Last Day of 2020

Mostly, I just want to come out more places, be out just slightly more, going into 2021. I'm bisexual, sure. I've known that since my early twenties, but since I always feel like I'm realizing things later than most, here's some more. I'm a trans woman, my name is Jae. Pronouns are she/her. Thank you. Here's to making 2021 better than the last year. 

I pushed too hard and fell over

I always seem to go overboard when I do things, and then I end up feeling shitty afterward. I went walking today, playing pokemon go, and just went too far too long. Now I'm feeling burned out on walking and my ankle and thighs hurt. Why can't I just do these things in moderation? Or at least start slower? I don't really know what slower would be, I guess. Hooray, now I feel dumb, awesome. Way to fill me with endorphins, brain.

When I nearly lucid dream

Did she die because of me? Am I responsible for her death? I could hear her just fine, no matter what I said in the dream. Why didn’t I pull her up? Why did I ignore her pleas to be pulled up? I know she went over the side willingly to fight, but that doesn’t mean I had to send her to her death needlessly. She never even swung her great axe, not that I’m sure they would have been much help. The rest of the dangling crew doesn’t seem unnerved, and the captain, excuse me, acting captain, the actual captain is in the city, tells me that someone had to die. ‘Oh well, we’ll have to use someone else instead.’ She was just a torn dangling rope at that point. Consumed whole by the gaping shark maw that severed her line. I don’t know if we’ll win this fight, but she shouldn’t have had to die that way. Why did she have to die? Because it was a dream and my dreams have plot and someone needed to die? I could feel as I claimed to not hear her screaming to be lifted up that it was a dream, and that awareness revealed my claims of deafness as a lie because of my omniscient narrator status. I could have pulled her up…and now she’s gone, it’s too late. I’m sorry.

I don’t even remember now why the captain was in the city, only that an enemy has tracked his progress. The enemy’s allies freeze the water of the bay and they ride orcas or sharks through what little water still flows. The enemy swims off on his orca, telling a lackey that it’s time to attack. Somehow our ship has had a slight forewarning of this attack, and that’s why half the crew went over the side. The frozen bay would make short work of our ship if we tried to move too much, so we have to defend it while stationary. Our ship is wooden and we have simple rope to support our fighters. Armed with great double sided axes, these members of the crew are lowered over the side to swing at sharks and potential riders while the other half of the crew holds them up. 

I took my narrator camera and hovered within one of those holding the warriors aloft. I watched as she got nervous. I watched as she sensed the attack coming and begged to be pulled up. And I watched as the crewmember I inhabited was unable to hear her. ‘What? I can’t hear you!’ Then the shark breached, aimed right for her. No rider, but it knew what it was aiming for and she disappeared in snap of jaws and a broken rope.

The cruelty was that I could not feel the remorse of this broken line and my inability to do anything to save her until after she’d already been killed. That was when I truly inhabited the soul of the crewman. I felt horror that I’d just let that happen, even though logically I knew I could hear her cries for help only because I was an observer of the dream, and if I’d actually been the crewman I may have not heard her. If only the acting captain hadn’t been so blasé about it, maybe if he’d taken it as the opening attack like he should have, you know, acted like her death meant something, even if it was just to warn us the enemy was upon us. But nothing, just, ‘Oh, we’ll have to use someone else instead.’ That I should pull the rope up so we could tie someone else in. Fuck. I didn’t know her. I never got a name or a backstory or a proper appearance. I do know she was a deer-taur. And after the dream had ended I knew that sharks slamming warriors against the outside of a ship’s hull would end poorly, no matter how many swings it allowed of their axes to fight them off.

Hopefully the real captain will finish things up soon and be able to defend himself and us and whoever else needs it. Except for her. There’s no saving her. I’m sorry.

