself watching the expansive plasma screens displaying the action inside, but it was same as every time he came: Gundams, Gundams, and more bloody Gundams. And no sign of the elusive Queen of Mecha, Dagger. [i][b]Well, I didn't expect Leofski to be [/b][/i][/size][/color][color=DarkGreen][size=1][i][b]any more [/b][/i][/size][/color][color=DarkGreen][size=1][i][b]right this time than he is every other time. [/b][/i]Looking glumly out through the mesh tunnel that enclosed the queue, Blackjack caught sight briefly of a furry, lupine form. He grabbed the mesh and rattled it. [b]"Hey! Solo!" [/b]The Team Miyazaki leader, final authority on all matters Tokyo 3, glanced towards the voice with his head on one side, then bounded over to the enclosure. [b]"Solo, can you fast-track me in here?" [/b]He knew the likelihood was that he'd get nowhere, [/size][/color][color=DarkGreen][size=1]but it was worth a try [/size][/color][color=DarkGreen][size=1]- as a Mod Solo Tremaine was expected to set an example, but Blackjack knew he had a sense of humour, too. [b]"Come on. You know I'd be more entertaining than these idiots."[/b] On the screen, two more Gundams were just beginning a new bout. A grin formed on Solo's face, showing a lot of very sharp, [i]very [/i]clean white teeth. [b]"Sorry, 'Jack, no deal. Stop being so impatient and just wait in line like everyone else, eh?"[/b] With a nod, the wolf loped off in the direction of his Team HQ. Blackjack sighed and turned back to the big screen. One mecha went down in flames, smoke pouring from its empty shoulder joint. He became aware of attention focused on him. Optimus Prime's eyes glowed an angry red at the comparatively tiny, spiky-haired youth. Far above, a low, threatening sound emanated from the Unit 001. Blackjack stared right back at Prime. [b]"What?"[/b] [/size][/color][/left] [/center]

[color=DarkGreen][size=1]I've definitely noticed a certain stigma attached to [i]Yu Yu Hakusho. [/i]I'm not sure whether I've only picked this up from Solo's [color=DarkSlateBlue][i]Enter the Net[color=DarkGreen],[/color][/i][color=DarkGreen] or whether I've seen it exhibited elsewhere too. I [i]think[/i] I've also picked up a "[i]Dragonball [/i]and[i] Dragonball Z [/i]are for n00bs" attitude as well, but that might just be me...[/color][/color][/size][/color]

[color=DarkGreen][size=1]I'm siding with Mitch here on this being extremely good, although he's right about that apostrophe. I can't see anything wrong with it structurally or in terms of your register, tone or style, but I am going to have to be a little bit pedantic on a couple of points... First, minor spelling error. [quote name='Arcadia][/size][/color][size=1]and had purposely hid it behind the numerous cans of soda so that it could be out of [b]site [/b]and safe from hungry, grubby fingers.[/size][color=DarkGreen'][size=1][/quote] Should read "out of [b]sight[/b]". Second, I felt that the addition of this paragraph: [quote name='Arcadia][/size][/color][size=1] She wandered into the kitchen, throwing her bag under the counter. It contained her precious letter and as proud as she was at being accepted, she needed to be able to work up a game plan before confronting her parents.[/size][color=DarkGreen'][size=1][/quote] made parts of this one: [quote name='Arcadia][/size][/color][size=1] She hesitated. ?No,? Maria agreed, and then went to retrieve her school bag from behind the kitchen counter. She?d left it there when she first came in, careful to keep it out of sight as well. It held something inside it that was more important than the sandwich; something that was, in its entirety, Maria?s. ?I got a letter from Columbia,? she said carefully, pulling the thick, white envelope out as she spoke. ?They?ve accepted me.?[/size][color=DarkGreen'][size=1][/quote] superfluous. That's just a little editing quibble, though. What I loved: [QUOTE=Arcadia][/size][/color][size=1] She frowned. ?I didn?t decide that, you did.? ?Isn?t that the same thing??[/size][color=DarkGreen][size=1][/QUOTE] Arrrrrrrrgh!!! That is one of the most frustrating parent-isms ever devised by mankind, and you've captured it perfectly. I can just see the innocent little frown on his face. It actually made me grind my teeth in frustration. [/size][/color]

[color=DarkGreen][size=1]Since nobody's actually explicitly answered the question yet, and I for one was confused, here's Wikipedia's definition of 'glomp': [quote name='Wikipedia]A term often used by anime fans, most often used on IRC. Usually used as a verb to 'glomp' someone is usually to latch on to or hug a person quite tightly, in the style a real child might hug a much taller adult's leg tightly. Thus the hug is merely affectionate, never sexual, no matter how tight the hug is.[/size][/color][color=DarkGreen'][size=1][/quote] And while I'm looking at Wikipedia, it lists these different types of glomp: [QUOTE=Wikipedia][/size][/color] [list] [*][i][size=2][color=black]Running Tackle Glomp[/color][/size][/i] [*][i][size=2][color=black]Flying Tackle Glomp[/color][/size][/i] [*][i][size=2][color=black]Glomp of Doom[/color][/size][/i] [*][i][size=2][color=black]Running Tackle Glomp of Doom[/color][/size][/i] [*][i][size=2][color=black]Ninja Glomp[/color][/size][/i] [*][i][size=2][color=black]Any combination of the above.[/color][/size][/i] [/list][color=DarkGreen][size=1][/QUOTE] I find the idea of a Flying Ninja Tackle Glomp of Doom quite amusing. To actually answer the question in the thread: I've never cosplayed because I've never been to an anime con. As far as I can make out, they just don't happen here in Blytie (England). If anybody knows of one that does take place over here, I'd be grateful of a helpful PM :animesmil I have, however, had the dubious pleasure of being Flying Tackle Glomped backwards off my chair. It was an experience I shall never forget :animeswea [/size][/color]

