Thud.

[kiya]

I don't know how many words I wrote but I finished 135, which is 1426 words. Most of that was today, call it about a thousand. Haven't started 136 because I think I got tnh's headache through some sort of sympathetic internet resonance.

My characters keep throwing anime imagery at me. For scenes I haven't written yet, which may not be anything resembling the image-form when I write them. I need to write them down so that I can get them out of my head and write until I get to where they're relevant. So I'm doing that here. (Should warn: this seems to want to plot itself in the 'So, what's the worst thing I can do to these people?' style.)


His and Hers Anime-Styled Angst Imagery: His

He is walking with the sort of purpose that would create a bubble through the crowd even if he were not emanating the sort of aura of menace that encourages people to keep a respectful distance. The fact that he has his sword drawn, held out to one side and down at an angle, does not discourage that distance, nor the fact that the dust and pebbles on the street rattle away from him and ripple around the edges in little waves of self-generated eddies.

His yellow hair has come half-loose of its braid, and some of it has been cut shorter than the rest -- most would reach his thigh, but some is only to mid-back. It's blown slightly to one side in the wind. The red ribbons that keep it bound are ragged and some are stained; his clothes are ripped and bloodstained, and some of the blood is fresh. His eyes are like ice, cold and blue and without any sense of pity.

He moves inexorably, and people get out of the way.

His and Hers Anime-Styled Angst Imagery: Hers

There's no light but that of the bank of candles that rests at the feet of the statue. It lights her face from below: sallow and thin, a death's-head face, all cheekbone and huge eyes and ragged, coarse black hair. She lights a candle and adds it to the rows of flame with thin, bony fingers, then closes her eyes and retreats into the darkness.

Head hurt. Sleep soon.

Comments

[oneironaut.livejournal.com]

I'm amused how similar Mikel's 'someone is going to die' looks to Rook's, except Rook uses a big pretentious kris, and in his case the ground cracks and the pebbles grow wings and fly away and the dust turns to gold and salt. Same Novel Syndrome.

[kiya]

For some moderately funky versions of 'same novel'. ;)

Difference between a telekinetic empath and an overcharged rogue magical battery, hey?