College Things
Mar. 4th, 2012 05:27 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
executeSo, after a year or so of hiatus (which I explain there), I'm starting up aceblogging again. When I finished posting, I thought I'd gotten my sexuality and gender all sorted out, I'd drifted away from the AVEN community, and I had a fairly major (though not unusual) life upheaval ahead of me, and so I thought; give it a rest.
Hah, I was so wrong.
So the long and short of it is that I'm going to stick to a schedule of once a week and see how that works. It's on Tumblr, this time, because of its Community(tm) and Ease Of Connection and Discussion With Other Bloggers (tm), and you can find it here - original here, though warning for the ramblings and whinings of a 14-16 year old.
I've also got some original writing, a piece for the Science Fiction genre I had to produce in novel opening form for my English Language AS Coursework.
Won let the fish drop to the tiled floor, fluorescent yellow guts spilling out and acidic blood stinging her hands. It was the fifth of its kind she’d caught this week. They were worth six month’s rent apiece at the market - she should have been happy, but she wasn’t. They were only plentiful when there was something wrong in the seas.
She went to the small sink inset into the wall and washed her hands, red angry welts already raising where the fish’s blood had touched her skin. Snapping on a pair of polyshield gloves Won pulled out her blade from one of her many pockets and set to work filleting the fish, laying out the strips of flesh that glowed faintly in the ever-present gloom of the mongerhouse.
Won gathered up the strips in a bag and sealed it, making quick work of the bones, head and skin of the fish. Once all its body parts had been sealed in the translucent bags she threw the gloves in the sink, pulling a thin hose with cracked rubber tubing from beside it and turning the tarnished spigot in the wall. She sluiced the last of the blood and entrails into the small drain in the middle of the sloped floor. Job done Won sheathed her knife, picking up the bags of fish parts and locking the room behind her.
Walking through the hazy back streets, Won reached behind her high collar and turned on her street protection lights. Her whole body glowed orange with lines of electroluminescence woven into her clothing that all street-walkers wore to avoid being hit by those rich enough to ‘port around through the misty town. As the surly greyish murk resolved itself into shacks, stalls and streets more people became visible, some with the same glowing lattices of orange, blue, green and pinks and others in shrouds of darkness; only visible as blurred shadows.
Won nodded at some of them as she passed, raising the hand not holding the bags in greeting instead of speaking as the bundles of fish guts at her side blushed jaundicedly into the fog.
She walked through shabbier alleyways until the fog cleared slightly, turning to a blanker white mist. Here the markets dealt in higher priced items and the milling buyers and sellers wore beautiful gowns and suits of shimmering fabrics and irridescent skins, not oiled and cracked hides or quickdry bodytech mesh. Bulky fogfilters hidden behind stall frameworks made sure the humidity didn’t touch the public here.
Won stopped at one of the numerous shops selling exotic pets, its walls long-obscured by stacks of tanks three deep and a ceiling hidden by wires, and bags swimming with tiny rainbows of scattered light that darted around the artificial bubbles. Rattling the always-tied shutters, she stepped inside and stood by the large tank holding fighting octupi, feet tapping awkwardly as she fidgeted in the flickering blood red light the animals threw from inside the tank as the swirled malevolently.
At length an old man walked out from behind a tall tank. Behind it, she knew, was a hidden door used to transport black market items to avoid detection. When he stepped through, it looked like he had appeared from thin air. It used to impress her, but not any more.
He had never bothered with pleasantries, but neither did she. Time was money and she couldn’t waste a second.
“Luminous Waspfang, enough for forty servings. I want double last time’s payment - they’ve gone up in price.”
“But they’re more common. No one wants them.”
“But I’m the only one who will fish them reliably - they’re too dangerous. Also, you haven’t told anyone they’re breeding - they’re too much in demand.”
He grumbled. “I’ll give you hundred and fifty eminence.”
“A hundred and seventy five.”
“ ‘Cations, you’re harsh. Fine. But next time you want tugboat money, I want a contract. These are hard times.”
“These are hard times,” she echoed. Among the fisherfolk, who never lived past twenty five and were always hungry, it was a prayer of sorts - one that was always relevant.
She handed over the entrails and pocketed the wad of Emce, leaving the richer district as quickly as possible. She’d deactivated her orange pede-lights and now flicked them back on again as she left the bounds of coverage from the fog machines.
With the extra commission Won figured she’d could pay a few month’s advance rent - living space was always the first priority, even over food and clothing. Head occupied with grudgingly happy thoughts of the near future, Won deftly navigated the shabbier tents and shanties streets away from her home block — nearly walking straight into someone’s fist.
