We're actors!

;3; So it's time to write a new action-adventure epic huh.

Thu, 09 Jul 2009 21:13:58 GMT

firefly99 has gone ahead and opened a new comm for general MGS work. Does this mean I can finally write all the het I've been saving up?

Thu, 09 Jul 2009 14:33:50 GMT

PERSONA 3 FIC = DONE.

AM SLEEPING FIRST, AND THEN I NEED A BETA.

ALSO WHY IS IT ONLY 4.3K WORDS THIS THING TOOK FOREVER.

From hane:

Thu, 09 Jul 2009 06:10:38 GMT

• Post ten of any pictures currently on your hard drive that you think are self-expressive.
• NO CAPTIONS!!! It must be like we're speaking with images and we have to interpret your visual language just like we have to interpret your words.
• They must ALREADY be on your hard drive - no googling or flickr! They have to have been saved to your folders sometime in the past. They must be something you've saved there because it resonated with you for some reason.
• You do NOT have to answer any questions about any of your pictures if you don't want to. You can make them as mysterious as you like. Or you can explain them away as much as you like.

FAIR WARNING: One or more of these might be disturbing. (No guro, just blood/skeletal stuff.)

Just when I was missing university life again.

Tue, 07 Jul 2009 10:07:21 GMT

Struggling with the P3 fic continues. It's reached a point where the paint-by-numbers form of storytelling is urging me to escalate the action and raise stakes, and the fan in me is saying I can't betray one of the characters the way that I am. Rewriting ho.

Also.

K.A.: aah... damn, man. Ever played Rez?
grey_athena: A long time ago.
K.A.: I put it in to test the TV's graphics. Forgot it doubles as a hand massager.
K.A.: And triples as a sex toy.
Athena: and how would you know that unless you tried it out
K.A.: ...well because they designed a vibrator attachment for it.
Athena: ...:/
Athena: liar.
Athena: I don't believe it.

So for the enrichment of anyone on this flist who didn't catch it the last time I posted about this: yes.

Now, as to why I was testing a TV's picture? You see, I was feeling fatter than usual, so tonight I went out for my evening make-my-legs-work, and a scant 0.3 miles later I came across a 27" television sitting out on the curb.

No, no sign for donation or dump pick-up. Just sitting there, in a 'here, have at' kind of way. As far as I could tell, it wasn't significantly damaged (it's one of those gimpy combo decks with DVD and VHS drives, but hey, it was free), and with as many teenagers as there were in the neighborhood I couldn't expect the thing to last the night, either through someone else picking it up or some very bright person putting his foot through it because he could.

So, 0.3 miles of backtracking later, I find my mom watering in the backyard and tell her we need a cart and some rope, right now.

For reference, this is my old TV (I include the DS as an easy scale comparison).

And here is my new one (with the same DS for scale):

Yes.

It spazzes a bit when you just turn it on, there's a tape stuck in the tape deck (see me not caring), I'm pretty sure the DVD drive doesn't work (eta: it does! still not using it) and it has some color distortion when you switch from dark screens back to light ones (...okay, that kinda sucks). But, you know. FREE.

Also I found a quarter when I was cleaning out the stand for it. I gave it to my sister cuz she's cool.

EDIT: via kytha-- god, how come my "How To Draw Manga" books were never this much of a trip down the rabbit hole? (Might be NSFW.)

MIND POWERS.

Thu, 02 Jul 2009 23:14:39 GMT

firefly99!

I CONCENTRATED REALLY REALLY HARD AND YOUR PACKAGE ARRIVED ON MY DOORSTEP TODAY.

Combination contest goodies and birfday gift is A GO. Pictures? I'm thinking pictures.

Oh god it's huge!

I honestly forgot I was getting so many of these.

I had to put the heavy ones on the bottom or there'd be carnage.

Fly doesn't stiff you on the bonus goodies. She sent me a set of blank dogtags (for my personal meta wonderland), some delightful Cadbury chocolate, and an excellent sample of her handwriting to begin systematically replacing her.

Out of their boxes, still in their bridal veils. British copy of MPO not included, but I thought it complimented the atmosphere.

I don't really know what Vamp is thinking here and I'm sure I don't want to know.

Pliskin is similarly deformed, but I couldn't get the camera to focus on him. I submit this image from The Outer Limits for comparison.

Yeah, that's close enough.

In short, THESE ARE AWESOME! Fatman and Solidus are big and fat and (in the latter case) full of tentacles. Mr. X comes with two heads to double one's pleasure (or to recite certain scenes from Hamlet by herself, pity that Shakespeare is a bourgeoisie tradition that must be purged). Emma and (oddly enough) Vamp are adorable, Fortune and her gun are very close to being porn, and Pliskin is very obviously not Snake. Everything is in order.

N-now... Do I open them, or keep them pristine in their wrappers in my freezer forever? ...The models, I mean. Obviously I'm eating the chocolate.

Once again, thanks to Fly for hosting such a wonderful contest and bribing me with the prospect of a cute little Solidus of my own to get me to enter. This contest saw lots of fabulous entries and if anyone out there hasn't yet, I'd encourage you to go check some of them out.

