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More Haiku nonsense.
Oct. 21st, 2006 10:48 amBecause I can. And because I have nothing better to do. A couple things, first.
This is a ministory I wrote. Because I can.
["Has this ever happened to you?" (ministory type thing, written on Sunday morning.)
*is irritated*
It's a family outing in a sports-bar type restaraunt. Joysweeper is eating, trying not to listen to the pottymouthed shouting people in the next booth over.
Abruptly, there is a strange sound that only she seems to hear. She glances around nervously, recognizing it for what it is. The motor whirr, the clacking, the thud at the end....
The restaurant erupts in hooting and cheers, high-fives and cries of "Yes SIR" as, on one of the televisions, someone does something that the patrons like. Distracted, Joysweeper watches in disgust as her family joins in. She takes a gulp of iced soda.
A woman slides into the empty chair opposite her and puts her hands firmly on the table. One of them, the black-scaled clawed one, passes through a forgotten fork. She is taller, broader, and more muscular than Joysweeper, with darker hair and gray eyes, but both are sort of stocky and androgynous, and there is some faint similarity in the shape of the bones of her face and her skin tones.
Revan leans forward, catching Joysweeper's bulging eyes, and speaks in a dry, faintly amused voice. "Clever of you to put the switch that retracts the fourth wall on _our_ side. You didn't hide it well enough, though. We have to talk."
Joysweeper chokes on her soda and coughs violently for several breaths, then glares up at Revan and furiously thinks "You are NOT supposed to be here!"
Behind Joysweeper's chair, Malak materializes with his arms crossed sternly, completely ignoring the fact that between her chair and the chair of someone at the next table lies a gap of less than a foot. "We've decided on the issue of food. Mush is the classic prisoner's ration, yes, but this is a jungle. It's only reasonable that what we eat should be foraged."
Joysweeper tilts her head back to give him The Look, which is returned with interest. "I'm not even at a computer! I can't _do_ anything about that until I am!"
Malak loosens up enough to shrug, lowering his hands to the back of the chair. "And if we go now, what will happen?" He crosses his ankles and answers himself. "You'll forget it all. You're a daydreamer; easy to talk to, but with no focus. No concentration."
Revan laces her fingers together. "He's right."
Dismayed, Joysweeper scowls. "I'm kind of busy here." She taps her plate and glances at her oblivious family members, who are still cheering.
"You can eat with us here just as easily as you can eat alone. And at the moment you seem to be ignoring _them_," Revan tells her, eyes glinting.
"Just don't say anything out loud this time," Malak adds.
Joysweeper mutters under her breath and bites savagely into her food. The hooting has died down, and the sports fans have calmed slightly. Her brother leans over the table and starts talking about the suspensefullness of that moment, and how it will go down as a Great Moment in Sports History. She ignores him, which is fine for both parties.
"If it's a jungle, there really ought to be grubs on the menu," Revan says, looking at her clasped hands. "Big, fat, white ones."
"Yeah," Malak agrees. "And Revan should be the one to eat them. Because she's worked with Kubaz."
"With Master Riii. Uh-huh. They see all arthropods, sentient or not, as food. So they're always in trouble with the people they want to eat. Hmm. We haven't chosen a species or a sex for Master Riii yet." Revan scoots forward and leans back in the chair, lacing her mismatched fingers together behind her head and assuming a thoughtful position.
"Arthropods?" Joysweeper mutters, confused.
"Insects, arachnids, crustaceans, 'pedes. Carapace-animals," Malak tells her, leaning toward his friend. "I say human male. There are too many nonhuman females as it is."
"Oh, come now," Revan replies. "Every single time in the GFFA that you see an example of a 'focal point', a great effector of change, for good or for ill, it is _always_ a human male. Canonically, anyway. Except for the Exile. But I'm not counting Ximo, because we haven't decided _there_ either."
"It's a human male for every important Skywalker who isn't a twin; for Exar Kun, for Bane, for all these extremely important directly-affecting-the-galaxy roles, yes," Malak argues. "But think about these lesser roles. Eight, nine hundred years before the Empire, it's an Ithorian who pacifies the Barabels. And a Caamasi helped resolve a canonical Kubaz-Verpine conflict when-"
"Oooh. Yeah. Riii should be a Caamasi. That's _perfect_." She smiles, already looking into empty space.
