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Writing Playtime--oshi's R-rated misc. *grin*


oshi
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I'm going to fill up this thread with my own works. Feel free to comment, but if you are easily offended, are being supervised by your mother, don't like nastiness with a plot or do not want your opinion of me to change after you read my writing . . . don't read my writing. I'll be sure to put disclaimers over works that are iffy.
But today, we'll start off nicely. This is a poem I wrote and posted on a site called strangeminds.com (I have other pieces there under the name Mizan, if you're interested. I doubt they'll let me post half of them here. If you do read them, try to do it in the order that they were written. Otherwise, you'll be super-confused in the stories.). Anyway. This is called The Blind Place.

He put it there
(the place that makes you blind)
he didn?t know the consequences
it was spur of the moment
he hid it there
and left it for someone else to find
but no one looks
all the signs were always there
they didn?t know the consequences
?not every seed planted grows?
everyone saw
together alone always never a pair
and she came back
with her head heavy, neck weak
she knew too well the consequences
gazing at the newborn tree
he was sitting in its shadow
(waiting there for her to learn to speak).
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I really like this one. The rhyme scheme--although initially a bit confusing--works quite nicely. All the right syllables just fall naturally into place, despite the fact that I couldn't force it to fit any kind of ABCDE...etc format (yes, I've been brainwashed by English class).

I'm especially impressed by your use of parentheses. Most people do this to make their poetry seem more like song lyrics, if that makes any sense. Here, the parenthetical lines actually serve their purpose; as I read the piece, I automatically thought of them as being "said" in a low undertone or swift, almost subliminal whisper. Overall, it's a very nice effect.

The places where you omitted punctuation also seem well chosen, particularly "together alone always never a pair." I went over that sentence several times, and was able to discover new shades of meaning each time I re-read it.

In conclusion, post more. You know you want to. ^_~

~Dagger~
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Thank you, Dagger. I will be posting a short story for you, as a birthday present. But it's not quite done yet. *grin*
For now, here's a teaser. It's one of the bits I wrote on strangeminds, but it's not the first. (It's just the shortest, and the least indecent.) So if there are things you don't get, you'll just have to go there and read the others. And am I shamelessly plugging myself? Yes, yes I am.

[B]This story contains sex . . . without the candy. Squeamish, stop reading now.[/B]

[U]Sarah's Eyes[/U]