Let's get together and talk about the modern age.

Thu, 02 Jul 2009 07:32:33 GMT

So I'm 23 now.

I've had this journal for over six years. In that time I've come to know many of you through a variety of fandoms, and a few for reasons I completely forget, but it's been wonderful to meet each of you. A few I've even gotten to know offline, spoken with on the phone, or traded mailing addresses with. A lot of you I've laughed and cried with.

I was thinking, it's strange to mark birthdays when one gets past a certain point in one's adolescence. Growth doesn't come with a date. And linear time is a fiction but let's not get too into that. If only real growth periods --I'm talking emotionally/intellectually-- didn't evade all objective measure; I'd like to see a culture where we number ourselves more accurately, by character beats instead of chronology.

...

I've just framed myself as a fictional character again, haven't I.

Ehn. Regardless. It's a sparkly day and I can't think of what to do with it. How shall I spend the day, flist?

Boss can't be having with this shit.

Wed, 01 Jul 2009 08:57:30 GMT

The P3 fic is still being fussy. I'm at a "well, maybe it all sucks" point with it, which is not unusual really, but potentially means I need more sleep.

Or less. God.

Meme from sugarsurge and sarshin: Pick 10 people you roleplay. Don't look at the questions before you've made your list.

01. Gray Fox
02. Ash (Avalon)
03. F.X. Nine
04. Silabus
05. Revolver Ocelot
06. Kanzeon Bosatsu
07. The Boss
08. Jinana
09. Akihiko Sanada
10. Jayne Cobb

Four (Silabus) invites Three (F.X. Nine) and Eight (Jinana) to dinner at their house. What happens?
Jinana doesn't eat, I'll tell you that.

Nine (Akihiko) tries to get Five (Ocelot) to go to a strip club. How?
He doesn't, ffff. He probably gets conned into saving Ocelot the trouble and giving him a lapdance himself instead. Akihiko never recovers from this experience.

You need to stay at a friends house for the night. Who do you choose, One (Fox) or Six (Kanzeon)?
OH GOD. OH GOD OH GOD. Stay with the mass-murdering psychopath or the lewd attention-whoring hermaphrodite. Would I get any sleep either way? ... I'll go with Kanzeon. :|

Two (Ash) and Seven (The Boss) are making out, Ten (Jayne) walks in. What is their reaction?
...Do you have to ask?

Three (F.X. Nine) falls in love with Six (Kanzeon), Eight (Jinana) is jealous. What happens?
Jinana waits patiently until Kanzeon starts disrobing. When F.X. runs screaming, she'll have the goddess all to herself.

Four (Silabus) jumps you in a dark alleyway. Who comes to your rescue, Ten (Jayne), Two (Ash) or Seven (The Boss)?
Jesus Christ, three way overkill much? Silabus is like level 7... I'll say Ash because she's got the highest chance of showing Silabus mercy for being weak.

One (Fox) decides to start a cooking show. Fifteen minutes later, what is happening?
Okay, you know that elevator of blood scene in The Shining?

Three (F.X. Nine) has to marry either Eight (Jinana), Four (Silabus) or Nine (Akihiko). Who do they choose?
I feel sorry for all three of them, but I suppose he'd go with Silabus as the least intimidating. B|

Seven (The Boss) kidnaps Two (Ash) and demands something from Five (Ocelot) for Two's release. What is it?
To get around to giving her gaybaby grandchildren with Big Boss already. >V

Everyone gangs up on Three (F.X. Nine), does Three have a chance in hell?
...Oh god it's like punching a baby seriously what's wrong with all of you.

Everyone is invited to Two (Ash) and Ten (Jayne)'s wedding, except for Eight (Jinana). How do they react?
She's at home taking care of the kids with Argilla anyway. :9

Why is Six (Kanzeon) afraid of Seven (The Boss)?
...Because it's THE BOSS.

One (Fox) arrives late for Two (Ash) and Ten (Jayne)'s wedding. What happens and why were they late?
Oh, he was writing his speech for the reception and it turned into yet another ideological soapbox, and my, how time flies. Ash is vexed, but as for Jayne, he was drunk at that point anyway, so he barely noticed.

Five (Ocelot) and Nine (Akihiko) get roaring drunk and end up at your house. What happens?
/)_(\ I CAN'T LOOK I CAN'T LOOK I CAN'T LOOK

Nine (Akihiko) murders Two (Ash)'s best friend. What does Two do to get back at them?
...Well. She probably spends some time investigating her friend's death, and goes to track Akihiko down. Then some catastrophe happens and Akihiko ends up saving Ash's life by sacrificing his own, and Ash is Forever Changed.

Six (Kanzeon) and One (Fox) are in mortal danger, only one of them can survive. Does Six save themself, or One?
Fox can't die right even if he tries, whereas Kanzeon is pretty impervious to a lot of 'mortal' things. I say Kanzeon makes it out, but they both survive on a technicality (ie, cyborgs).

Two (Ash) and Three (F.X. Nine) go camping. For some reason, they forget to bring any food. What do they do?
Ash thinks food is disgusting anyway so she'll tough it out. F.X. probably goes to forage for something and dies eating poisonous berries. Ash shakes her head and remarks on how much EXP that's gonna cost him.