"No, no, no, no. 'Riii' is not at all similar to a Caamasi name. They have fancy, flowery-sounding first names, and-"
"Don't be such a meathead, 'Lak. Only three Caamasi have been named, as far as we know. And all three are related."
"Excuse me? Did you just say what I thought you said?"
"'Riii' could easily be a nickname. There are all kinds of excuses for a nickname like that."
"Meathead? _Meathead?!_ Since when do you call me _meathead_?!"
Joysweeper closes her eyes tightly for a moment as the two argue over her head. She opens them again, quickly, as another voice proclaims "Every time that there is a moment, they argue. If they were Mando'ade, it would have come to the circle by now."
The gold-armored Mandalorian strides in and leans back, arms crossed, every line of her suggesting superiority. Joysweeper rubs her forehead with the first three fingers of her right hand. "Ve'vuut. I should have guessed. And _they_ happen to be best friends, very comfortable together. They can argue without much ... damage."
"As if you knew, _aruetti_. Among the Clans, such arguments are not tolerated. They are distracting; an enemy could come across them unawares." Ve'vuut's voice is chiding.
"They don't argue like that _all_ the time. Not when they need every bit of their awareness, anyway, and they're Jedi. They have more than five senses. Besides, there aren't any enemies here that concern them. I'm the only one who even hears them. _You_ certainly aren't going to do anything drastic-" Joysweeper, highly annoyed, sounds petulant rather than firm.
The Mandalorian is firm rather than petulant. "Yet."
"-_yet_. And _certainly_ not here. And for your information, I _have_ had a best friend, so I know what it's like." Joysweeper winces as she realizes that she has made an error.
"_Had_. I am well versed in your absurdly complicated language, _aruetti_. I know a 'past tense' when I hear it. Children may bicker without bitterness, perhaps. But aside from what you read and watch, you have no idea whether or not the same holds true for adults." She snorts, derisive, and then wraps up.
"_Aruetti_, that does not much concern me. But you are not accomplishing anything; you have not for days. I want that duel you promised me. Or else-" Ve'vuut becomes amused- "Or else I will contrive to make spiders drop on you at all hours."
"You can do that?" Joysweeper asks, skeptical.
Challenged, Ve'vuut walks through the table as if it was a bank of mist. She bends over so that her visor is inches away from Joysweeper's snubbed nose. Her voice through the speakers in the helmet is low. "Perhaps. It makes a good threat, though." The Mandalorian unfolds and vanishes.
Revan glances down, startled out of the discussion. "Eh? Was that a Mandalorian?" Her hands are back on the table.
Chagrined, Malak nods. "It looked like Ve'vuut. Yellow armor, anyway."
His friend scowls. "Dammit! She always has the ominous exits! I wish I could do that!"
"Well, Revan, you're _the_ point of view most of the time. You are the 'first person', the 'I'. You can't make proper dramatic exits, or any exits at all really. You just leave one situation and enter another."
Revan's mouth opens, then closes again as she thinks it over. "Hmph. I don't know about that... Anyway, Joysweeper, there's another piece of armor you ought to reference. It's called the 'gorget' or 'neck guard' and protects the throat from melee attacks."
The two stayed with Joysweeper throughout the meal and followed her home, somehow impossibly fitting into the already-crowded car. Fortunately, her family no longer takes it oddly when she flinches and mutters imprecations without any apparent reason.
Revan and Malak argued loudly outside of the bathroom door as Joysweeper showered, and took up posts in her room as she tried to sleep. In the morning, when a bleary sleep-deprived Joysweeper got up and went to the computer, they were nowhere to be seen.
"Damn it," she said to herself, blinking at the blank "Write Post" textbox. "I don't remember anything! How am I going to get those ideas back?"]
Yeah. It won't show up anywhere but here. Needless to say, though, I did "get it back" eventually.
I'm rereading the "Protector of the Small" series by Tamora Pierce. Compared to the Lackey stuff, everything is short and kind of simple. But that's not always a bad thing. Sometimes it's what you want. Pierce doesn't make me fall passionately in love with any of her characters, but again, that's not always a bad thing. Being passionately in love is tiring.
Speaking of Lackey, there's a book she didn't write set in one of her universes. For some reason it's out of print. But I found it online.
http://www.baen.com/library/0671721771/0671721771.htm
Arright, I can't think of anything else to say. Haikus.
Random, innit?
See above...
Rakghouls! Yeah, I remember this.
But I don't remember this.