[size=1][color=Navy][b]Journal 0.4: Gale Force[/b] Now the wind was really howling, and at sea level Wren felt more like he was flying through undulating foothills than skimming over the ocean; except, of course, that the foothills constantly rolled and shifted, rising up out of nowhere only to become a deep valley in the next instant. His shell, like Fox?s and Violet?s, was currently fitted with an aerial-combat booster array, and if he were submerged, the water would clog the exhausts and he?d simply sink to the seabed, useless until someone with a scanner and tow cable picked up his positioning beacon and rescued him. He couldn?t afford an accidental plunge wetside at a time like this; especially when he was not only fighting the enemy, but trying to protect his own. The first AZG unit she?d latched onto, after screaming into the skirmish zone in her brand-new white shell, the only direct-brain-contact interface model in existence, hadn?t stood a chance. Like Wren and Violet, AZG still used the double control column system, and the spidery machine?s pilot was simply unable to react in time to a unit that now essentially[/color][/size][size=1][color=Navy] [i]was[/i] [/color][/size][size=1][color=Navy] its wearer?s own body. She?d carved a gaping gash into its right side before pirouetting in midair and savagely hacking off both its arms, all before the beleaguered pilot could draw a bead on her. But finally, after losing five of their seven-man squad, the AZGs had decided to break from academy tactics and split off from one another. One was drawing her off, allowing her to smash chunks off its thicker thoracic armour with her massive curved claws, while his squad mate backed off to a safe enough distance that he could take accurate aim. [i][b]This is exactly what I knew would happen,[/b][/i] Wren raged silently to himself as he rocketed between spiky wavecrests towards the hovering black shell. [i][b]She?s running on pure adrenaline. She?s finding the ability to move again exhilarating. She?s taking out all her fury on them. And she isn?t concentrating.[/b][/i] As he rolled and jinked between waves, he saw the AZG?s assault-rifle starting to spool up. The dirty silver ammo-belt, leading from the storage areas in its thorax to the arm-mounted weapon, began to jerk and vibrate as round after round fed through it, and the six chambers behind the main barrel started to chug slowly round, rotating gradually up to speed. [i][b]Not likely,[/b][/i] Wren said to himself as he pitched and fired his booster straight downwards, appearing out of the treacherous hills and valleys of the sea and popping up behind the insectoid machine like a jack-in-the-box. With the waves no longer shielding him, the other pilot picked him up on radar. The rival pilot was panicking to fire his manoeuvring thrusters and twist himself around in midair when Wren centred his crosshair on the weak armour at his shoulder and squeezed his right trigger. The impact rifle?s barrel slammed backwards into its pneumatic recoil damper and shards of metal scythed away from the AZG?s shoulder as the projectile smashed it apart. The assault-rifle managed to reel off two pathetic, off-target rounds before the arm came away completely, the sunflower clamp?s hooked arms shattered, bent and ruined. The arm dangled from its ammo-belt, clanging against the shell?s leg like an erratic bell pendulum. As soon as he knew his shot was away and on target, Wren briefly killed his thrusters, dropping once more into the ragged landscape of sheer slopes and foaming white horses. But his opponent had seen him now, and crippled or not, it gave chase. [/color][/size] [center][size=1][color=Navy]~~~~~~~~~~~~[/color][/size] [/center] [size=1][color=Navy] Wren?s face appeared in the greying sky on Violet?s Head-Up Display, just as the white shell?s final opponent fell, exposed wiring spitting sparks, into the deeps. [b]?Violet! One on my tail, on the edge. I?m at your ten.?[/b] Violet grinned as she yawed twenty degrees left in mid-flight, tilting down and opening the throttle to speed towards Wren?s approximate position. She and Wren had always lorded it over Fox that they, and not he, had the skill and dexterity to pilot ?on the edge,? the borderline between wetside and skyside, and it was just like Wren to fly that way even in these conditions. He loved to challenge himself, always pushing the limits of his talent and straining to improve. It was what gave him an edge against the conservative AZG pilots: that he could exert himself that way without ever tipping over into the heady realms of recklessness. She watched the troughs as they skimmed down her HUD; neither shell would appear on her limited radar in these conditions, so she was relying on a visual sighting to confirm Wren?s location. Pulling one of the three triggers on her left control stick, she deployed three temporary radar reflectors from the rack on her shell?s back; the compact cubes launched high into the air, folding out and expanding into large, paper-thin square mirrors that hung, gently descending, on polymer parachutes. They allowed her radar sweep to reflect down into the crazy maze of peaks and troughs, potentially revealing what lurked down there. Two blips flickered briefly. Violet adjusted course to intercept them. As she got directly over the two, she saw that the enemy pilot wasn?t surviving on fluke alone. She could tell he?d flown on the edge before; he jinked around suddenly rearing walls of water almost as deftly as Wren did, never falling for any of her friend?s tricks; Wren would deliberately accelerate into a rising wave, pulling up at the last instant to bunny-hop over it, but his pursuer would slew around the obstacle with precision she hadn?t known was possible from the disproportioned AZG models. Matching speed with the chase, Violet fired a homing beacon straight ahead of herself. It dropped directly into the path of the shell chasing Wren, clamping magnetically to the smooth space between the shoulders, where human aesthetic instincts naturally expected a head but the designers hadn?t provided one. [b]?Fox! How?s your ammo reserve?? ?You know I always keep one back for you, darlin?.? [/b] Violet gritted her teeth and swallowed the stream of vitriol that threatened to spew between her lips. [b]?Let this guy have it. He?s all lit up for you.?[/b] And then time seemed to slow, as she saw events unfold beneath her, on the edge. Unfolding from the undamaged side of Wren?s pursuer, like a spider reaching out a curled-up, play-dead leg, was a manipulator arm. An image flashed across her vision, of a black AZG shell ripping off one of her limpet mines and throwing it back at her like a discus, and then it was repeating in front of her as the jointed fingers of the manipulator grabbed the magnetic beacon and began to tug. [b]?Fox! Fox, do you read? Abort, Fox, abort last request! Keep it, man! Keep it!? ?What the hell for, honey? He?s lit up, right?? [/b] Violet?s mouth and throat dried out and grew cacti as she saw the beacon arc through the air and attach itself with a clank to the leg of Wren?s shell. [b]?Fox, this is important! Have you or have you not fired?? ?Course I have. You know I?ll follow your orders to the letter ?? [/b] She cut off the comm channel with the infuriating man. [b]?Wren, you have incoming!?[/b] [/color][/size] [center][size=1][color=Navy]~~~~~~~~~~~~[/color][/size] [/center] [size=1][color=Navy] [b]?Repeat, you have incoming!?[/b] There was an alert flashing red in the corner of Wren?s HUD, telling him a missile marker beacon was attached to his unit. Emergency combat doctrine dictated that the correct course of action was to take a dive wetside; the rockets on missiles didn?t work any better underwater than the thrusters on a shell, so he?d be safe. But emergency combat doctrine had been written by company bureaucrats overly concerned with keeping their expensive heavy equipment in one piece. Wren pulled up abruptly and shot straight up in the air before arcing over backwards and twisting around, ending up behind his pursuer and moving fast in the opposite direction. Even at full speed, the shell was still too large to outrun a missile, and red telltales began to appear on the periphery of Wren?s HUD, giving him the position of his incomings. The radar also told him that his admirer from AZG had pulled a U-turn and was coming back after him. Wren let the missiles close further. When the telltales around his HUD began to flash and the proximity alarm whooped around his cockpit, he pitched upwards and released one control stick just long enough to slam his fist down on the shatterglass panel that protected the emergency evasive throttle, allowing him a final extra burst of acceleration. Pilots were told not to use the emergency throttle because prolonged use could cause a catastrophic overheat, that was why they put it under glass, but if there was one situation in which that bit of extra speed was essential, Wren reckoned this was it. The exhaust from his thrusters seared white-hot as he exploded vertically into the sky. Nine vapour trails curved gently upwards on an intercept course, but he?d already angled down again and was accelerating at a suicidal rate towards the black surface of a tempestuous deep. An instant before he smacked into the bottom of a shadowy trough, Wren cut his boosters completely and fired his forward manoeuvring thrusters on full blast, braking so suddenly that he was thrown forwards into his diagonal flight seat restraints. Repositioning deftly, he opened up the thruster array back to maximum and skimmed the edge like he?d never done before, testing his reaction times to the limit, rolling, pitching and yawing to avoid crags and peaks that he sensed rather than saw. Three of the deceptively fragile-looking white missiles hit the water following Wren?s death dive, clouds of bubbles marking the spot where their miniature rocket engines started throwing out exhaust into water instead of air. Wren banked hard left, rolling crazily, to avoid a sudden giant rolling, pregnant mass of water. He was operating entirely on instinct now, and the roll was almost uncontrolled, only the tiniest nudges and adjustments of the control columns demarcating his transcendent state of mind from madness. Two more missiles were swallowed by the monster wave, emerging from the other side with motors guttering and dying before dropping, useless, into the trough behind. Slamming right around a pinnacle of water, Wren suddenly found himself faced with the black AZG shell once again, emerging from behind the wave to plant itself right in his path. It was behaving strangely, hovering on the spot and spinning round and round so that the severed arm, still held only by its ammo-belt, swung around it like an Olympic hammer. Even as Wren shoved his controls forward to drop under it, the only path available to him, its pilot jettisoned the useless assault-rifle, flinging it towards him like some huge, unwieldy morning-star. The makeshift projectile clipped Wren?s booster array as he dropped, before spinning into the cloud of missiles swarming after him. It hit one directly, and flying shrapnel from it sheared through another, prematurely detonating its warhead. The chest of Wren?s shell was actually wetside now, his HUD filled with boiling grey water. He was flying [i]in[/i] the edge; his main booster array was clear of the surface but his forward manoeuvring thrusters would be useless until he could get back to the rig for maintenance. He passed beneath his adversary and popped up again behind him; the remaining two missiles, programmed to follow the shortest path to the beacon, tried to reach their target [i]through [/i]the black machine. Wren breathed again. He decreased speed; he was coming dangerously close to overheating. He ascended skyside. [b]?Violet??[/b] Her face appeared on his HUD. She looked physically ill with concern. [b]?Wren??? [/b] Her voice twisted, like she couldn?t get the words out. [b]?I?m fine. No hostiles remaining. Repeat??[/b] Something worrying was in Wren?s rear-view camera. With difficulty after losing half his manoeuvring jets, he turned his shell around. The chase with the missiles and his opponent had taken him a long way from the rig. A long way in the direction the AZG shell squad had come from. The squat, hulking black shape of an AZG Enterprises Mobile Drilling Platform sat, sinister, in the centre of his HUD, silhouetted against the darkening sky. As he gaped at the sight, the entire rig became obscured by white vapour trails. [b]?Oh, crap?? [/b][color=DarkGreen]This was a lot of fun to write, and I hope that translates into fun to read, too. Big thanks to everyone that's commented on my efforts here - the positive feedback is a huge confidence boost. They get longer every time; this one was a shade over four pages in Word. But you're into the story enough to read longer sections now, right?[/color] [/color][/size]