Five (Ocelot) is in a car crash and is critically injured. What does Nine (Akihiko) do?
...It wasn't a fucking car crash. Something happened during the Dark Hour and a Shadow ate him. Akihiko will get to the bottom of this mystery!

Mousetraps.

Tue, 30 Jun 2009 01:20:52 GMT

#10
Requested by: sarshin
Prompt: Raikov/Ocelot
Words: 175
Warnings: Raikov is his own warning.

Ocelot wouldn't let him punch him in the face.

That wasn't right. That wasn't fair. Raikov nearly ran straight to Volgin to report it, but he decided after a few steps that that was only a punishment suited for ugly people.

"But why?"

"I'm not into it," Ocelot said snippily, adjusting his scarf. Who wore something like that in August, no matter how fabulously it accentuated his jawline?

Raikov pouted. "What does that mean?" None of this made sense and he wanted it to stop. Maybe a little more affection would convince him. He crept a hand down between Ocelot's thighs.

"..."

"..."

"Why Major, you do like me."

"Shut up," Ocelot said hastily, glancing away. "He just shook me down for it earlier; I haven't had time to replace it--"

Raikov's pat became more of a squeeze. An irritated growl rose from Ocelot's throat, as he shifted. "Major."

"Yes, Major?"

"Major."

"Hm?"

"Stop."

"Why?"

"I--"

He was turning a little blue in the face. Oh, this was a lot better than bruises.

Sorry... am battling writer's block and lack of stamina very fiercely, so I'll have to cancel the overtime drabbles. Thanks to everyone for their patience.

:B

Sun, 28 Jun 2009 01:57:57 GMT

Am back from trip. Tired and crampy. Saw Moon. Not an original concept in the pile, but iteratively at least it didn't fail outright.

From jaclynhyde:

Ask any of my ~~muses~~ characters as many questions as you want (but please try to keep it within a reasonable number of questions). This can be anything from their favorite food to their thoughts on yaoi, or anything you can think of. You can also ask me any questions related to them.

I hate the term 'muses.' Sorry.

I play:

Fission Mailed (fissionmailed)
x old_gunslinger (retired Revolver Ocelot aka Emocelot)
x vermoncataffy (Vermon CaTaffy aka Worlds of Power Big Boss)
x f_x_nine (F.X. Nine aka producer of the Worlds of Power series)
x fox_inna_box (20-year-old Peace Walker!Frank Jaeger)

Atia Amat Omnes (amatomnes)
x frankly_mdear (Gray Fox)

University of Midgar (u_of_midgar)
x willbeinhisbunk (Jayne Cobb)
x classreal (Ash from Avalon)
x merciful_fuck (Kanzeon Bosatsu)
x 20min_monologue (The Boss)
x boxes_shadows (Akihiko Sanada)
x recycledchara (Killian Yggdrasil, Silabus)
x must_be_tears (Jinana)

Yes, I'm surprised too. Fortunately I'm hardly active with any of them now. x_x

I want him in the game until he dies playing.

Sat, 27 Jun 2009 05:16:25 GMT

Filling prompt for keelieinblack. FINALLY.

Title: Metal Gear Spirit (preview)
Words: 216
Warnings? None? \c_c/
Basically: It's 2035, and this idea long predates the announcement of "Rising". Oh, and it follows on "Standard Deviation"'s major plot point.

"Two eight-men strike teams," said Silverburgh. "Swept in at approximately 0300 under total cloud cover, took the facility completely by surprise."

"Hm."

The rain tapped against Silverburgh's umbrella. It had started as a light drizzle halfway through the service, and strengthened to a shower as they were walking back to the car. Not the car Snake had arrived in. There was an apartment somewhere that Snake wasn't going to get to see for a few weeks.

"A tanker fully-loaded with an unstable Oilix compound, headed for the Arctic Circle," Silverburgh continued, watching Snake carefully as they walked. "Their demands are the relinquishment of the UN nuclear codes."

"The UN has nuclear codes now?"

"Things are different this century, Snake."

Snake said nothing to that, only moved a hand to a breast pocket, shaking out a cigarette.

"There's something else," Meryl continued.

"What?"

"My daughter," she said evenly. "She's been taken hostage."

"..."

"Do this for me, Snake. For old times."

"Colonel," Snake began uncertainly. "That legacy should be dead and buried."

"Because of you, it never will be."

"..."

"Do this, Snake. You're the only one who can still shoulder it."

Meryl Silverburgh took a lighter from her pocket, flicking a wan little flame to life as Snake put the cigarette to her lips with two thin, pale fingers.

to be continued i dunno

--

I'm off to the Sprawl until tomorrow evening. Have fun, internet.

drr drr drr

Tue, 23 Jun 2009 22:41:33 GMT

In light of all that's happened, I thought I'd make a notice that hane's and my musebox, u_of_midgar, is now open to our friends as well. Look, I even made us a shiny new community icon!

ETA: Uh, if you're just adding an RP journal without giving one of us a heads-up, let someone know who you are so we can approve you? >>;

hnn...

