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[ Stories: Witch-Girl (Read from the bottom of the list), The Canon ] [ Poetry: All Poetry; ( ♥ ) ( ⚔ ) ]
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[ red_a02 ] Shuzhen – The first episode was a lot of fun, cos it had an interesting cocktail of sexual tension and smooth fight choreography. This episode is like the awkward aftermath...
27 Aquarius 13 18:13
[ vermilion_2 ] YAPX – I understand that most of your stories are dialogue-based and heavy on retorts and counter-retorts. This one felt unnecessarily circular. It starts with a cool premise: a killer/villain/vigilante uses Lent to swear off something that should be second nature to him (I suppose), and then talks about a story. The link between the two (giving up killing & the story) isn’t a 100% fit. Maybe instead of “let me tell you a story”, it could be “hey, you see I even passed a guy up for death today!” or equivalent. Something to drag Lorelei into the banter and the premise. // That’s my only complaint. I’m not a big fan of dialogue-based stories, but I can make a exception for this.
14 Aquarius 13 08:03
[ 130204 ] YAPX – Good pace, good characters, great dialogue. The thing I like best is a combination of the three: how you build up their pseudo-relationship through all that back-and-forth exchange. Somehow, you craft a unique, strange relationship: from any one point in the story, both of them are manipulative, victimised and hypocrites - though not all at once. // On word choices, I felt you could change the word “janitor” (“cleaner” or “uncle” would’ve given a different, but more acute local flavour to it). Mostly because, it’s connotes an added level of difference through: class. Whether or not you intended it, by portraying the “janitor” and “student” you bring out the fact that he’s stuck there socially in all sense of the word. It made the part where he says he reads books during weekends completely out-of-context and weird. // Also, there’s too much “sliding” in and out of the room. Not sure if that’s intentional repetition, or just a lack of other words. // I thought that the girl’s own background is pretty compelling. Even after everything, I can’t tell if she’s speaking the truth. Because I’m all for unreliable narrators and characters, I can still find her well-thought out. But other readers might lose patience or wonder at her sudden change of heart at the final moment.
04 Aquarius 13 08:48
♠ 220504 – Episode IV: A New Hope
Episode VII: Chicken Soup for the Soul
And so it came to pass that the dashing and daring, courageous and caring, Prince Nocturne, and his steward and faithful sidekick, Strongarm Ironfist, in their search for his Lady Love, the Princess Estella Catherine Daisy Psyche Isolde Juliet Dulcinea, kidnapped by the most foul Dark Lord Hypnos, found a chicken.
“Ei,” proclaimed Nocturne, stopping the Noxobile, “hidao ou zhi ay kuay…”
He stepped out, stepped forward, stood, hand upon hip, and asked politely, “Excuse me, cute chick, if I may inquire from you some directions, we are intrepid-”
“Pluck eu, bitch!”
“Excuse me? Did you say ‘pluck’?”
“Pluck eu! Pluck eu! Bitch! Bitch!” The chicken arose from its nest and stepped forward, feathers ruffled.
Nocturne retreated a step, raising both hands in the universal gesture of peace, “Pardon me, I was merely asking for directions-”
“Pluck eu! God will punish eu! City Harvest-” Whereupon Strongarm, who had quietly snuck up behind the offensive avian, hit it on the head with a heavy object.
“Heng ah,” he declared, “City Harvest si tellolist lor.”
“Figures,” Nocturne replied, “that was fowl language. And from one so young… I’m friends with the Bird God, you know.”
“Bird flu, lah,” he shook his head pitifully.
“What’s that?” Nocturne pointed at the object used to knock out the vicious chicken.
Strongarm held it up, and they both examined it. It was a can of soup. Campbell’s Chicken Noodle. “Where did you get that?” Nocturne asked.
“Hee tao lor,” Strongarm replied, pointing at the erstwise empty nest.