[color=DarkGreen][size=1]Realising that he was gaping gormlessly at the disappearing figure, Blackjack pulled his jaw off the floor and shook his head violently to clear away the stupor. He?d just been accosted completely at random by a Little Red Riding Hood look-alike ? now that wasn?t something that happened to him every day. He looked down at his hand. There was a bun in it. He continued inspecting the random bake product as he made his way around to the Manga Workshop?s side entrance. His knowledge of HTML was rudimentary at best, but he couldn?t see anything harmful in it ? He took a tentative bite. He chewed thoughtfully. His eyes widened and he crammed in the rest of the bun all at once. [b]?Best ? bun ? ever!?[/b] [/size][/color] [center][color=DarkGreen][size=1]~~~~~~~~~~~~[/size][/color] [/center] [color=DarkGreen][size=1] The Manga Workshop was getting a bit busier now, as the morning wore on. There were three Pikachus gathered together in a corner, sniggering and letting off little static shocks at volume four of [i]Love Hina,[/i] and a Yu-Gi sitting on a beanbag, completely engrossed in [i]Naruto[/i] volume one. [i][b]I hope Lady K finds volume two sometime soon, or there?s going to be a fuss,[/b][/i] Blackjack thought, seeing the speed at which the Yu-Gi turned the pages. His side room was as he?d left it. He took a few minutes to tidy it up further before folding his artist list into a pocket and leaving the Workshop again. [/size][/color] [center][color=DarkGreen][size=1]~~~~~~~~~~~~[/size][/color] [/center] [color=DarkGreen][size=1] Blackjack?s favourite eatery was a small coffee bar on the west side of Tokyo 3, not too far from the Mecha Battlefield. It had a serving bar, some high stools against one wall and a couple of round tables crushed together next to the window, all chromed, the way people in the seventies imagined the future. Blackjack liked to sit there with an espresso and a croissant and look out the window at the Team Miyazaki HQ building towering over the neo-Japanese skyscrapers. Sipping his double shot, he scanned down his slightly crumpled artist list. [i][b]Hmm ? I think this is xXxAlucardxXx?s kind of thing,[/b][/i] he decided, taking out his mobile phone. Before he could dial a number, it rang. [b]?Hello?? ?Arr, matey!?[/b] Blackjack couldn?t suppress a smile. [b]?Morning, Leofski.?[/b] He took a bite out of his croissant. [i][b]This isn?t nearly as good as that bun?[/b][/i] [b]?You in your usual?? ?The café, yep.? ?Get yourself over to the Mecha Battlefield, sharpish. Latest from my sources in the Underground says Dagger might be competing today.?[/b] Blackjack relaxed and leaned back on his stool, taking another sip of espresso. He?d almost thought the call might be serious. [b]?Leo, if your sources in the Underground were always right she?d never be [i]out [/i]of the Battlefield. Be serious. The so-called Queen of Mecha?s just a myth, an urban legend.?[/b] [b]?I?m serious this time!? ?You?re always serious. I?ll see you around.? [/b] Blackjack hung up and took another bite of croissant. It crumbled all over his yellow jacket. He started dialling xXxAlucardxXx?s number, but his eyes weren?t focused on the phone ? [i][b]well, I fancy some mecha action anyway ? I?m NOT just going because of what he said ? ? what if he?s right? [/b][/i] He cancelled the dial and got up, brushing crumbs off himself. Thanking the café?s proprietor, he headed out and turned right, down the street, towards the source of the thunderous footsteps that were making the ground vibrate.[/size][/color]