Tue, 23 Jun 2009 05:26:23 GMT

...I need to channel this frustration somehow. I guess I can't deny my own ineptitude at this any longer, so--

Anyone with webdesign experience out there want to help me out with something? It's probably a very small something, but it's got me stuck. I'll write you a shortfic or draw you something of your choosing if you can lend me a hand?

/self-promotion hat

Sat, 20 Jun 2009 23:15:53 GMT

Er, yeah, RL came calling, might need to change my online participation drastically in the coming weeks.

So back when I was a student I wrote this story. And now that story's published, and you can buy it (or beg me for a free copy, but I don't have many to give away). You can check out the anthology it's part of on the publisher's website here. (It goes into an electronic run first, future formats pending.)

Blurb about the anthology, from the publisher:

Needles & Bones is a collection of poems and short fiction by a double handful of brilliantly creative artists-with-words. It begins gently, with fairy tales, but its tendrils of surreality spread from the stories of our childhood, into our adult world, and on to places beyond our own. We visit heaven, and hell, and places we might never imagine, peopled by creatures who are only sometimes like us.

And a (pretentious) blurb for my piece, "Gravity":

"Gravity" is a post-Singularity fairy tale, a fable about faith, history, and relative perception. On a Stair which spans from the ocean to the heavens, two dolls left behind by the gods seek an escape from everything, even the fundamental physics which rule their existence.

Sorry for the crossposting. But hey, er, it's KA and it's written stuff, it's just maybe not the content you were expecting? I'm magical like that.

S-spread the word, post about it, share with your friends? ;~; It's a very good anthology from digital-cover to digital-back-cover, so don't worry about my single contribution so much, and have a look at it.

~~Also my story has slash.~~

I have all these P3 icons and no P4 ones. WHY.

Sat, 20 Jun 2009 14:14:10 GMT

Illness continues. Or maybe it's fatigue. I dunno. Been browsing a bit; haven't had the energy for much more than that.

tarastara posted this, though, and I was honor-bound to pass it on.

sick; content coming next time

Fri, 19 Jun 2009 09:20:06 GMT

Ah, thanks to everyone who voted for me, and to Fly for running the contest. This is a weird feeling.

List 10 of your favorite characters from different fandoms, and ask people to spot patterns in your choices, and if they're so inclined, to draw conclusions about you based on the patterns they've spotted.

In no particular order...

Para-Medic - Metal Gear Solid 3
Donald Duck - Kingdom Hearts (but the sequels fucked him up)
Genjo Sanzo - Saiyuki
Kougaiji - Saiyuki
Reeve Tuesti - Final Fantasy VII
Haruhi Suzumiya - The Melancholy of Haruhi Suzumiya
Akihiko Sanada - Persona 3
Max Fischer - Rushmore
Samuel Vimes - Discworld
Garrus Vakarian - Mass Effect

Hm, you know, you could probably know more about me if you heard what characters I don't like.

Rose - Metal Gear Solid 2
The B&B Unit - Metal Gear Solid 4
Dougan - Saiyuki: Requiem
Cissnei - Crisis Core: Final Fantasy VII
Yukari Takeba - Persona 3
Rinoa Heartilly - Final Fantasy VIII
Endrance - .hack//G.U.
Ashley Williams - Mass Effect

No offense meant to anyone who does like any of these characters... You like what you like, and all that. :|

Paid account get.

Tue, 16 Jun 2009 03:06:06 GMT

Shameless, inadvisable, and really, just so I could upload this icon.

I have no regrets.

From everywhere.

Sun, 14 Jun 2009 03:15:39 GMT

List 10 fandoms. With each fandom, those on your friends list will try to guess what your favorite pairing from that fandom is. Then, if they want, they can post it on their journals and allow you to guess too.

Kay.

01. Saiyuki - Yakumo/Sanzo (sorceressakemi)
02. Final Fantasy VII - Rude/Reno (athenemiranda)
03. Transformers - Jazz/Prowl (athenemiranda)
04. Persona 3
05. Persona 4
06. Metal Gear Solid - Big Boss/Ocelot (chewy_kinzoku)
07. Speed Racer (film) - X/Speed/Taejo OT3 (sorceressakemi)
08. .hack
09. Kingdom Hearts - Donald/Sora (sorceressakemi)
10. Ace Attorney - Edgeworth/Gumshoe (alienchrist)

Wow, lack of variety much? Oh well, you like what you like...

._.

Sat, 13 Jun 2009 04:06:18 GMT

HONESTY MEME

It's one of those days. Uhr. Hurt me more?

I'm back!

Thu, 11 Jun 2009 04:38:11 GMT

I saw a total of 128 films (and one stage musical) since last Thursday; how are you doing?

Oh look it's a poll. Go read some tasty fic and vote for your favorite.

I may or may not be writing a new MGS PWP. I'll still finish the drabbles first, promise.

I love LA

Sun, 07 Jun 2009 08:12:37 GMT

-I'm crashing on Ryan Seacrest's couch. Yeeeep.

-This guy is my favorite UCLA animation student ever.