“She must have been sitting on it! Wow. A chicken that lays cans of soup! Sweet Mother of Mercy, that must have been one hen, ever cherished. It must have been the bird flu! Why else would she be left out in the open like this? They cherished her too much to kill her straight off.”
“Boss, keagh lah, bird flu bo hoh leh. Wah lang si kuh, lu eh zha bo un zhua kwan?”
“Tio, tio. Keagh.”
They drove off, inadvertently driving over the revived chicken… “Pluck eu. Pluck eu…”
As the sun slowly sunk beneath the far horizon, they made camp. By candlelight, Nocturne brought out the soup can, energised and excited, it had been a long time since he had had chicken soup. Handing the candle to Strongarm, he brought fought the Wit and declared, “Open sesame!”
Strongarm looked at him questioningly, a glimmer of sadness in his eyes.
“Sorry, that was the best I could come up with,” he shrugged, as the can’s lid popped open and a fairy came out, all gossamer wings and a hand’s height of tiny feminine nudity.
They looked at her.
She looked back.
Nocturne turned the can over, causing the fairy to tumble onto the ground, helter skelter.
“Where’s the soup?” Nocturne asked.
Strongarm picked up the fairy, in his gentle way. In his big hand, she stood, her arms attempting to preserve her decency, her wings glimmering in the light from the candle Strongarm was holding for Nocturne.
Nocturne was tipping the inverted can, holding it aloft and looking up into it, “WHERE’S THE DAMNED SOUP?”
He turned towards Strongarm, pointed at the fairy, “Maybe we have to boil it.”
Strongarm took a step backward. The fairy, in fright, screamed aloud, “I NEED A HERO! I’m holding out for a hero ’til the end of the night!”
Whereupon her fairy magics caused a blinding flash of light. When vision returned, there was a man sitting upon a donkey, holding a camera at arms length, in order to take a picture of himself.
“I I’zed,” the newcomer declared, after the flash went off.
“Right,” Nocturne replied, getting annoyed, “I don’t suppose you have any soup?”
“That’s I’zed. He’s my brother and he’s wonderful!”
“I am,” said I’zed.
“How is he your brother,” Nocturne asked, “he’s full-sized!”
“I five you,” said I’zed, keeping his camera carefully in a saddle bag.
“Fie?” Nocturne asked, “Why doesn’t anyone make sense?”
“He means fight, he only speaks in letters.” the fairy said. “Dropped out of school before they taught him how to put them together into words,” she added, helpfully.
“Do you have any soup?” Nocturne asked IZ.
“U DV8. 29 U 0.”
“You deviate,” the fairy translated, “he means you changed the subject. Tonight you zero means you’re a goner.”
“Not even alphabet soup?” Nocturne asked, hopefully.
IZ got off his donkey and walked towards them.
“I got it!” Nocturne gleefully exclaimed, after seeing IZ walk… “He’s gay! Which means he’s a fairy! You’re related by pun! No real man takes pictures of himself like that.”
“That’s not true!” the fairy shouted, “he adopted me after we found out we had both lost saws!”
Whereupon Nocturne whispered to Strongarm, still holding the fairy in one hand and the candle in the other, ran past IZ to the donkey, shoved her into a saddle-bag, and smacked it, causing it to run away.
IZ swiftly gave chase, leaving our heroes to return to their vehicle.
“Eh, Boss,” Strongarm said, when they were clear, “lu an zhuah chai yi eh zhao?”
“Oh,” Nocturne replied, “first time I saw him, I thought, ‘there’s someone who really loves his ass.’”
867 words / 2226
Labour is blossoming or dancing where
The body is not bruised to pleasure soul.
Nor beauty born out of its own despair,
Nor blear-eyed wisdom out of midnight oil.
O chestnut-tree, great-rooted blossomer,
Are you the leaf, the blossom or the bole?
O body swayed to music, O brightening glance,
How can we know the dancer from the dance?
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