[color=DarkGreen][size=1]Good grief, I haven't seen [i]Blazing Saddles[/i] in a donkey's age. I'll readily admit that this film is a huge plus point for the cowboys, not least because Gene Wilder has the nicest, calmest voice I've ever had the pleasure to listen to. And because of THAT BIT with the Ku Klux Klan; that's classic. Even just hearing the soundbyte out of context there creased me up. However, I still think the enormous wealth of pro-pirate material provided by Leofski (and the fact that the pirates are so obviously ownzing the poll) means that the pirates are still winning ... but thanks for that Siren, that really brought it all back ... *wanders off down Memory Lane singing quietly* It's weird actually; every other time I've conducted this poll (well, the once I suppose, at my school) the cowboys and pirates have been pretty evenly matched. I wonder what it is about this place that's attracted so many piratey types. Maybe the type of personality that wants to be a cowboy when they're five or six years old isn't the type of personality that gets into anime...? [/size][/color]

[center][color=DarkGreen][size=1]:faint: YOU'VE MET NABESHIN?!!? :faint:[/size][/color] [/center] [color=DarkGreen][size=1] NOW I'm jealous. You've officially made my list, Kabapu :naughty: What was he like? As wacky and zany as his [i]Saga[/i] alter ego? Or a big disappointment? I've read the interview with him on the [i]Saga[/i] DVDs, and he seemed disturbingly normal. [/size][/color]

[color=DarkGreen][size=1]Yes. He needs his own series. Nabeshin is categorically the man. Nobody who can pull that much stuff out of his hair (I counted a pump-action shotgun, two machine guns, a grappling hook and a rocket-propelled grenade launcher all in one episode) can possibly fail to be the coolest man alive. Well, fictionally. [/size][/color]

[color=DarkGreen][size=1]Well, stone me sideways, I'm a detective *falls over backwards* Okay, so this one [b]is [/b]a little slower than some of the others, but so what? It really helps to build up the nature of the interactions between Alan, Hevn and Methuselah, and it's always helpful, as far as the reader's concerned, to see the characters in a setting other than their usual. We see other sides of them in the restaurant than we would in the morgue, or out doing detective things. You've got yourself in a hole now, Meth ... we're all on tenterhooks and you've no choice but to satisfy our ravenous appetites for more story ... [/size][/color]

[color=DarkGreen][size=1]This early in the morning, the Manga Workshop was dark and quiet. There was a window open somewhere, and a light, cool breeze gently stirred the odd sheet of paper and the odd strand of ... spiky hair? The movement of air against Blackjack's face stirred him awake from his position slumped over a desk in one of the Workshop's private side rooms. The desk and floor were covered in sheets of paper, which in turn were covered with spider diagrams, hesitant character sketches and lists of names. Blackjack rubbed his eyes, straightened the creased front of his yellow uniform and looked at his watch. He jumped up with a start. [i][b]Oh, great, I fell asleep here again ... Lady Katana's warned me before about staying logged in overnight. I'd probably better get home before she finds out...[/b] [/i]After a groggy attempt at tidying up the room while making the minimum of paper-rustling noises, Blackjack poked his head out of the door, peering both ways to make sure the Workshop's Moderator wasn't lurking in the shadow of one of the aisles upon aisles of manga. Satisfied he'd gotten away with it, he crept out of the Workshop into the bright morning sunshine. [/size][/color] [center][color=DarkGreen]~~~~~~~~~~~~ [/color] [left][color=DarkGreen][size=1]Back in the warmth of his myOtaku, Blackjack refreshed his avatar, removing the creases and inkstains, and checked his mail. There were the usual couple of comment notes from Leofski and yukare129, and a PM from an artist interested in his latest webcomic project. Nothing out of the ordinary. [i][b]This guy's no good,[/b][/i] he thought, looking at the scrawls the artist had sent him. They were scrappily coloured in with coloured pencils. [i][b]Who else might be interested in this...? [/b][/i]With a sinking feeling Blackjack realised his artist list was still in his room in the Manga Workshop. He'd intended to lay low from the Workshop for a while, just in case Lady Katana did somehow know he'd spent the night there again ... but he needed that list. With some trepidation, he stepped out the door and started making his way through the windy streets of Tokyo 3. [/size][/color][/left] [/center]

[color=DarkGreen][size=1]Jakob reclined, satisfied, on the couch. Whatever his differences with Jayme, the man was an excellent chef. The crew certainly wouldn't go hungry on this trip, unless of course they annoyed Jayme somehow. Jakob was a fast learner. He didn't even think about offering to help Jayme in the kitchen. He just lay back on the sofa and closed his eyes. It was going to take a couple of hours to reach the Sunev colony; what better way to spend the time than by catching another few winks of sleep? [/size][/color] [center][color=DarkGreen]~~~~~~~~~~~~ [/color] [left][color=DarkGreen][size=1]A soft strain of jazz, reminiscent of the ambient muzak playing on constant loop at the Deimos casino where he used to earn his rent, gently lifted him out of his doze. He sat up and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. Natalie was perched on the edge of the other sofa, eyes closed as she teased pentatonics into the smooth, free-flowing, easy-going patterns of soft jazz. Richard Bane was leaning in the doorway watching her, but his eyes were slightly glazed, as if the music had transported him elsewhere. He seemed different somehow... [i][b]I can read him. [/b][/i]It was like all the layers had been stripped off Bane. The whole hard-man ex-con exterior had evaporated as he abandoned himself to the music, and what was left was the real him, the core at the centre of those purple eyes. And what Jakob saw, in that core, was loss. Loss of three years of his life. Loss of friends on the Anubis colony. Loss, bit by bit as the harsh prison life chipped it away, of his humanity. And a deep longing for things to be otherwise. Jakob suddenly didn't feel afraid of the bald man anymore. He could see that regret inside him, and saw that he wouldn't jeopardise this second chance he'd been offered at life by harming his new comrades. The lick Natalie was playing died away, and she opened her eyes, looking as refreshed by playing as if she'd just stepped under an icy shower. She noticed that Jakob was awake. [b][color=RoyalBlue]"Nice of you to join us,"[/color][/b][color=RoyalBlue][color=DarkGreen] she said, grinning. [b]"That was amazing,"[/b] he replied. [b]"How long was I out for? Are we there?"[/b] [/color][/color][/size][/color][/left] [/center]