He didn?t bother to look up as the bedroom door opened. Sarah strode inside, her pale blue eyes like twin indifferent moons set wide and slanted in her face. She sat upon his bed, regarding him impassively and drawing up the front of her shirt.
Shanker shook his head, holding out one hand to stop her; she scowled, thinking he did not know that Sicker lurked just beyond the door. ?Undress, Shanker.?
She was four years his elder, but he had known Sicker the longer. ?Sarah, don?t,? he said quietly, in a voice his older brother could not hear. ?There is a price for your intent.?
?Hmmm.? Her tone was unreadable, but she continued to disrobe. Putting both hands on his chest, she pushed him onto his back. ?Undress.?
Sicker was planning something, that much was obvious by his presence. While he could sense Shanker?s whereabouts, he could not judge specific movements. It was something else. Shanker knew how Sarah despised him, and how much she loathed it when Sicker ordered her to his bed. He tried every time to allay her hatred; he attempted to better explain his position to her, and his sorrow for her captivity. She would hear none of it, and fair tutored Kanuz, a year under Shanker, in the surmised necessity of detesting the family with the periwinkle blue eyes.
Shanker was one such.
Though he was in no better a situation than either Sarah or Kanuz, they both simply hated him for what Sicker forced him to do, with no regard to the tears he cried even as he did it. Kanuz reviled him for Sarah?s bitter words; he took everything she said as solid truth. Neither of them chose to listen, for he remained cursed with the same eyes of sadness and sickness as Sicker and Jonquil.
But they were allowed to leave. They roamed the streets, yes, and feared Sicker for his punishments if the profits gained from their services were deficient; but they were not held down by blood. Sicker knew where his family went, everywhere. But he could track his captive pupils only through associates. Sarah and Kanuz could escape so easily, yet they never dared.
Kanuz was a coward, in truth, but he strove to convince even himself that he did not leave because of Sarah. She had given up; she no longer cared about her fate. Her sole goals were to avoid pain and to anger Sicker; in this way she reminded Shanker overmuch of his sister. He was unsure of how Kanuz would take to the fact that Sarah was so far into her apathy that she cared little even for him. Shanker would never tell him so; Kanuz likely wouldn?t believe him and would only hate him more for it.
Sarah ignored his protests, straddling him in the skillful manner of one who no longer appreciates her own actions, unbuttoning his shirt. Shanker pushed her hands away repeatedly, whispering urgently, ?Just wait a moment longer! I swear to you, this is a trick!?
He didn?t know what Sicker intended. Whatever it was, it was surely a doubled-edged sword, with neither side a pleasant alternative to the other. But he knew his brother, inside and out in ways that made him sick to his stomach, and knew that one side of the blade would draw darker blood than the other. He just didn?t know which side.
Listening while trying to keep Sarah at bay, Shanker waited for Sicker to think on his plans. He could not find out what they were unless they entered his brother?s mind. All Sicker was occupied with, however, was hearing their encounter from the other side of the door.
?Sarah,? Shanker pleaded, grasping her wrists, ?I?m telling you, wait. I want to help you.?
She laughed, a noise that was barely a laugh and bereft of effort. Eyeing him scornfully, she pulled her arms from him. ?You lie.?
?No,? he insisted, trying to cover her bare form with the blanket. ?No, Sarah, I?m not. Just [I]wait[/I].?
She ripped the blanket from his hands, her abhorrence for him clear in her moon-blue eyes. She pushed her palms hard against his chest, pinning him under her weight, and continued unclothing him. With determination set in her fair features, Sarah spread herself atop him and bit him in the cleft of his shoulder as deeply as she could. He held his tongue, aware of Sicker?s waiting presence, and she bit harder, grinding her teeth into his flesh. Letting out a quiet gasp of pain, he tried to drive her away, but her jaw was locked on his neck. Finally, she released him, color in her cheeks.
?Cry out, damn you!? she spat, frustrated, a thin trickle of Shanker?s blood running from her lips. Shanker forced back the blur of tears from his eyes and shook his head. That was what Sicker was waiting for; to hear him make a sound. He wanted to know why.
?If you don?t do this,? Sarah hissed, a rare thing of emotion for her, ?he?ll beat me until I can?t walk anymore. [I]Cry out!? [/I] she repeated, raising her own voice and aiming a fist at his face.
He caught it before she hit him, reading Sicker?s Think. He had heard Sarah?s outburst, and was considering whether or not he really had a deal with Ribald.
Ribald.
Shanker grabbed her face with his free hand. He forced her to meet his gaze, whispering in a dire tone, ?He?s going to sell you to Ribald, if I cry out. Ribald will own you.?
It gave her pause, the color rushing from her cheeks and leaving them a frightened white. Ribald was a customer, a great, disgusting mass of a demon, who used his weight in playing rape on hard floors. Sarah knew him well, knew her broken bones and bruised flesh, Ribald?s gifts; the thought of acting as his bedservant every night was more terrifying than being deprived the privilege of mobility.
She was tense upon him, and pondering frantically. He watched her gaze, cold and indifferent, while her thoughts revealed her horror. He relaxed his grip on her wrist and face, letting his hands settle near to her form on the cot. With a barely discernable start, she pulled herself off of him and sat inattentively on the end of the bed. She was weighing her choices.
?Sarah,? Shanker began, but she cut him off with a gesture.
Not lifting her head, Sarah whispered gravely, ?You . . . don?t make a sound. But he?ll want proof.? She glanced at him, hatred sharpening her words. ?Do what you want with me. But if you make any noise, I?ll see you dead.?
Kanuz would do anything she asked. Shanker nodded, with no ambition to touch her at all; however, she was correct. Sicker would want proof that she had tried her best to make him cry out, and he would inspect her to make sure. She was resigned to the fact that there was no way around it, but Shanker knew what she thought of him and knew that the path she presented was just the one to stronger hatred and fear. He thought quickly, searching his mind for some way to convince Sicker of their act other than going about it.
Another presence entered the building. Shanker read it swiftly and took in a hasty breath; even if he had a plan, it would be for nothing.
Ribald was already there.
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Ooh, thanks! This is exciting. ^_~

As for the teaser... yet again, I am amazed by your ability with words. Despite not knowing jack **** about the characters, I found myself captivated by their confrontation. You provide just enough background information for the reader to avoid being utterly confused, but it never interrupts the flow of the story or causes the underlying tension to go slack.

