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Yeah, so...I think this'll be my ficblog now. Right. Here's a rough draft ficcy...it's short enough that I'll put it here. Title: What Has Been And What Can Never Be Author: Crysi aka Lady Crysiana aka other stuffs Rating: R Warnings: Deathfic, Suicide, Angst, Blood and whatnot Disclaimer: Sugisaki-sensei's playtoys, not mine. And I would kind of be pot-san calling Sugisaki-kettle-san black if I complained about her being Freaky and Mindbendy, considering this fic. Summary: Um, yeah. Satoshi's dead, Daisuke's losing it, and damn, life sucks. Notes: Never, ever again should I fic while listening to "The Lighthouse Tale". Ever. Oh, the title was taken from "The Lighthouse Tale". This was *going* to be a birthday fic for Meg-san, but I'm not sure this is really appropriate birthday ficcage. There was no sound. There should have been sound; the grey, craggy rocks sloped down towards the ocean, and the ocean made sounds when it hit rocks, so there should have been sound. Either there was no sound, or Daisuke had gone past hearing anything. Maybe it was the latter. Daisuke knelt next to the body of Satoshi Hiwatari; Krad had been in control but...Daisuke stared down at his hands. Dark hadn't needed to do it, to grasp Krad around the neck and just make it snap like that. The blood that had pooled around Satoshi's body was proof enough; Krad would have died anyway because nobody could bleed that much and live. The blood stained Satoshi's grey sweatshirt and his jeans; a rip in the shirt showed the slash in his abdomen that had allowed his life to pour out. Daisuke reached out a shaking hand to touch Satoshi's shoulder, and jerked back at the unnatural coolness of the other boy. He stared at his hand and dimly thought that it was odd, to be covered in another person's blood. He blinked and checked himself for the first time since Satoshi had died...minutes? Hours? His jeans were soaked with blood from kneeling next to Satoshi's body, his shirt was splashed with it, his hands were a shade of scarlet to match his hair. He looked up the cliffs, past light grey rocks to a slate grey sky. The sky and cliffs spread above, while below, the rocks met an infinite stretch of navy blue water. Daisuke, drenched in Satoshi's blood, was a small red blotch in a grey and blue expanse. Daisuke looked down at his hands again and screamed. He couldn't stop until his voice gave out. Silence filled Daisuke's world again, until he became aware of the sound of soft footfalls on the rocks. He twisted around and gaped as he saw Dark walk up to him. Dark crouched down next to Daisuke, and Daisuke could only stare. Dark was wearing an outfit identical to his, he supposed that might make sense, but Dark was clean. There was no blood on his hands or clothes, and the look on his face when he looked down at Satoshi's body might have had some sorrow in it, but no regret. Dark turned to Daisuke. "It's okay," he murmured. "It's not your fault, you didn't do anything. Everything's okay now." "I thought it was you," Daisuke whispered. He looked from Dark, to Satoshi, to his own hands. "I thought it was you, but it was really me. I killed him." "No." Dark grabbed Daisuke's shoulder. "You don't understand yet. You didn't do anything to anyone, it was me, you don't have to regret anything." Daisuke didn't notice Dark's hand on his shoulder, but fixed his gaze on his own hands. "He was my friend and I murdered him. He loved me, and I murdered him." "..." Dark wrapped his arms around Daisuke. "No. That's not the way it happened. There was nothing you could have done." Dark grasped Daisuke's chin with one hand and forced the boy to look up at him. "It's my fault, Daisuke. If it's anyone's fault, it's mine, not yours." Daisuke grabbed Dark's hand away from his face with his own, and held Dark's hand so he could look at it. "There was no blood on you. On me and him, not on you...why, if it wasn't me that killed him? Why? Why?" Dark stroked Daisuke's hair in a comforting gesture with the hand that wasn't covered in blood. "Daisuke, calm down. Calm down, come home, feel better. Then we can talk." "I can't." Daisuke shook his head and stared at Satoshi. "I killed him. I have to find him and apologize." "Daisuke, he's dead. You can't find him and apologize." Dark sighed and turned to the body. "I killed him so you would be safe, so that nobody would threaten us anymore. Isn't that enough?" "I killed him," Daisuke whispered. His eyes fluttered and he slumped against Dark. Dark blinked at Daisuke and then, after a moment, picked the boy up and carried him to the other side of the island. Civilization. Away from the red pool of blood on grey rocks, stark against a navy blue sea and a slate grey sky. *** Emiko sighed and sat down next to Daisuke's bed. "Sweetie, won't you get up? It's a nice day, and Riku and Risa came by, as well as a bunch of other people. Everyone's worried about you." Daisuke stared at the ceiling. There was no sound where he was; he didn't hear Emiko's voice. He didn't hear anything. At first, he had gone to school, but he'd been sleeping more and more...eventually, he just didn't bother to get out of bed. And nobody could do anything. He never saw Dark anymore. He'd seen him less and less, the more he slept. He'd have a little more energy, for a while, while Dark seemed to become more and more drained. Now the boy was just...gone. Emiko got up and left the room, closing the door after her. Kosuke stood waiting for her. She threw her arms around his neck and cried. *** The red was unnerving; it reminded him too much of the pool of blood on the cliffs, but there was really nothing he could do about that now, he'd already slit his wrists to the elbow. Daisuke lay in the bathtub and closed his eyes. There was no sound. *** Dude. I have no idea where this came from, and I don't think I want to. Ever. This is the creepiest, darkest thing I've ever written. I'm scaring me. I have to go write fluff now. from the twisted mind of Crysi Wednesday, February 20, 2002 03:40 p.m.