-The only thing more obnoxious than a prick interrupting your dinner to tell you that your opinions on animation films are stupid is when the guy comes up to you again later to reiterate the sentiment. Man, it's not even an Annie Hall moment, asshole. Ur doin it rong.

-Marine layer. Fuckwin.

-Authentic bulgogi. Doublefuckwin.

Oh, and internet access. That's a good enough thing.

awa awa awa

Fri, 05 Jun 2009 01:55:54 GMT

I have been fiercely, powerfully taken over by a Persona 3 bunny, of all damn things. I haven't forgotten the drabbles I owe, though. Here are a few more of those.

#6
Requested by: __wilderness__
Prompt: Wheeljack/Ratchet (G1)
Rating: PG?
Words: 138

"And just what do you think you're doing with that?"

Wheeljack looked over a shoulder, the electroprod still live in his hand.

"Ah? Well--"

It found its way to Ratchet's hand in a moment, and then switched off and slapped back down onto the utility tray with the rest of the tools. The same hand came back up to Wheeljack's faceplate, still charged with a touch of static.

"Once, just once, I want to do this without equipment," Ratchet said insistently, leaning in closer, so that their optics were level again.

"Yeah, but--"

"You don't think I've got the current?"

"You ain't gettin' any younger, Ratch', I just thought--"

"Medical vehicles," Ratchet said with an exhale from his tertiary vents, as he dropped Wheeljack's faceplate to the floor, "are built to last. Don't believe me?"

#7
Requested by: chewy_kinzoku
Prompt: Big Boss/Ocelot and Ocelot/Solidus Snake
Rating: Ummm let's say R
Words: 246

Give him the exact likeness of John, his carbon copy: same face, same voice, every cell in his body an exact duplicate of the original, which had not been the point of LET. Give him John's doppelgänger, with synthesized memories and the same steady grip. Have him sigh the same and cover his back with identical muscles, which tense and loosen to the touch as would the real thing. Have him groan, and have everything in the sound from the vibration to the unwitting yielding of weakness play note-perfect on Ocelot's ears.

And he would still know it wasn't him.

"Ocelot--"

"Quiet."

Gloved fingers slid beneath the strap of an eyepatch. An actual mirror image, everything in place and yet wrong in the same hand. He snapped the band and caught a displeased grunt from the other's throat. The Other. Not his John.

"Shit. Get off, we're going to miss our little appointment."

"There's time enough," Ocelot hummed against his neck. What care they'd taken, anticipating every crease of flesh, every wrinkle, the scent of his sweat. And getting it all doubletime. Instant gratification for the impatient Patriot.

He might have despised Solidus even more than the other two, and he had pushed for all three of them. Each one was just that little bit closer, and yet--

Each one made John seem farther away.

"Hurry it up," Solidus hissed. And as he moved, harder, against him, the eyepatch came free in Ocelot's hand.

#8
Requested by: firefly99
Prompt: Ocelot/Solid Snake
Rating: R (language)
Words: 228

"What do you see?"

Revolver Ocelot's finger stilled on a ripple of muscle, withdrawing his hand to rest on the edge of the table. Liquid's entrance had not been unexpected, but annoying nonetheless.

He gave his 'Boss' only the briefest glance and turned back to the body on the table. "You waste our time," he muttered. "He'll wake soon."

Liquid answered by folding his arms over his chest. "What do you see, old man?"

What did he see? A designer puppet, made to be fucked with, used and abused, because he could always be trusted to keep marching on. Les Enfants Terrible had split Big Boss in two: the soldier and the revolutionary; dominant and recessive. Though neither would ever leave their strings.

Try as they might. Oh, strain as they might, tug against his hold, attempt to see a bigger picture that wasn't theirs to see.

It should have pleased him more to see John's likeness here like this, right where he wanted. It should have been much more satisfying to have so much pain ready to deliver upon him, knowing that his screams would be as nostalgic as they were.

But he was just as much means to an end as Liquid, even if he did share the better part of John's looks.

"Hrm," Ocelot grumbled. "When we're done with him, I might borrow a hand."

With that, I'm off until Wednesday or so. Taking a trip down to the Sprawl to support my old juniors who are screening their thesis films this week. They grow up so fast. *tear*

or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Upload nyoron!Boss as a Default Icon

Thu, 28 May 2009 21:43:34 GMT

IAWTC.

But I've been shipping it for a while now. Ask keelieinblack. She knows.

Para-Medic was such a Goddard/Tarantino schtick I can hardly describe it. The love is there, guys. The cinephile brainporn in love with its own writing. It's there.

...I'm not into RPS either. What the hell, self.

Also

-I'm pretty new to this fandom (what, six months or so now?) but if even TVTropes points out Kojima likes using his promos to troll the fuck out of an aneurysm-laden fanbase... DON'T FALL FOR IT FOR GOD'S SAKE. I will not put up with this ulcer-baiting behavior for years on end till we get a new game. Chill, guys.

That won't work, I know.

-That said, this was funny.

oh holy crap it's a fic

Thu, 28 May 2009 03:31:40 GMT

Title: Debug Room
Words: 3,047
Series: Metal Gear Solid (spoilers for 4)
Pairings: Everyone/Snake, BB/Ocelot
Warnings: Oh god she's doing the pretentious formatting shit again--

David

Naomi had given him six months. He lasted almost a year.

