Author has written 2 stories for xxxHOLiC.
please note: I am going to be taking down and fixing all my old shit I don't like. I need a lot of practise as a writer still but feel that I can at least improve what was has been sitting around. 'My hands' in particular will be up for a re vamp. I've written a lot since this and honestly, coming back to read some of this old rubbish makes me cringe and want to delete it all. I'll work on it where I can. I also have a finished draft of 'My hands' sitting around somewhere. I'll pull it out and work on it again if there is still any interest left in it (Rita you don't count you have the draft lol).
Hmmm... cutting the bullshit, as it were. A request for one of my readers who thought that this page could be put to better use than the story I placed up earlier.
Interests: Reading, gaming, writing and role play. I live in Sydney Australia and work in retail. Want to know where I vanish to, it's likely gaming eating my time between work. I shamelessly admit it. A good Rp can steal my soul. I'll try to keep focused if I start things, but if you find that you are really into something I have been working on and feel that I am letting it stagnate a little, feel free to email me, or PM me or whatever DEMANDING my return. A million times a day if you wish. In a rather obnoxious manner is fine. I may even respond to threats.
I usually get things done if someone is riding my ass about it, so feel welcome to. If you want to know me, that's cool too. Break the wall and email me. I'm a rather friendly sort.
Please also note: I do not add 'things I want to read later' or 'something half interesting' to my favorite stories list. If you made it in there it is because I feel you have created something amazing and of high caliber. Or it was something that really moved me. I once had another account with a whole heap of gems in the favorites section but alas I lost it. I have tried to go back and find the great things that I've found over the years but some are lost to the sands of the internet unfortunately. If you are hunting something good to read, they are there for your consideration, but fair warning kiddos, it's not all rated G. (In fact I am not sure any of it is lol). It also spans many genres. I have wide interest parameters.
For those that preferred my 'Character' Bio - I left that here too.
For those that asked - The character on my profile picture means 'Sake'. I find Yuuko a great mentor in all things excess. (Personally I don't drink like a fish but have always found the poor drunk writer notion poetic).
This is long and pointless. Feel free to never read it, I won't be offended. I only keep it here for sentimental reasons. I wrote it when I was about seventeen, so it's crap, but it inspires me for some dumb reason. :)
It’s dark, and its just started to rain.
Looking at the cheap import watch you have strapped to your wrist, you curse as you realize that it has stopped. Again.
Dammit! Stupid cheap tacky sales man. That's the last time you believe the slogan '100 percent guaranteed in your moment of need'.
Wondering aimlessly down the shady street you have found yourself upon, you look for a place to shelter until this rain lets up. No matter what closed shop front you huddle close to however, you find no dry place to stand and are forced further into the darkness.
The street widens, and the shadows become longer. You've wondered into an old entertainment district, but the strings of red lanterns and neon signs have all been long shut off. You stop, getting ready to turn back the way you came. This had been a dead end.
A soft yellow glow in a building ahead catches your attention. It's an abandoned theater hall, windows boarded and barred save one on the second story that is opened and spilling light out through thin curtains. They rustle with the wind.
It seems to be the only inhabited building in the area, and, was that a silhouette in the window just now?
Instinct tells you to turn and go back, but the rain begins to pour down harder, and your mind is suddenly made up. You all but run for the door, not noticing how easily it creaks open with a simple push.
The inside stuns you as your eyes fall upon it.
You had expected it to be dark, dusty and decrepit, but that was far from the case. The hall was immaculately kept, the floorboards beneath your feet almost gleaming with polish and the rows of chairs are dusted and dressed as if ready for an opening night. Dimly lit, the room is almost in stasis, waiting to be flooded by an audience that would never come to see the heavy velvet red curtain lift from the stage.
A gust of wind screams through the door behind you and disrupts the ancient pamphlets that had rested in a neat stack by the door. As one falls at your feet you look down and gaze at the text that reveals the establishment is called ‘HAPPILY EVER NEVER’.
Before the wind can wreak anymore damage, you turn and slam the doors shut. You feel guilty at having disturbed the neat room and are about to pick up the mess the wind (technically you) made, when an electric hiss startles you for your attention. A light has been clicked on above a set of stairs leading to the second level. You wait a moment, expecting company, but no one comes.
Your curiosity is piqued. Your are sure that there is someone here, and, surely they heard you come in? Leaving the pamphlets you slowly start up the stairs. You will find the owner you decide, and ask if its ok to stay here until the rain lets up. It would be rude of you not to announce yourself after all and loitering unwanted could get you into some trouble...
The next level landing is as dimly lit as the hall, it's light source coming from a single room up ahead with it's door slightly ajar. That must be the office you decide.
The place smells strongly of dusty and stale alcohol as you tiptoe down the hall. Water from your clothes drips rhythmically onto the wood as you pause just before the doors entrance.