Or this...
Or this, really... all right, one more and I'm done.
This is a ministory I wrote. Because I can.
["Has this ever happened to you?" (ministory type thing, written on Sunday morning.)
*is irritated*
It's a family outing in a sports-bar type restaraunt. Joysweeper is eating, trying not to listen to the pottymouthed shouting people in the next booth over.
Abruptly, there is a strange sound that only she seems to hear. She glances around nervously, recognizing it for what it is. The motor whirr, the clacking, the thud at the end....
The restaurant erupts in hooting and cheers, high-fives and cries of "Yes SIR" as, on one of the televisions, someone does something that the patrons like. Distracted, Joysweeper watches in disgust as her family joins in. She takes a gulp of iced soda.
A woman slides into the empty chair opposite her and puts her hands firmly on the table. One of them, the black-scaled clawed one, passes through a forgotten fork. She is taller, broader, and more muscular than Joysweeper, with darker hair and gray eyes, but both are sort of stocky and androgynous, and there is some faint similarity in the shape of the bones of her face and her skin tones.
Revan leans forward, catching Joysweeper's bulging eyes, and speaks in a dry, faintly amused voice. "Clever of you to put the switch that retracts the fourth wall on _our_ side. You didn't hide it well enough, though. We have to talk."
Joysweeper chokes on her soda and coughs violently for several breaths, then glares up at Revan and furiously thinks "You are NOT supposed to be here!"
Behind Joysweeper's chair, Malak materializes with his arms crossed sternly, completely ignoring the fact that between her chair and the chair of someone at the next table lies a gap of less than a foot. "We've decided on the issue of food. Mush is the classic prisoner's ration, yes, but this is a jungle. It's only reasonable that what we eat should be foraged."
Joysweeper tilts her head back to give him The Look, which is returned with interest. "I'm not even at a computer! I can't _do_ anything about that until I am!"
Malak loosens up enough to shrug, lowering his hands to the back of the chair. "And if we go now, what will happen?" He crosses his ankles and answers himself. "You'll forget it all. You're a daydreamer; easy to talk to, but with no focus. No concentration."
Revan laces her fingers together. "He's right."
Dismayed, Joysweeper scowls. "I'm kind of busy here." She taps her plate and glances at her oblivious family members, who are still cheering.
"You can eat with us here just as easily as you can eat alone. And at the moment you seem to be ignoring _them_," Revan tells her, eyes glinting.
"Just don't say anything out loud this time," Malak adds.
Joysweeper mutters under her breath and bites savagely into her food. The hooting has died down, and the sports fans have calmed slightly. Her brother leans over the table and starts talking about the suspensefullness of that moment, and how it will go down as a Great Moment in Sports History. She ignores him, which is fine for both parties.
"If it's a jungle, there really ought to be grubs on the menu," Revan says, looking at her clasped hands. "Big, fat, white ones."
"Yeah," Malak agrees. "And Revan should be the one to eat them. Because she's worked with Kubaz."
"With Master Riii. Uh-huh. They see all arthropods, sentient or not, as food. So they're always in trouble with the people they want to eat. Hmm. We haven't chosen a species or a sex for Master Riii yet." Revan scoots forward and leans back in the chair, lacing her mismatched fingers together behind her head and assuming a thoughtful position.
"Arthropods?" Joysweeper mutters, confused.
"Insects, arachnids, crustaceans, 'pedes. Carapace-animals," Malak tells her, leaning toward his friend. "I say human male. There are too many nonhuman females as it is."
"Oh, come now," Revan replies. "Every single time in the GFFA that you see an example of a 'focal point', a great effector of change, for good or for ill, it is _always_ a human male. Canonically, anyway. Except for the Exile. But I'm not counting Ximo, because we haven't decided _there_ either."
"It's a human male for every important Skywalker who isn't a twin; for Exar Kun, for Bane, for all these extremely important directly-affecting-the-galaxy roles, yes," Malak argues. "But think about these lesser roles. Eight, nine hundred years before the Empire, it's an Ithorian who pacifies the Barabels. And a Caamasi helped resolve a canonical Kubaz-Verpine conflict when-"
"Oooh. Yeah. Riii should be a Caamasi. That's _perfect_." She smiles, already looking into empty space.
"No, no, no, no. 'Riii' is not at all similar to a Caamasi name. They have fancy, flowery-sounding first names, and-"
"Don't be such a meathead, 'Lak. Only three Caamasi have been named, as far as we know. And all three are related."