It came as little surprise. He was him. He was always doing the impossible, right to the end.

The year swirled around their little family as a hurricane of questions, kept off by a buffer of dummy accounts and decoys while they stood, assessed, and lived. The end, when it came, was a mundane one, a matter of one beep to the next and a shift in how he held Hal's hand.

There were tears, very different from the kind Otacon had to shed in the past. Sunny did not cry. Not because she didn't understand, but because she did. She buried her face in her caretaker's sleeve as his body shuddered with silent grief, and there would be no words for a while.

Relief. Sadness and loss, but relief. A weight upon the world had lifted.

-

The surface of the water exploded above him, and two strong, gloved hands pulled him from the deep.

"Steady," said a voice he knew, a voice even now he could hear crackling over an obsolete radio from 20 years ago. The hands grasped him hard by his shoulders as he staggered, coughing. "That's it."

The sand beneath them made a sound as they walked. The other walked; he stumbled.

Big Boss looked the very same. The bastard. Healthy and sad, one clear blue eye gazing toward the ground. "You were in there for a while," he said. "Had us worried."

An expression, but without too much meaning behind it. More like they were 'concerned.' They had felt his tension as though vibrating along unseen strings, each connected to one he knew, who was here to meet him.

Those were the strings that had pulled, the current that had urged him. Always, inexorably, the flow toward the far shore.

It had felt like an eternity, his time in the River.

David looked back over his shoulder, looking to the shallows of the delta from which Big Boss had pulled him. The Sorrow was gone. Other souls to ferry. Always other souls. Some would be through here more than once.

Snake looked back to the other. Even now, he had no idea what to call him. The hesitation pressed at his lips, finally breaking with "Sir--"

"There's no need. David. There's no need."

There was no artifice here. No codenames, no titles or ranks. The harder David looked at him, the more apparent it was that he could see to the very center, where the thread between them lay coiled with the many thousand others. No secrets here. No filter. All lives, all life, borne out in plain sight, if sight were even the word for it.

"The River is a conceit. Once you're to the other side-- things are different."

John smiled, his one eye crinkling.

-

The dead stood or wandered aimlessly. It was neither dark nor light here, just shades. A muted Space Between. Some that stood waiting for him held explanations, quantum mechanical justifications for why this was space and yet not space, why they were separate beings and yet one being, how it all might fit.

He didn't care that he understood Naomi's gibberish for the first time in his life. He cared instead that her eyes shined, and her skin glowed. She had her father and her brother here. She had her parents. She had the truth.

She did not ask, 'Why did you lie back then?' Because she knew it was not a lie. Just a way of saying what was meant.

These strings were weaved in interesting ways. No two alike. Stories he could never have understood if simply told.

"Really?" he asked Frank Jaeger at one point, after brushing something new, and yet, something he supposed he should have pieced together by now.

"Really," Frank answered, smile flickering. He was whole again, or roughly so. "But nevermind. You look--"

"Terrible."

"--like you've lost weight."

David was silent as he mulled over that one, scowling. Ultimately, he decided to punch him.

Some things about this space between remained. As much as they passed through one another, they could also connect. Distinct, yet together. Every form, every age, every shape was equally real, equally tangible under one's fingers.

Frank was good looking as a 20-year-old. He didn't hit as hard, but he was fast.

-

He saw everyone. In the River there was little time: it was reflection for oneself, not the other. Beyond the shore was the time for others.

Olga deserved to see him first. He let her enter him, move through him and glide over remembered flesh and crystallized memory, catching views of a daughter she had never seen face to face, feeling David's arms around her as he held her the way her mother never could.

David had never seen Olga cry before, or look so happy.

He didn't ask, 'So who was the father?' because the answer lay in the omission, as simple as the not-lie once given to Naomi. Olga's smile was enough. He understood. He shook his head and chuckled.

Emma visited. As did Kyle Schneider. Gustava. Raven. Raven was perplexed.

He saw his brothers, and found he didn't have much to say.

-

"It will take time," John told him, when David visited him again. There were children around him. How many hundreds of children drew lines from their hearts to his? "They have not yet been to see me, either."

Even if there were apologies to be made to James? Even if the body he wore was more George's than his own?

"It's difficult," John confessed. "That is the reason for this."

The girl in his lap had thick curly brown hair, dressed in pigtails. She wore a red jumper that was singed at the edges.

Her face had been in his dreams more than once. Until that moment, David had never known her name.

-

Time. It was spoken of, and so it had to pass, but the measure of it was uncertain here.

It might have been two weeks or more before David realized whom he had not seen.

"Ah," John said, his eye seeming to darken. Shadows had their thick and lean sides, their moments of confusion as well as their points of clarity. "He is still in the River," he said eventually. "He may be there for some time."

It had been a year since Ocelot's death already. Perhaps far longer; who could say? David didn't know how long he'd spent in the River himself. And he, who had taken pleasure in killing and spent his life trying to get away from that truth, had clean hands next to Ocelot.

-

He saw Wolf. Night Fright. Duck.