She had half a second seeing it loom before it dipped down and jabbed her under the chin, snapping her head back and rattling her brain. She immediately groped for her nearest knife, still covered in a glowing film of blood and slashed it in front of her, slicing the opaque air.
Someone swore and fists slammed into her ribs. Won dropped low and sprang back up, operating on instinct. Her vision useless. She couldn’t see them but they could see her, traitorous orange pedelights snaking along her limbs. As she kicked at the nearest dark shape which connected satisfyingly, she groped for the off switch around her wrist and slapped it, lowering the light pollution and making the shapes easier to see. There were two of them. If only she could get her harpoon darts she’d be fine. Dropping to the puddled-filled, pockmarked cement she rolled just in time to avoid a flashing knife and managed to parry another wild stab with one of her own, free hand scrabbling and groping for her darts.
There, she had them — she slipped them out from an inner pocket and aimed at the shapes that were converging on her, ape arms outstretched. “I have a harpoon and a knife. Leave me in peace and I’ll be on my way-“ One of them tried to bat the knife out of her hand before she had finished speaking and got a dart to the shoulder for his trouble. She left them behind, running back the way she had come and sprinting up the slippery staircases in her malnourished apartment tower.
Won tapped her access code into the pad beside her door, fingers vibrating with leftover adrenaline.
Her one room apartment greeted her, cosy in its gloom. Wires hung from the low ceiling like womb arteries. A small fog machine sucked at the air greedily, rattling and spitting water into a cooler unit at the back, but it hadn’t been working very well and the spotlights cut through the smudged air like diving lanterns.
Ah well, she thought charitably. She’d see if she couldn’t clean the thing out this evening, get it back into shape with repairs and such. Maybe after treating herself to some dinner. Out. Real food. She deserved it.
Won allowed herself a grin.
I've half a mind to carry it on, actually. I have a tentative scene where my main character asks the mermaid prostitute to tea written already, but we'll have to see. Also on the original writing front is an even more tentative idea for a story I hope to have half-written by November, so that for once I can actually finish a story rather than fart out 50,000 words of something I will never finish or edit come NaNoWriMo time.
It, uh, involves an ex-selkie and her wife. By day they are magical environmental conservationists and by night they fight monsters. Apparently my mind can only write plots involving Angry Sealadies Kissing On The Mouth. Am I complaining? Nope.
Apparently long!fics are my style at the moment. I've been working on that Raising Heck thing for the Skulduggery fandom (and other short-to-medium Skulduggery shit; I blame my enabler-y type fan and beta, moonie) and the sherlock fic Lee inspired me to write, so, yeah. Lots of longfics.
Hah, I was so wrong.
So the long and short of it is that I'm going to stick to a schedule of once a week and see how that works. It's on Tumblr, this time, because of its Community(tm) and Ease Of Connection and Discussion With Other Bloggers (tm), and you can find it here - original here, though warning for the ramblings and whinings of a 14-16 year old.
I've also got some original writing, a piece for the Science Fiction genre I had to produce in novel opening form for my English Language AS Coursework.
Won let the fish drop to the tiled floor, fluorescent yellow guts spilling out and acidic blood stinging her hands. It was the fifth of its kind she’d caught this week. They were worth six month’s rent apiece at the market - she should have been happy, but she wasn’t. They were only plentiful when there was something wrong in the seas.
She went to the small sink inset into the wall and washed her hands, red angry welts already raising where the fish’s blood had touched her skin. Snapping on a pair of polyshield gloves Won pulled out her blade from one of her many pockets and set to work filleting the fish, laying out the strips of flesh that glowed faintly in the ever-present gloom of the mongerhouse.
Won gathered up the strips in a bag and sealed it, making quick work of the bones, head and skin of the fish. Once all its body parts had been sealed in the translucent bags she threw the gloves in the sink, pulling a thin hose with cracked rubber tubing from beside it and turning the tarnished spigot in the wall. She sluiced the last of the blood and entrails into the small drain in the middle of the sloped floor. Job done Won sheathed her knife, picking up the bags of fish parts and locking the room behind her.
Walking through the hazy back streets, Won reached behind her high collar and turned on her street protection lights. Her whole body glowed orange with lines of electroluminescence woven into her clothing that all street-walkers wore to avoid being hit by those rich enough to ‘port around through the misty town. As the surly greyish murk resolved itself into shacks, stalls and streets more people became visible, some with the same glowing lattices of orange, blue, green and pinks and others in shrouds of darkness; only visible as blurred shadows.
Won nodded at some of them as she passed, raising the hand not holding the bags in greeting instead of speaking as the bundles of fish guts at her side blushed jaundicedly into the fog.