[color=DarkGreen][size=1]Ta muchly, Ms Jones! This is ace. Thanks a great big bunch![/size][/color]

[color=DarkGreen][size=1]Oh come on! Rimmer's a far funnier and more interesting character than Lister. He's got more neuroses than I've had hot dinners. Plus, the only form of humour he understands is degrading sarcasm, the best kind of humour around! If you enjoyed the series, try reading the books too. There are four, [i]Infinity Welcomes Careful Drivers, Better Than Life, Backwards [/i]and [i]Last Human[/i]. They're written by the creators of the series and they really flesh out the characters and their backgrounds. Plus, [i]Better Than Life[/i] gives you a fantastic glimpse into Rimmer's psyche; it's based around a game that creates your own personal Heaven by looking into your subconscious, [SPOILER]but Rimmer's subconscious hates his guts so it all goes horribly wrong...[/SPOILER] .:Edit:. It's 'Kryten' by the way, in case you were interested. [/size][/color]

[color=DarkGreen][size=1]In my experience, people can be divided into two categories, based on what they wanted to be when they were little. There are people that wanted to be pirates, and people that wanted to be cowboys. As I type I'm starting to realise this is likely to be mostly a male phenomenon as I can't imagine many girls playing pirate, but hey ho, here I go anyway. Which did you want to be when you were small? Did you ever have a birthday party themed around either of these? Does anybody have any knowledge that could help us explain why (in my experience at least) [i]everybody[/i] falls into one of the two camps? And is anyone the exception that proves the rule? (or proves me wrong, I suppose) I was a pirate. I played pirates with my friends at primary school and my sixth or seventh birthday party (I forget which) was pirate-themed, we pushed the sofas together and pretended they were a galleon. They were never the same after that :rolleyes: [/size][/color]

[color=DarkGreen][size=1]As you can see I've tried to do this myself but with only MS Paint to work with, my efforts have been pretty dire. I'd like the avatar (first attachment, 'Akito avi pic') to have the text "Blackjack..." on. The banner image (second attachment, 'akito banner img') needs some cropping before it'll actually fit in the banner shape; I don't mind how much of Ruri is lost in the process, but I'd like Akito's head, arm and gun at the least. I'd like the text "...is he the prince in black?" on the banner. I'm afraid my screencaps aren't great quality, but I'd be grateful for anything you talented people could come up with! Thanks! [/size][/color]

[quote name='tiffanyxii']Do you think anime influences you as a person?[/quote] [color=DarkGreen][size=1]Definitely. Most anime have a fairly clear moral message, or at least individual episodes often do, where a character learns a lesson and this is used to teach the audience the same lesson. I certainly feel that I've been influenced in this way. [/size][/color] [quote name='tiffanyxii']Why is it that more and more western viewers are interested in anime?[/quote] [size=1][color=DarkGreen]Speaking purely for myself - I've no idea how many other Western anime fans like it for the same reasons - it's because it's better than a lot of the rubbish we get on TV over here. Personally, I like a storyline I can really get my teeth into, something with a bit of depth and substance behind it, and the only Western show I've ever felt fully satisfied by in this respect is [i]Farscape.[/i] I think part of this is that anime series tend to be planned to end after a 26-episode run, and so the story arc feels better planned-out and resolved than a lot of Western shows that try too hard to keep their options open for future series.[/color][/size]

[color=DarkGreen][size=1]This has had me hooked from day one, but I've only just got round to posting. Bad Blackjack! *cuffs self* Owwww. Methuselah, this rules. Someone said that [color=DarkSlateBlue][i]Enter the Net [/i][color=DarkGreen]is OB [i]Star Wars, [/i]and Alan's [i]n00b Hunter[/i] is OB [i]Alien [/i](sorry I can't remember whose quote that is, or I'd quote-tag them); in which case, this is OB [i]Seven.[/i] It's got that same brutality, that same sinister [i]film noir [/i]realism. I completely agree with Shinmaru and the Baron on the subject of kitsch OB references like PMs; there's enough here that you can see it's set in OB-world, but as a story it would work just as well without. I'd normally hesitate to request a cameo, but this is just too awesome, and since not many other people have ... I'd be honoured, even if it's just as the next bruised and battered body found in the snow :rolleyes: [/color][/color][/size][/color]