There were a lot of people to see. A lot of things left unsaid which needed to be answered now. Far more that passed between two people than a bullet and a thank-you.

He saw Mantis, no longer wracked with pain, his ghosts gone. Less of a filter now than he'd ever had with his mask, but for as much as he saw, he saw further still. Past the hurt. To the essence of someone.

"That girl," he said, groping through the many strings thick and thin.

"Ah. She married."

"You didn't go."

"Nn."

"I see you had a date that day."

David blinked at him for a moment, and then his frown deepened.

"Does it bother you, that everyone can do that here?" he asked finally.

Mantis fell silent, annoyed. He didn't need to answer.

-

His mother was young and beautiful. While John avoided his two distanced sons, Mama did not. She would be with her children now. Her own, and the man she considered effectively so. David, James and George. Names she hadn't chosen, but had held dear for forty years.

She was beautiful, Mama... but looking up at her from below was strange.

-

The Nariko sand squeaked beneath their feet as they walked. David found himself spending a great deal of time with John. His commander, his father, his brother.

John was 60 today. David was 18. The fluidity of time and shape was magnified near the shore of the River. It encouraged it.

It had been roughly a year since David's death. A year spent without Hal and all their broken, silent moments. A year without Sunny's hand-me-down combat boots thundering down stairwells, the clattering of 3 AM keyboards. Two years since his last cigarette.

Ocelot had not yet arrived.

They didn't speak of it. Lighting onto other topics was preferable. Though the tension along the strings connecting them to him seemed to vibrate all the worse at the slightest glance.

Did anyone ever fail to finish the River in its length? Was that possible?

"Did you meet the others yet?" John asked. Meaning the other founders.

"Oh and Anderson. Not Clark yet."

"You should see Jane. She always thought of you as her own."

"What she did to Frank--"

"We do not see," John said, staring out across the dark delta of the River, "all of how the stream might wind and bend. We can only--"

"Go with the current." Somewhere further inland, the little girl in pigtails smiled. He felt its vibration along her string. "But this is where it stops."

"This is where things collect," John corrected.

A woman came.

She shone like a star amidst the gray. She was dressed in white, her uniform still riddled with the cuts and bullet holes that laid out like a legend of her final student's skill. She appeared abruptly beside them, rather than walk as most did. Just emerged in space.

"Jack." She called him that still, out of preference. "There's a problem."

"What is it?" John asked, meeting her gaze.

She inclined her head, gray-golden hair drifting at her shoulders. "It's Adamska. I need your help."

David looked at her, seeing into her and through her, to all the wires thick and thin which weaved off into eternity. One string in particular, very familiar, was pulled taut.

Of all the things he could not have predicted.

"Of course," said John. He moved a hand just once to David's shoulder. "Wait a moment."

And then he was gone with her, up the River.

Adamska

The dead wailed. They had died screaming. He knew. He'd been there.

Huddled in the shallows, knees drawn up to his chest, hands covering his ears. He had been rooted to this spot for three months, eight days, fourteen hours. Perhaps.

They circled. They screamed.

A thousand, a hundred thousand, each clawing for that shriveled black thing remaining to call itself life.

He had none left to give. He had no life. He'd given it already, to a puppet show, the strings of which were no longer there to hold. His last living memories were flashes in the dark. Hard muscle twisting under his fingers, and a silhouette against the sunlight, which he had grasped for and could not reach.

But a hand reached for him now.

"The 80s. That was one of your busy periods."

It was a voice he had labored for fifteen years to fill the world again.

It should not be here.

"John..."

"Up. Come on."

Had he been here so long, that Big Boss had surpassed him again?

Adamska moved his hand to grasp the one before him, but it shook too much. He couldn't reach.

Didn't want to reach.

He kept it curled in a fist at his side, beneath the water.

"Adam."

We wanted to see you live, John.

"Adam." The dead kept screeching around them.

We died so that you could live what don't you understand

"Adam. I do understand."

That made him look up.

He saw them there. Those two. They stood at the bank of the River, so close he could have brushed it with his hand, and yet in all this time had never noticed it.

One of them he had only known as a photograph.

They held each other's hands at their sides, and never in his life could he have imagined it. The placid normality of it. The truth of it in its simplicity.

And Adamska knew this should not be possible, that John's and his mother's presence was forbidden by some order much higher than nature. That the very fabric of a space he could not conceptualize was threatened to be torn to pieces by this, the barest of contact, this infinitesmal reprieve from the guilt his actions had wrought.

And a single word more, by John or his parents or damn-it-all Adamska himself, and it all would shatter.

Just this would do.

The rest of the distance didn't seem so much.

-

They were there to see him when he reached the shore.

All of them.

A hundred thousand, a million, whole nations he had murdered and had cursed his name. He had seen flakes of their lives, shades of creatures, howling at him from the stream, but now these shadows were quiet. The anger had been washed away.

But the questions hadn't. Friends betrayed, lovers scorned, every one whose face he knew and forgotten, and all of them wished to know 'why?' And he owed them an answer.

He could not speak. The words didn't come. He had died aged 70 drained of the last of his life and will but only now did he seem old. Frail. Vulnerable.