Update on me: Have what is probably the flu. Hate the world. All of it. Well, not hate, and not most of the world, but anyone who is happy and healthy in my presence. My hands ache as I type. It hurts to type. Damnit. Hate my body, at the moment. Well, hate the flu. Going to Wellness Center tomorrow. They better as well give me something for this. I have an essay due Friday, and a test. I don't have time to be sick. from the twisted mind of Crysi Wednesday, February 13, 2002 09:14 p.m.
Things you should know before reading this: this was in the middle of a conversation. There are references to the The Secret Diaries and to the fact that my mom mentioned Legolas from LoTR could play Tarrant and Aragorn could play Damien, were a Coldfire movie made. And we'd just had a discussion on how people kill their favorite characters. And I think [Legolas and Tarrant are] the same person, really. I mean, that much vanity can't exist in *two* *separate* places of the universe. Of course, here we're talking about Extreme Parody Fandom Legolas rather than Canon Legolas, but other than that. But man, the battle they'd have. Legolas versus Tarrant, Round One: FIGHT! It would be a beauty pageant of course. They'd argue over the location (Legolas for Rivendell, Tarrant for The Forest.) And they'd call Damien and Aragorn in to arbitrate. (Aragorn: I should be king, you know. Damien: ...the One God has chosen to put me into hell. Damn it, I've already *been* here!) And the *judges*. Hm... Legolas: We *can't* have these people as judges! They all hate me because I'm more beautiful than they are! Especially that Saruman. He thinks *he* has the nicest hair, but everyone likes mine better. Tarrant: At least I'm assured that you didn't make any enemies based on any sort of power or intelligence. Legolas: And I suppose *you* can shoot four arrows accurately at once? Tarrant: I have a gun. Legolas: ...So, should we have six mirrors on the ceiling, or just one big one? Aragorn (to Damien): What was this "hell" you were talking about? Damien: Well, I've been there before, but it wasn't this bad... Tarrant: ...And the surrounding area should have more gold... Legolas: It bleaches my coloring out! Tarrant: Dark colors then. Legolas: Green. Lots of green. Damien: Actually, if I go to hell when I die, it will probably be an eternity of this. Frodo (walks in): Um. They're asking where you want the mirrors. Why would anyone want mirrors on a ceiling? All: ... Damien: We're inside an evil person's twisted fantasy, and so Aragorn and I are being forced to keep these two from killing each other as they plan a beauty pageant that will only serve to destroy their reputations as serious people and very probably make them look gay. So ask Tarrant and elf-boy. All: ... Frodo: Or I could just run, and hope to not be involved in this any more than is necessary. (I think Frodo has been posessed by Elijah Wood. As they say here, "ELIJAH stares at the ring. As he does so, his face contorts to an expression of limitless fear. His eyes widen and his mouth gapes slightly open with shock and terror. This expression never leaves his face again - ever." Go. Read. Laugh your ass off.) Tarrant: I think one big mirror on the ceiling should be fine. Legolas: But there would be more images with six right? Six *times* as many. I know. I can *multiply*. Tarrant: Are you sure you're not naturally blond? Damien: *prays for God's forgiveness for whatever he's done* Aragorn: *checks his stubble in one of the many mirrors* Legolas: No, the author is just getting me really OOC, so that when she gets me remotely in-character, the audience will be impressed. Tarrant: I think she's simply resorting to restricting everyone else's speech. Crysi: Mmmmmm...deathfics...mmmm...Shuuichi deathfic. *Yuugi* deathfic. *Daisuke* deathfic. I love you all so much! *hugs Shuuichi, Yuugi, and Daisuke plushies* Aragorn: What does she do to the people she *doesn't* like? Damien: She writes them into trite, annoying comic dialogues. from the twisted mind of Crysi Friday, February 8, 2002 11:40 p.m.
Okay: you know how people have those things that they would do, given unlimited monetary resources? I know mine. Stay in college. For a while. Learn more Japanese and learn Chinese, German, French and Welsh (and possibly Irish Gaelic), and study Latin. And take every history course, and all the sociology and anthropology courses. Then I'd go for linguistics courses, and courses that talked about the history of certain languages and their etymologies. Maybe my major should be Sociology or Anthropolgy. Then I'd travel, to Asia first, then Europe. Go everywhere. See different cultures. See different places. Speak other languages. But isn't that what everyone wants? I mean, to go somewhere else. I just want to learn about other cultures and languages then to go there. from the twisted mind of Crysi Friday, February 8, 2002 02:37 p.m.
*sees pic of Aya smiling on a Winamp and twitches* He's...smiling...NOOOOOOOO! Make it go away mommy... (I think I'm a bit too used to WeiB's Aya-kun being all about angst. He looks *damn* creepy when he smiles like a normal person.) from the twisted mind of Crysi Thursday, February 7, 2002 12:18 a.m.
So, I'm going around, and working on my groupblog (go see it now!), which (the content I put there) I could really do here, but blogger is a bit more user friendly, oddly enough. Except that it was a jerk and ate my post yesterday, but then, pitas does that regularly. But it's free, so I can't complain. And *damn* I like my classes. Especially Graham Greene's Travellers, in which We Learn Neat Stuff and have fun talking about Greene being weird. And Japanese is Fun because there's no other class in which I would throw soybeans at my professor as part of the coursework. And today, we learned colors and had to say which one we liked, using "suki." My Japanese professor's explanation of "suki" was a picture with a badly drawn stick figure thing holding its arms out to a red heart. Which just proves that [heart] does mean "suki." (See: technomancy.) And dammit, I'm going to stop casting the people of Smallville into other things. And I'm going to stop writing the movie scripts for Coldfire. Oh, on that note, everyone must read the Coldfire Trilogy, and write fic. Good fic. from the twisted mind of Crysi Wednesday, February 6, 2002 03:58 p.m.
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