She walked through shabbier alleyways until the fog cleared slightly, turning to a blanker white mist. Here the markets dealt in higher priced items and the milling buyers and sellers wore beautiful gowns and suits of shimmering fabrics and irridescent skins, not oiled and cracked hides or quickdry bodytech mesh. Bulky fogfilters hidden behind stall frameworks made sure the humidity didn’t touch the public here.
Won stopped at one of the numerous shops selling exotic pets, its walls long-obscured by stacks of tanks three deep and a ceiling hidden by wires, and bags swimming with tiny rainbows of scattered light that darted around the artificial bubbles. Rattling the always-tied shutters, she stepped inside and stood by the large tank holding fighting octupi, feet tapping awkwardly as she fidgeted in the flickering blood red light the animals threw from inside the tank as the swirled malevolently.
At length an old man walked out from behind a tall tank. Behind it, she knew, was a hidden door used to transport black market items to avoid detection. When he stepped through, it looked like he had appeared from thin air. It used to impress her, but not any more.
He had never bothered with pleasantries, but neither did she. Time was money and she couldn’t waste a second.
“Luminous Waspfang, enough for forty servings. I want double last time’s payment - they’ve gone up in price.”
“But they’re more common. No one wants them.”
“But I’m the only one who will fish them reliably - they’re too dangerous. Also, you haven’t told anyone they’re breeding - they’re too much in demand.”
He grumbled. “I’ll give you hundred and fifty eminence.”
“A hundred and seventy five.”
“ ‘Cations, you’re harsh. Fine. But next time you want tugboat money, I want a contract. These are hard times.”
“These are hard times,” she echoed. Among the fisherfolk, who never lived past twenty five and were always hungry, it was a prayer of sorts - one that was always relevant.
She handed over the entrails and pocketed the wad of Emce, leaving the richer district as quickly as possible. She’d deactivated her orange pede-lights and now flicked them back on again as she left the bounds of coverage from the fog machines.
With the extra commission Won figured she’d could pay a few month’s advance rent - living space was always the first priority, even over food and clothing. Head occupied with grudgingly happy thoughts of the near future, Won deftly navigated the shabbier tents and shanties streets away from her home block — nearly walking straight into someone’s fist.
She had half a second seeing it loom before it dipped down and jabbed her under the chin, snapping her head back and rattling her brain. She immediately groped for her nearest knife, still covered in a glowing film of blood and slashed it in front of her, slicing the opaque air.
Someone swore and fists slammed into her ribs. Won dropped low and sprang back up, operating on instinct. Her vision useless. She couldn’t see them but they could see her, traitorous orange pedelights snaking along her limbs. As she kicked at the nearest dark shape which connected satisfyingly, she groped for the off switch around her wrist and slapped it, lowering the light pollution and making the shapes easier to see. There were two of them. If only she could get her harpoon darts she’d be fine. Dropping to the puddled-filled, pockmarked cement she rolled just in time to avoid a flashing knife and managed to parry another wild stab with one of her own, free hand scrabbling and groping for her darts.
There, she had them — she slipped them out from an inner pocket and aimed at the shapes that were converging on her, ape arms outstretched. “I have a harpoon and a knife. Leave me in peace and I’ll be on my way-“ One of them tried to bat the knife out of her hand before she had finished speaking and got a dart to the shoulder for his trouble. She left them behind, running back the way she had come and sprinting up the slippery staircases in her malnourished apartment tower.
Won tapped her access code into the pad beside her door, fingers vibrating with leftover adrenaline.
Her one room apartment greeted her, cosy in its gloom. Wires hung from the low ceiling like womb arteries. A small fog machine sucked at the air greedily, rattling and spitting water into a cooler unit at the back, but it hadn’t been working very well and the spotlights cut through the smudged air like diving lanterns.
Ah well, she thought charitably. She’d see if she couldn’t clean the thing out this evening, get it back into shape with repairs and such. Maybe after treating herself to some dinner. Out. Real food. She deserved it.
Won allowed herself a grin.
I've half a mind to carry it on, actually. I have a tentative scene where my main character asks the mermaid prostitute to tea written already, but we'll have to see. Also on the original writing front is an even more tentative idea for a story I hope to have half-written by November, so that for once I can actually finish a story rather than fart out 50,000 words of something I will never finish or edit come NaNoWriMo time.
It, uh, involves an ex-selkie and her wife. By day they are magical environmental conservationists and by night they fight monsters. Apparently my mind can only write plots involving Angry Sealadies Kissing On The Mouth. Am I complaining? Nope.
Apparently long!fics are my style at the moment. I've been working on that Raising Heck thing for the Skulduggery fandom (and other short-to-medium Skulduggery shit; I blame my enabler-y type fan and beta, moonie) and the sherlock fic Lee inspired me to write, so, yeah. Lots of longfics.