He who had always held all the cards; held all the strings in his right hand

(his own, long gone)

had not a thing to say now, just as sure as death had made him mute.

He might have wept. He wasn't sure.

-

Ultimately, he did not speak to any of them. Not his mother, his father, Kim, Naomi or Sergei. Not Oh or Clark or Anderson. Not James or George, and both of them had plenty of things to say to him.

He went instead to see the man who had helped him in the River. The one who had made it worth going forward.

John was walking with David. They were the same age today, a smooth-skinned 30, all youthful energy with a mature posture. Adamska stopped in his approach and for a full moment genuinely could not tell which was which.

He suppressed a sigh. They were both so easily amused.

But sight was the weakest of senses here. And for all that Big Boss's doubles had distracted (amused, enraged, aroused and spited) for all those years, he could always tell which was his.

"Heh," David said, when Adamska picked the right one on his first try.

Adamska glared.

"Stop," John told them both.

Adamska did not release John's sleeve. He was here. He was almost warm.

"Nothing was said before," Adamska pressed. He shut out David's presence as best he could, although awareness could not really switched off here. Everyone was connected. "I want us to speak."

Fifty years of things.

"I know," said John. Two eyes shone back at him, whole and healthy and clear.

"Then leave him."

"It's not leaving, Adam."

"Then let him play with his friends a while," Adamska said crossly.

"Hngh," David grumbled, looking away. "Whatever you need."

Which was a strange thing, at last, to say to the man who had tricked him, used him, toyed with him since the day he was born. But David had heard the truth. Enough, at least, to go on. He had always shown more sympathy for the devil than he should have.

David looked back for a moment, and their eyes met: designer green in stolen sockets; the steel blue of a Normandy sky. And between them too much of what was, and too little of anything else.

When you had every reason living or dead to despise a man, and didn't, you've finally been washed clean.

coda

It had been four years.

People kept arriving. Some that David knew, many that he didn't. The Space Between had room for all of them, and yet, after a time some seemed to vanish. The oldest ones, the quietest, who had nothing more to ask and answer.

What lay beyond this place, no one knew. But none feared it. Death had happened. The rest was processing.

Four years since John had allowed Adamska to take him by the arm and go somewhere for the two of them. David still sensed them, dimly, in the edge of his awareness, but what was said was between them. He didn't go to see them, and he didn't wonder.

There was no end to patience here, and no end to time.

Would he stay here until Hal came? Until Sunny arrived, wizened and timelessly beautiful, her face unrecognizable and her old mannerisms smoothed into an aged grace? Would he see Jack-- Meryl-- Mei-Ling-- all the people of the new century, the survivors of the age? What would they leave, and what would hold them here?

"What keeps you here?" he asked Frank one afternoon. They had made it afternoon, in this spot near the bank of the River.

Frank was shifting from 25 to 40, the scars multiplying like a timelapse across his skin. He stretched, and they moved and faded over the ever-tight muscle of his back.

"The Madnars," he answered at length. "They may never die. That's one issue we are faced with in this century, the irrelevance of the flesh."

People like Raiden. People like him.

"The will can still die," said David.

"Yes, it can," Frank agreed. "But it measures its time differently than do the senses."

Have you been back and forth along the River more than once?

Frank smiled.

"Let me ask you," he said. "Did you accomplish all you needed to, when you were alive?"

David fell silent. Words were only so useful, and only to a point. The old senses were weak. They were a knot of string, no true beginning or end, only rationalized through and by each other, by everyone here.

His answer came, unhurrying. A ripple, a vibration from one awareness to the other, and a sigh.

Yes, maybe. And if he hadn't, it would not have mattered.

There was time for everything, somewhere.

the en d

Wed, 27 May 2009 00:36:52 GMT

I need a beta or three for an MGS fic. Spoilers for 4, a little shy of 3,000 words. Will love long time.

And again~

Tue, 26 May 2009 05:07:08 GMT

The Character Expression Meme
Character: The Boss/Joy
Journal: 20min_monologue
RPG: amatomnes

.happy.	.sad.	.angry.	.scared.
			(are you kidding?)
.disgusted.	.surprised.	.flirty.	.sexual.

.confused.	.shy.	.playful.	.rage.
	(lolno)
.hurt.	.guilty.	.bored.	.laughing.

.sarcastic.	.tired.	.wtf.	.pride.
	(repeat)
.sympathy.	.evil.	.innocent.	.in love.

YOUR	FOUR	FAVORITE	ICONS

Character: Kanzeon Bosatsu
Journal: merciful_fuck
RPG: amatomnes

.happy.	.sad.	.angry.	.scared.
			(NONE OF MY CHARACTERS GET SCARED OKAY)
.disgusted.	.surprised.	.flirty.	.sexual.

.confused.	.shy.	.playful.	.rage.

.hurt.	.guilty.	.bored.	.laughing.

.sarcastic.	.tired.	.wtf.	.pride.

.sympathy.	.evil.	.innocent.	.in love.
(repeat)
YOUR	FOUR	FAVORITE	ICONS

WANT TO DO IT TOO?
Snag yourself the coding here.