(And it's wonderful to read something that isn't unnaturally bloated with ellipses. There are times when it seems as though 90% of online fan/original fiction consists of melodramatic outbursts punctuated by long strings of periods.)

Your writing has a certain poetic rhythm which makes it flow very smoothly from one sentence to the next. The dialogue sounds well-suited to the situation; I honestly can't think of a single complaint. By the way, those are some pretty interesting names. How did you come up with them?

~Dagger~
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Okay, here you go! This is Part 1 of this story, so there will be more. I want to break it up a bit so that it's not too long, is all . . . and I haven't finished it quite yet. Remember Adar Greenwood, from the RPG that never was? Well (with permission) I have written him as the main character. I hope you like it!

[U][CENTER]Role Playing
Part 1[/CENTER][/U]

?May I refill your glass, milord?? She lifted the bottle delicately, smiling pleasantly.
Regarding her with distance, Adar gave her a barely discernable nod. She was quick to oblige him, tipping the wine bottle into his vessel.
A barmaid on the other side of the room dropped a tray, sending its contents flying with a loud crash. The bottle slipped in Adar?s elven companion?s fingers, spilling a few drops onto the tablecloth. He glared at the offending stains with disdain, noting the lapse of grace. She held her breath for a moment then tentatively tried to wipe away the liquid. ?They ought to train their workers better,? she said, presenting an air of indignation. He looked away.
The club was filling up as the night went on. Patrons from high-standing households around the Elven Realm were filing into the tables, either bringing their own guests or waiting for others to amuse them. Adar let his gaze slide to the elf sitting beside him. He himself felt quite unamused.
There was a small stage at the front of the room, where an elegant stool stood alone. Every now and then, a being would go up on the stage, sit on the stool, and recite something?original poetry, pieces from literature, or some would even sing a song. He watched the empty stage with boredom, hoping someone would distract him from his uneventful evening.
?Is that Baubo Goibhniu?? his companion asked, nodding her head past him. ?I heard that he acquired a rather large number of servants from rounding up gnomes . . . .? Her obvious small-talk grated on his nerves, and Adar made up his mind to ignore her fully for the rest of the night.
A being took refined steps up to the stage. Adar lifted his head, fixing his attention on her. The elf beside him tensed, then leaned forward on her wrist to listen.
With a composed and confident breath, the female being on stage parted her lips. Her face was decorated with intricate symmetrical markings on either side, a custom Adar had heard was practiced in the remote southern lands of the realm. Her face itself was long and round, her expression placid. Long and light brown in color, her hair fell delicately to frame her features. Unlike most of the elven females in the building, her clothing gave no indication of her form under the robes. Adar found his interest growing as she lifted her arms, the sleeves falling away to reveal that the tops of her hands were marked similarly to her face.
She began to recite from memory, her mellow voice lilting, and the other beings in the room quieted.

?Like a child in the rain,
Through droplets, neither pretty nor plain,
Made from the gift of the sugar cane,
Lives my Genderless.

?Like a wall a veil of skin
Hides all that takes place within.
Neither her nor either him,
Is my Genderless.?

Adar halted the unconscious reaction of furrowing his brow; the words sounded simple and nearly meaningless, but her melodic voice made him believe that there was more to them somehow. His companion scoffed quietly, muttering, ?What is she even saying??
Onstage she continued despite various murmurs from the crowd. Adar listened carefully, the being captivating him although her words and motives were unclear.

?Like a home of soft-peach hue,
The windows show a different view,
Of perfect love, of perfect true,
Dreams my Genderless.

?Like a hermit in the hills,
Unseen as others? darkest wills,
Alone and lost in the world?s ills,
Lives my dear Genderless.?