[size=1][b][color=navy]Journal 0.3: Squall [/color][/b][/size][size=1][color=navy]Fox found Finn in his control room, a calm centre amidst the chaos of the general alert. There was no klaxon, no rotating red light in here. Finn was [/color][/size][size=1][color=navy]drifting in lazy circles in his swivel chair and [/color][/size][size=1][color=navy]eating one of his special chocolate brownies. The captain didn't allow smoking anywhere on the rig - there was just too much flammable material about to risk it - and so Finn had to experience the Lord's greatest gift to mankind in bake products instead. [b]"Finlay," [/b]Fox said, from his leaning position on the doorframe, [b]"I need a refit, stat." [/b]The lean Rastafarian kicked out at the console with his foot so that the chair swung the other way. He leaned back so that he was looking up at the ceiling and licked the last crumbs of his brownie off his fingers. [b]"Take a while,"[/b] he told Fox thoughtfully. [b]"You okay wit leavin' you comrades in de lurch while I refit you shell?" "I don't need a full refit, Finlay, just a single module replacement. I've been on Scanning all week and my shell still has the dipping sonar attached." [/b]Finn sat up straight and turned away from the muscular man to face the console and the plate-glass window above it. His long fingers started flitting across switches and toggles, and through the window, on the Construction Floor, mechanical arms started to unfold like the jointed, chitinous limbs of insects. [b]"What tek you fancy instead of de sonar, mon?" [/b]The conveyor on the ceiling of the Construction Floor clanked into jerky movement. Back in Storage, where the belt began, Fox's shell was manoeuvred into position and picked up by magnetic clamps. [b]"The usual, Finlay. I assume you haven't been playing with my configuration since I last flew?" [/b]At the left-hand end of the Floor, a huge pair of double-doors slid open with a hiss of hydraulics and Fox's jet-black shell, held by the conveyor's clamps, hove into view. [b]"What you tek me for, mon?" "Good. Thanks, Finlay. I'll be waiting for it in the Ready Room." [/b]Finn hit another toggle on the console and a VR interface visor and gloves fell from the ceiling, dangling and bouncing on the end of their cables like the emergency oxygen masks on an airliner. [b]"It be wit you in five, Fox mon."[/b] With the visor on, Finn's field of vision was replaced with a skeleton diagnostic view of Fox's shell. Attached to each module were labels containing data on heat output, rate of fire, weight and power drain. Around the edges, on his peripheral vision, were icons pertaining to lists of available modules, different possible view modes and cursor functions. Reaching out with his now-gloved hands, which appeared in the visor as cursors, he selected the dipping sonar array currently installed in the shell's chest socket and removed it. Down on the Construction Floor, mechanical arms darted busily around, sending out the correctly coded radio signals to open up the chest socket's sunflower clamp. Other arms waited, poised and ready to remove the module once it was released. Finn opened up the module menu and navigated rapidly through submenu after submenu until he found a heat sink. Fox went in for a hard-hitting long range armament configuration on his shell, lots of missiles, and a plasma cannon that he'd managed to get his hands on hot out of R&D, and all of that had threatened to overheat [/color][/size][size=1][color=navy]the first time he'd used it[/color][/size][size=1][color=navy], nearly blowing his servo motors, not to mention cooking him alive in the cockpit. He'd had to tone it down and use fewer weapons and more heat sinks, although he'd ignored everyone on the issue of leaving the plasma cannon off his setup. With the sonar array neatly shelved and returned to Storage, the shell's chest now sported an empty circular socket, the locking arms of the sunflower clamp open around its edge, like the petals of its namesake. The arms set to work slotting the heat sink into place. [b]"Finn?" [/b]Another voice in the doorway. With his visor on he couldn't see who was speaking, but he knew the voice.[/color][/size][size=1] [/size] [center][size=2][color=navy]~~~~~~~~~~~~ [/color][/size] [/center] [size=1][color=Navy]Once airborne, Fox boosted away from the rig at full throttle to catch up with the two friendly blips on his radar. His was a state-of-the-art new model of cockpit; gone were the double control-column, the racks upon racks of buttons and switches, the confusing multiple screens and readouts. His arms and legs were encased in cylindrical metal sleeves, the cushioned insides of which inflated like blood pressure testing cuffs. The slightest contraction of his muscles was picked up by sensors inside the sleeves and translated into movement of the shell's own limbs. The Head-Up Display had been streamlined into a single screen, radar in the bottom-left, rear-view in the bottom-right, pupil tracking to target and select options. Fox's eyes darted across the screen as he opened up a communication channel with the rest of his unit. Images of Wren and Violet appeared across the top of his HUD. [/color][/size] [size=1][color=navy][b][color=Navy]"Hey, Wren! Where's your girlfriend, huh?" [/color] [/b]Wren's normally pale face coloured, and his nervous blue eyes looked everywhere except at Fox. [b][i]Too sensitive. Needs to lighten up.[/i] "She's in the canteen. She's in no fit state." [/b]Fox was taken aback. [b]"Is that really your call, kid? She's the best pilot we've got -" [/b]Violet rounded on Fox angrily, leaning towards the camera, her long black forelock hanging down almost to her knees. [b]"It isn't your call either, meathead. After what she's been through, she needs our care and support, not for us to throw her out into the first firefight that comes along!" "Calm down, girl." [i]Man, is she hot when she's angry. [/i]"If I was as stressed as I guess she is, I'd wanna get out there and shoot some stuff. Y'know, take out some of that pent-up aggression." [/b]Violet's expression went murderous, but Fox muted whatever string of expletives she was about to volley at him. Seven blips, moving in tight formation, had appeared on the radar. His targeting computer identified them as hostiles, and coloured them red. [/color][/size][size=1] [/size] [size=1][color=navy][b]"Usual tactics, Wren?" [/b]Fox enquired sweetly. [b]"I guess with the princess out of commission you're in charge today."[/b] The little image of Violet was going red in the face now. He thought he lip-read the word 'chauvinist'. [i][b]So she's reached the non-event-specific insults already. [/b][/i][/color][/size][size=1] [/size] [size=1][color=navy][b]"Violet, shut up,"[/b] said Wren, not unkindly, [b]"you're giving us all a headache."[/b] Violet clammed up abruptly, leaning back in her flight seat and looking a bit sheepish. [b]"Yes, Fox, usual tactics. There are a lot more of them but we know their weaknesses and we know we're better than them. Do you have a target yet?" [/b][/color][/size][size=1] [/size] [size=1][color=navy]By way of an answer Fox selected the closest of the red blips and loosed a pack of radar-guided missiles at it. His shell rocked back in mid-air as the contents of the air-to-air missile module in its right shoulder socket ignited and streaked away, leaving half his HUD obscured by white vapour trails. [/color][/size][size=1] [/size] [size=1][color=navy][b]"All right, we all know the drill,"[/b] Wren concluded, [b]"keep them out of range of the rig or there'll be Hell to pay. Hang back there, Fox, and cover us." [/b][/color][/size][size=1] [/size] [size=1][color=navy]The blip Fox had targeted disappeared. He locked another one in.