"Excuse me? Did you just say what I thought you said?"
"'Riii' could easily be a nickname. There are all kinds of excuses for a nickname like that."
"Meathead? _Meathead?!_ Since when do you call me _meathead_?!"
Joysweeper closes her eyes tightly for a moment as the two argue over her head. She opens them again, quickly, as another voice proclaims "Every time that there is a moment, they argue. If they were Mando'ade, it would have come to the circle by now."
The gold-armored Mandalorian strides in and leans back, arms crossed, every line of her suggesting superiority. Joysweeper rubs her forehead with the first three fingers of her right hand. "Ve'vuut. I should have guessed. And _they_ happen to be best friends, very comfortable together. They can argue without much ... damage."
"As if you knew, _aruetti_. Among the Clans, such arguments are not tolerated. They are distracting; an enemy could come across them unawares." Ve'vuut's voice is chiding.
"They don't argue like that _all_ the time. Not when they need every bit of their awareness, anyway, and they're Jedi. They have more than five senses. Besides, there aren't any enemies here that concern them. I'm the only one who even hears them. _You_ certainly aren't going to do anything drastic-" Joysweeper, highly annoyed, sounds petulant rather than firm.
The Mandalorian is firm rather than petulant. "Yet."
"-_yet_. And _certainly_ not here. And for your information, I _have_ had a best friend, so I know what it's like." Joysweeper winces as she realizes that she has made an error.
"_Had_. I am well versed in your absurdly complicated language, _aruetti_. I know a 'past tense' when I hear it. Children may bicker without bitterness, perhaps. But aside from what you read and watch, you have no idea whether or not the same holds true for adults." She snorts, derisive, and then wraps up.
"_Aruetti_, that does not much concern me. But you are not accomplishing anything; you have not for days. I want that duel you promised me. Or else-" Ve'vuut becomes amused- "Or else I will contrive to make spiders drop on you at all hours."
"You can do that?" Joysweeper asks, skeptical.
Challenged, Ve'vuut walks through the table as if it was a bank of mist. She bends over so that her visor is inches away from Joysweeper's snubbed nose. Her voice through the speakers in the helmet is low. "Perhaps. It makes a good threat, though." The Mandalorian unfolds and vanishes.
Revan glances down, startled out of the discussion. "Eh? Was that a Mandalorian?" Her hands are back on the table.
Chagrined, Malak nods. "It looked like Ve'vuut. Yellow armor, anyway."
His friend scowls. "Dammit! She always has the ominous exits! I wish I could do that!"
"Well, Revan, you're _the_ point of view most of the time. You are the 'first person', the 'I'. You can't make proper dramatic exits, or any exits at all really. You just leave one situation and enter another."
Revan's mouth opens, then closes again as she thinks it over. "Hmph. I don't know about that... Anyway, Joysweeper, there's another piece of armor you ought to reference. It's called the 'gorget' or 'neck guard' and protects the throat from melee attacks."
The two stayed with Joysweeper throughout the meal and followed her home, somehow impossibly fitting into the already-crowded car. Fortunately, her family no longer takes it oddly when she flinches and mutters imprecations without any apparent reason.
Revan and Malak argued loudly outside of the bathroom door as Joysweeper showered, and took up posts in her room as she tried to sleep. In the morning, when a bleary sleep-deprived Joysweeper got up and went to the computer, they were nowhere to be seen.
"Damn it," she said to herself, blinking at the blank "Write Post" textbox. "I don't remember anything! How am I going to get those ideas back?"]
Yeah. It won't show up anywhere but here. Needless to say, though, I did "get it back" eventually.
I'm rereading the "Protector of the Small" series by Tamora Pierce. Compared to the Lackey stuff, everything is short and kind of simple. But that's not always a bad thing. Sometimes it's what you want. Pierce doesn't make me fall passionately in love with any of her characters, but again, that's not always a bad thing. Being passionately in love is tiring.
Speaking of Lackey, there's a book she didn't write set in one of her universes. For some reason it's out of print. But I found it online.
http://www.baen.com/library/0671721771/0671721771.htm
Arright, I can't think of anything else to say. Haikus.
Random, innit?
See above...
Rakghouls! Yeah, I remember this.
But I don't remember this.
Or this...
Or this, really... all right, one more and I'm done.