She finished, and raised her head to take them all in in one sweeping view. Adar caught a good glimpse of her eyes in the process, pleased to find that they were a striking shade of green. Her presence was felt throughout the room, and Adar felt the elf at his side repress a shudder.
?What a waste of time,? she hissed defensively, crossing her arms.
Adar paid her no mind, still watching the female as she left the stage. She accepted a glass of water from an eager patron, politely but firmly declining invitations to several different places. Standing near the counter, she turned to face him from across the way.
She had seen him when she scanned the crowd, for certain. Adar gave her an airy glance, checking further out of the corner of his eye. She was smiling.
His companion was becoming nervous. She put one slim hand on his arm, pulling it to her. ?Milord, perhaps we should leave here? It seems to be getting awfully crowded. With your wife visiting relatives, your home must be lonely. I?ve never seen the inside of your house. It must be beautiful,? she said, touching his face lightly.
He glared at her, sharp green eyes searing through her assurance without mercy. She drew back, sufficiently cowed. ?Did I just hear you invite yourself to my home?? he demanded caustically. The fact that she had mentioned Mystic only annoyed him more. She shook her head in protest, picking up her glass with alacrity. He looked back to the intriguing female.
She was still smiling, having observed him the whole while.
Bringing her water, she made her way through the shifting patrons to his table, never once breaking her elegant, meticulous gait. She stopped before him, not even for a second minding anyone other than Adar himself. ?Good evening, milord. I see that I was not mistaken; you are indeed the esteemed Adar Greenwood I?ve always heard glowing talk of.?
He nodded; the description seemed accurate enough to him. ?And you are??
?Trompeur Tigre, but you are welcome to call me Chat, milord,? she replied, pronouncing the foreign syllables with a graceful tongue. ?May I join you??
?Of course.? Adar took his time and examined her eyes more closely, waiting for the elf beside him to take the hint. After a moment of reciprocated silence between himself and Chat, she got up, embarrassed, without a word and left the club.
Chat sat in her place, moving her discarded wine glass and replacing it with her own water. ?I hope I didn?t concern you with my recitation,? she said, and he realized her voice was lower than it had seemed, once she was no longer projecting it.
?No, it was interesting,? he told her, barely aware of what he was saying; he studied her movement and appearance with scrutiny, alert for any signs that she was not up to his standards. ?It was certainly different.?
?Good. It was meant to be.? Chat gave him a secretive smile. ?In the area of my homeland, poetry is not respectable unless it can be interpreted many different ways. The poem I read was not one of the best, but it is one that I enjoy.?
Her lips were sleek and dark, complimenting the strange markings on her face. She watched him carefully as he watched her; piercing green eyes that seemed to delve deeper than he cared to attempt. The green pleased him; it was important. Only pure-blooded elves had eyes so vivid, and he would associate with no less than pure-bloods.
Chat put one patterned hand on his under the table. The gesture took him slightly off-guard, but he showed no surprise. She stroked his fingers, long, painted nails dragging along his skin; her gaze drifted about the rest of the room casually. Adar found it difficult to look away from the rich, red wine stains on the tablecloth.
?. . . impressive.? She took her hand away, and he realized that she had been speaking. Such long ears,? she said, touching his left ear gently. Another trait inherent only of those elves with pure bloodlines; he noted that she recognized it as being of value. Adar?s ears were tall and slim, each coming to points high above those of other, lesser elves. He tried to glance quickly at Chat?s own, but her hair effectively blanketed them in silky layers.
She trailed her fingernail up the entire length of his left ear, with an almost unbearable tediousness. Her face grew nearer, and he could feel her tongue follow her finger?s example. Her breath was hot on his skin. ?Your ladyfriend was right. It is getting awfully crowded here.?
Adar faced her, and was once again met with the brilliant hue of her eyes. He snapped his fingers authoritatively, and an obeisant worker lurking nearby rushed to accommodate him with his bill.
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Yay!! *cheers*

Alas for the RPG that never was... we would've [i]rocked[/i] the Adventure Arena. ^_~ I thought Adar seemed like a really intriguing character (gotta love those aristocratic elven philanderers), and it's nice that I'm already somewhat familiar with his personality and predilections. Heh, I especially like how he disposes of that annoying little wench. He's certainly not the type who would be easily deceived... although if Chat has a hidden agenda, I think she stands a good chance of putting it into action, so to speak.
Speaking of Chat, how would you pronounce her name? As I was reading, I automatically associated it with the French word for cat (which suits her rather nicely, I think). There's something slightly.... different... about her, but I'm not going to hazard any guesses yet.

I love it, oshi. ^___^ When October rolls around, I plan on coming up with something equally awesome for [i]your[/i] birthday. ^_~

~Dagger~
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