[/color][/size][size=1] [/size] [center][size=1][color=navy][color=Navy][size=2]~~~~~~~~~~~~[/size] [/color][/color][/size][size=1] [/size] [/center] [left][size=1][color=navy][color=Navy]Violet had a visual on the AZG shells by the time Fox's missiles struck home. AZG's units could handle a direct missile hit, but Fox threw nine at it in quick succession, a tactic that worked time and time again but which AZG never seemed to guard against. The gutted machine made several splashes as various severed pieces fell from the air. [/color][/color][/size][size=1] [/size] [/left] [left][size=1][color=navy][color=Navy]The breeze was strengthening and the waves that had been so calm a week or so before were beginning to gain in height and ferocity. Violet compensated for the crosswind as she kept her formation with Wren's storm-blue shell. As the two of them flew closer, she saw another set of vapour trails arc above them and converge on a second hostile shell. [/color][/color][/size][size=1] [/size] [/left] [left][size=1][color=navy][color=Navy]Wren's face appeared on one of her screens. [b]"Break formation in five,"[/b] he ordered. Violet counted five seconds before yanking on both control columns and veering hard left, as Wren peeled off to the right in a pincer movement designed to outflank the five remaining enemy shells. Previous experience had taught them that AZG pilots thought like textbook soldiers and were usually loath to break formation, which gave them a solid base of firepower that could be easily co-ordinated and targeted, but also made their tactics predictable. [/color][/color][/size][size=1] [/size] [/left] [left][size=1][color=navy][color=Navy]Violet skimmed the wavetops and got in underneath the tight squad of identical spindly black shells, firing off limpet mines like frisbees from the launcher on her right arm. Between two of the AZG shells she saw Wren levelling his impact rifle, before she flitted out of their formation and out of range of the limpets' blast. [/color][/color][/size][size=1] [/size] [/left] [left][size=1][color=navy][color=Navy]She'd managed to hit one shell just on the waist joint; the explosion tore[/color][/color][/size][size=1][color=navy][color=Navy] off [/color][/color][/size][size=1][color=navy][color=Navy] one of its legs, throwing out its balance and causing it to heel over to one side, but failing to completely incapacitate it. Another had a manipulator module and actually managed to rip the limpet from its body in time to hurl it straight back at her. [/color][/color][/size][size=1] [/size] [/left] [left][size=1][color=navy][color=Navy]She swore, deftly twisting the contol columns around to dodge the unexpected attack, but the limpet's fuse wasn't long, and it burst harmlessly halfway between her and their formation, showering her and them with shrapnel. [/color][/color][/size][size=1] [/size] [/left] [left][size=1][color=navy][color=Navy]She'd damaged them. Now she was a threat. [/color][/color][/size][size=1] [/size] [/left] [left][size=1][color=navy][color=Navy]Almost as one body, the five gaunt black wraiths turned and aimed assault-rifles at Violet. Automatic weapons with a phenomenal rate of fire, the tactician in her had no doubt they would be loaded with armour-piercing rounds that could punch straight through her shell and out the other side. [/color][/color][/size][size=1] [/size] [/left] [left][size=1][color=navy][color=Navy]Wrenching the controls around, Violet concentrated all her energy on evasive action as the weapons began their shrieking staccato chatter. She just about made out one of the assault-rifles plummeting into the sea as Wren smashed its shoulder with a surgically precise round from his impact rifle, but there were still four of them tracking her flight path as she weaved, ducked, doubled back, dived and spiralled. [/color][/color][/size][size=1] [/size] [/left] [left][size=1][color=navy][color=Navy]A couple of rounds slammed through the shell's leg armour, and she frantically pulled back on the throttle, opening up the booster array all the way and rocketing straight up into the air, away from the hailstorm. [/color][/color][/size][size=1] [/size] [/left] [left][size=1][color=navy][color=Navy]There was a roar and a brilliant yellow flash as Fox's plasma cannon made itself known from afar. Two more of the AZG shells hit the water, their joints and gun barrels melted and fused by the intense heat. The other three seemed to change priorities and go after Wren instead, so she boosted back towards their squad - [/color][/color][/size][size=1] [/size] [/left] [left][size=1][color=navy][color=Navy]But there was something new on the radar, a green 'friendly' blip moving up past Fox's support position, faster than she'd thought it possible for a shell to move. She checked her rear-view; there was a white shell coming up behind her, skimming a metre or so above the wavecrests but going at such a speed that it still kicked up spray in its wake. There were extra booster modules in the shoulder sockets, and both the arms ended in ferocious parallel cat-claw attachments. [/color][/color][/size][size=1] [/size] [/left] [left][size=1][color=navy][color=Navy]Fox appeared on-screen. His artfully stubbled face looked even more unbearably smug than usual. [/color][/color][/size][size=1] [/size] [/left] [left][size=1][color=navy][color=Navy][b]"What did I say, huh? What did I say?" [/b][/color][/color][/size][size=1] [/size] [/left] [left][size=1][color=navy][color=Navy]Violet opened a channel with Wren, but the sight of him closed her mouth before she could speak. He looked utterly forlorn. She could almost read the words in his eyes: [i][b]I've lost her. That isn't her in there. She's gone.[/b][/i] [/color][/color][/size][size=1] [/size] [/left] [left][size=1][color=navy][color=Navy]The white shell was playing havoc with the AZGs, darting in and out of their formation and carving them up with wanton abandon, moving with a speed and precision they couldn't hope to match. [/color][/color][/size][size=1] [/size] [/left] [left][size=1][color=navy][color=Navy]Violet's HUD was suddenly filled with a face. A strawberry blonde bob covered the eyes, and there was a narrow steel tiara encircling just above the ears, resting on the two chromed nubs visible at the temples. The mouth was open in a bestial grin that was all teeth and no humanity. [/color][/color][/size][size=1] [/size] [/left] [left][size=1][color=navy][color=Navy][b]"What are you all waiting for? There's more of 'em coming! Get over here and [i]get fucking stuck in!" [/i][/b][/color][/color][/size][size=1] [/size] [/left] [left][size=1][color=navy][color=Navy][color=DarkGreen]This one took me much longer than the others. I still don't feel a hundred percent happy with it: I'm not sure how well some of the characterisation comes across, and I don't think I'm that great at writing action/combat sequences. I think in hindsight I should maybe have left some of this chapter out and put it in the next one, or not tried to introduce so many new characters in one go. I'm happier with the beginning than the end, too.[/color] [/color][/color][/size][size=1] [/size] [/left]