There is shuffling and a slight cough comes from inside.
Gathering your courage, you enter, and are confused by the sight that is presented to you. Just to make sure that you are still in the same building, you glance back into the hall before looking back into the room again.
Nope same building.
The office (for that was indeed what the room you seemed to have stumbled upon was originally designed for) was not what you had expected. It looked...
Well it was a room, so you start with that. There are not really walls as far as you can tell, but rather ceiling high bookshelves line the exterior, carved from what you would guess would be cherry wood. But the room is not a library. While there are books (great piles of the things all thrown onto the shelves in haphazard stacks of multicolored leather spines) there are more objects covering the shelves than anything. A small turtle carving that looks like it is from Africa. Thousands of Gems, Crystals and Jewels. Heaps of neatly mounded ancient looking coins. Teapots. Swords and Shields. Bottles and Vials. Boots and shoes of all sizes and shapes, and boxes of bows and ribbons. Ancient pagan stone tablets and coils of rope. Even a tooth brush that is sticking bristle end out of a lemon.
What in the.
Perhaps it is a storage room for the actors you think, trying to give meaning to it's state. These items might all be props for the plays that had once been staged here.
Yes that must be it. You give yourself a pat on the back as you try not to look too closely at the thick rusty blood encrusted torture implements that are piled off to one dark corner. Clearly just props.
A gigantic desk, carved out of the same cherry wood as the walls stands right in the center of the room. The wind billows in from behind a curtain directly behind it, but not a breath of it graces the tables surface.
Instead, a cavalcade of junk did. Ink wells, quills, pens, pencils, charcoal and paintbrushes were scattered everywhere among stacks of yellowing paper, almost piled too high to be adhering to the laws of gravity. Walling in this monstrous mess, were mountains of books and folders, all thrown in haphazard piles that made you cringe just to see. You have a funny feeling they all had a place on the shelves not too long ago, and are almost compelled to begin stacking them back up. If fact you can see a clutter of childrens fairytale books on a shelf to your left...
“Now what have you stumbled in on I wonder...”
Your attention startles back to the desk as a young woman rises from beneath the towers of books, her auburn hair twisted haphazardly into a bun held in place with a few pens and a single wooden chop stick.
"Ah.." you manage to get out, before her face brightens and she picks up a pouch on her desk.
"Are you here to deliver my order?" You shake your head no quickly and her expression falls.
"Oh. So your one of Them"
She lets out a murmur concealed by a cough and you think you hear the requests for a drink behind the coarse noise. You feel at a loss for a moment. Was she asking you for it?
A short pigmy looking creature that had remained unseen to this point, lets out a squeak and rushes across the room, abandoning a broom as he stumbles on his exit path straight out the door behind you. For a moment you consider following him.
“Ahem, now, straight to business I suppose…”
She fumbles about for a moment on the disarrayed desk beside her, shuffling what looks like hundred year old parchment.
“You’re here for a story I suppose? Can’t quiet imagine what else you’d be here for, dressed like that”
She looks at your decidedly normal outfit pointedly, but you remain silent, watching on as she continues rummaging through her desk. In your head you mentally think that this was not the reception you expected when you walked into this place. Who was this nutcase?
Ceasing in her work, the young woman turns to you suddenly.
“Oh I seem to have forgotten to introduce myself" She gives a short curtsy, her jerky movements belying that she was not used to the motion. “Today I am Lady Rouge of the order of under appreciated writers who are sick of justifying their gay work to prejudice morons.” The title is spoken with dignified pride, regardless of the absurdity of it. You look on unimpressed.
“Storyteller” she adds not really caring for you, reaction or not. She returns to sorting through the rubble on her desk.
"Lady" you repeat. Be dammed if your using the rest of her silly title. "I think I have the wrong place. I'll just be going now, thank you"
Your retreat is hindered however as the slight pygmy thing returns, clutching a clear bottle clumsily to it’s chest. It eyes you wearily before racing past you and offering the bottle to it’s master who it seemed had just found what she had been searching for in the story books on her desk.
“AH! Here we are!” The woman holds a stack of books up proudly.
Interested despite yourself you halt your retreat through the door and turn back, deciding to take a look at the leather bound volumes she is holding out to you. The woman may be nuts, but outside it is clearly still raining and while your sure you have a better place to be (anywhere but in here), you honestly have nothing better to do.
“So it is that you are here for a story" Her hazel eyes almost seem to laugh at you as if they had expected this reaction of you all along. "Skrit, find our guest a comfy chair"
The pygmy smiles stupidly at you, inadvertently revealing his sharp teeth. You fear for you sanity hanging around this place any longer, but promptly find yourself seated on a rickety old chair as the woman sets the heap of books in your lap.
“Here you go sunshine… choose your poison…”
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