[color=DarkGreen][size=1]Whatever was causing it seems to have calmed down now, touch wood. It definitely wasn't a problem with people's personal connections because it was an OB error message, not a Firefox or Explorer one, and all other websites were fine. Except theOtaku, which just gave me a page full of crazy code, but with the sidebars intact :confused: I had no problem with myO, though, I didn't think that had been affected. But if other people had problems with it maybe I was just lucky. [/size][/color]

[color=DarkGreen][size=1]I couldn't help being reminded of the Tenacious D song 'Karate Schnitzel' when I read this. Sorry... :nervous: I like it. You've done a good job of building some believable characters in a short space, where the temptation is usually to stereotype. It could just be because I think there's a bit of Maria's mother in everyone's mum, it means it's easy to relate to. I was left the tiniest bit confused by the end; I don't understand why getting into Columbia would put her so on edge, I'd have thought she'd be jubilant. Is that just me? Maybe it's just because this isn't how I would imagine myself reacting in the situation, so I can't imagine anyone else reacting this way either. [/size][/color][size=1] [quote name='Arcadia'] ?It?s not just a sandwich. It?s my sandwich, my personal, private sandwich,? she protested, not entirely sure if she was really thinking about the sandwich at all anymore. She laid her hand flat against her chest, patting for emphasis, her eyes bright with feeling. ?It?s mine. Only mine.?[/quote] [color=DarkGreen]My favourite bit. I've been there too - when you suddenly realise that what you're saying sounds really petty and stupid, but you've started and you just can't stop...[/color] [/size]

[quote name='PugznRoku']...a fighter from a distant planet comes to Earth on a journey to find out more about herself...[/quote] [size=1][color=DarkGreen]Hmm... that's the main bit that seems to jar for me. I think she needs a more concrete reason to be on Earth, even if it's something as overused as 'she wakes up there one day with no idea how she got there...' Maybe she heard she had family on Earth or something? Or, if the majority of the characters are Totun, maybe it doesn't have to be on Earth at all? That would certainly allow you more scope to create new and interesting people and places for the party to go to. My main advice would be to make sure you have a deeper agenda running through the story, rather than just having the characters accidentally stumble into situations and battles. I like the spirit living inside her, that sounds like it has potential. There's my two pence. (I'm English.) Hope it's helpful. [/color][/size]

[b][color=Navy][size=1]Journal 0.2: Light Breeze [/size][/color][/b][color=Navy][size=1] Scanning the canteen, Wren spotted Takazaki, slouched with his boots up on his usual table. The skinny Japanese man was manoeuvring delicate forkfuls of pink spun-sugar icing, from the plate of cake on his lap, around the crinkled cigarette in the corner of his mouth. The low-hanging electric lightbulbs reflected in his round sunglasses, giving him constellations for eyes. Wren headed over and slumped down on the other side of the small round table. It and the chairs were all bolted to the canteen floor. Takazaki finished a mouthful, swung his boots onto the floor and carefully placed his plate, with its triangular pink slice of cake now entirely bereft of icing, on the table. He leaned conversationally on [/size][/color][color=Navy][size=1]his elbows and looked at Wren over his glasses. [b]"You,"[/b] he said, in the manner of a teacher, gently reproving a generally excellent student that had for once been unusually lax, [b]"are not being gentlemanly towards that young woman."[/b] Wren looked behind him, seeing the back of the wheelchair and the short, practical bob of strawberry blonde hair drooping sullenly above it, alone at a table. [b]"She told me to leave her alone. In no uncertain terms,"[/b] he told Takazaki. [b]"She swears more, now. She never used to..." "Experiences change people," [/b]the Japanese man replied sagely, slouching back once more and beginning to methodically lick his fork clean of every scrap of icing. [b]"You must accept that they have changed, and either change along with them, or be left behind." [i]But what if I'm not happy with the change?[/i][/b] Wren asked himself, looking back once again at the wheelchair. Her head turned slightly, as if she sensed his eyes on her, and he caught a glitter of silver at her temple, the lightbulbs reflecting. She tried to hide them with her hair, but if a lock fell out of place, revealing the cold steel contacts, there was little she could do about it anymore. The captain had gone berserk when he found out the quacks on the medical cruiser had botched their job. He was of a rare breed, the captain; he considered every one of the hundred and fifty or so crewmembers to be like his own children, and when anything adverse happened to any one of them his reactions were decidedly more personal than regulations suggested. He'd fully intended to go and strangle that guy with the glasses - Johnson? Johnstone? - personally and on the spot, in front of all the surgeons. Fox'd had to forcibly restrain him. [/size][/color] [center][color=Navy]~~~~~~~~~~~~ [size=1] [/size][/color] [left][color=Navy][size=1]A day or so after the medical cruiser had left, Helen from Comms had knocked timidly on the captain's door to tell him there was news from the Eye in the Sky, and did he want them to mobilise and head for the new co-ordinates? He'd nodded wearily, his eyes red from staring at his commscreen, sending out messages to every level of the company and the medical firm demanding that action be taken. He'd been assured by the chairman himself, who liked to project the image that he took such matters seriously, that the particular line of research in question would be dropped immediately in order to prevent further tragedies. There was no human feeling in the chairman's message. None at all. Since then they'd been rumbling ponderously towards the spot where the Eye in the Sky predicted another field to be. But now, with less than a day's travel to go, Helen from Comms was forced to sound a general alert. There were several ominous blips on the radar scope. AZG Enterprises had spotted what the Eye in the Sky had seen, and they wanted a piece. [/size][/color] [center] [/center] [/left] [center][color=Navy]~~~~~~~~~~~~ [/color] [left][color=Navy][size=1]The harsh white of the canteen lightbulbs was joined by the rotating red glow of the alert warning. A klaxon joined in. Takazaki was unmoved, starting to pick the icing from a new slice of cake. Wren jumped up and started running towards the express elevator. [b]"WREN!" [/b]He skidded to a halt, nearly falling down. [b]"Wren, don't you [i]dare [/i]leave me here. There's a fucking alert on, we need every warm body we have manning shells!" [/b]Wren winced as he did every time he heard her swear. [b]"But you can't, not -"[/b] he bit back the words [i]not in your condition,[/i] realising just before he said them just how patronising they sounded. [b]"Wren, I [i]can![/i] Since they spiked these fucking needles in my head it's the only fucking thing I [i]can[/i] do! You can't just - [i]WREN![/i] Wren, are you - come back! Wren!"[/b] He heard her voice start to crack with desperation as he turned and ran to the elevator. The edge of despair in her shouts wrenched at him, but he couldn't do it. He just couldn't let her go out there into a battlefield, not in her state of mind. She wouldn't concentrate. She'd be easy meat for the enemy. She'd [i]die.[/i] And maybe that's what she was after, but he wouldn't let her make that decision. [i][b]"Wren, please..."[/b][/i] He could hear the tears as the elevator doors closed. [color=DarkGreen]I know I promised some action in this one but I didn't want these to get too long, so I'm going to leave it there for now and do the action in the next instalment. Also, the main reason I haven't mentioned her name yet is because I don't have one yet. If anyone has any suggestions based on what they've seen of her so far, I'd welcome them. :)[/color] [/size][/color][/left] [/center] [/center]