Characters for Original Character Tournaments I want to Do

Csilla is a waitress. She's leaving work when she's 'recruited.' She's got her purse, her apron and her car keys out. Under her arm is a circular serving tray that she managed to forget she was carrying and then just settled on bringing it back the next shift. Her purse has a granola bar, a bottle of water, a taser, and a can of mace. Her apron has a Server Book and a pen, maybe some coins and a little lint. She is wearing her work uniform, including fancy flats. This her inventory when she picks up the envelope. (http://fav.me/da7zvsg) The star sticker is already peeling, so out of curiosity she pulls it open and thumbs a postcard out of its confines. After reading it, she remarks on its oddity, looks up to continue walking to her car and realizes she's in the Woods. She only has a single class of self-defense training under her belt from college. She was just starting to date this pretty girl, too. She's not white.





Name: Azar Ziba, answers to Azar. Ziba is a middle name. She knows she had a surname, but has no idea what it was, so doesn’t worry about it.
Gender:  Female
Age: 17
Species: Human, Iranian

Hair: Black, short, very short (think Samantha Wright’s hair)

Eyes: Brown

Height: Not terribly tall, about 155cm. 
Weight/Body Structure: She’s a waif, in more ways than one. She’s scrawny, very little muscle. She can run and lift things in general, but she’s mostly a weakling. She can’t even pull herself up onto a ledge without immense difficulty. She leaves heavy lifting to others.

Unusual Features: Goggles, wears them when capturing spirits or mixing them together. Also when she’s running around junk yards, makes her feel cooler. They’re mostly decorative, but have their uses.
She also has a nasty (she thinks it’s cool looking, but most disagree) scar on her left shoulder. It’s just a mass of scarred flesh in a more or less perfect circle. She was blasted by her first merged Life Spirit when she tried to force it to stay after it had grown strong enough to leave her. Not a mistake she would make again in a hurry. She was lucky the incident had taken place near a large meeting place of those in the magical community and aid was quick in coming. It took her three months before she could use her left arm again, due to lingering elemental energy messing with recovery. Other minor scars pockmark her body, just leftovers from scuffles and tumbles she doesn’t remember.
Gait/Posture: She’s kind of hyperactive, and likes to run, and resents having to move slowly. She runs by leaning forward and swinging her arms loosely as her whimsy strikes her. She leans on walls or tables whenever possible, hating to stand up straight. She slouches forward when sitting, arms on her knees.
Voice/Speech Patterns: (Any accents? Do they Mumble?) Her accent is a strange combination of Iranian and Chinese accents speaking English.

You are a: Salvage Elementalist (a term she is <i>very<i> proud of coming up with on her own, thank you very much)
Clothing of Choice: (What your character is wearing.) Headscarf, Black tank top, cargo pants, men’s hiking boots about two sizes too big, she stuffs her extra socks in the toes. She gets nearly everything from thrift stores, can’t afford anything more.
Your Inventory: (What items does your character carry into battle?) Carries a patched up messenger bag. One strap goes over her shoulder and she’s affixed another strap to hug the bag to her waist so it doesn’t go far when she runs or jumps. Inside are three big mason jars. They look empty to anyone without magical sight. To anyone with said sight, two of them still look empty. But the third has swirling energy with difficult to define color.
She wears her goggles, which are actually safety glasses she adopted after they’d been abandoned at a bus stop. She calls them goggles, because she’s seen Steampunk cosplayers traipsing through the city every now and then and thinks goggles are cool.
She also carries a kard knife. An Islamic knife given to her by her mother before she died, this weapon is peacebound with wire wrapped tightly from hilt to tip of the sheath. Inside she can hear broken pieces rattle. It’s the last thing her mother gave her, so she keeps it hidden and rarely brings it out.
Personality: (What type of person is your character?) Generally a happy go lucky person and rather friendly, Azar doesn’t tend to be very open. She’ll chat with you for a while, but likes to keep her feelings and opinions to herself.

Special Skills: (Does your character know kung-fu? Spells? Can they shoot mind bullets?) http://longshotlink.tumblr.com/post/96826355959/salvage-elementalist

You Really Like: (Interests, friends, etc.)
You Really Hate: (Phobias, personal issues, enemies, etc.)
Romantic Choices: No one is her type. Completely asexual and aromantic. Absolutely no interest.

How did you arrive?: (How has your character entered Rendell's Mansion)
Your Personal Record: (The history of your character before arriving at Rendell's Mansion)
Goals: She used to say to find her family, but she realized a long time ago that any family for her, she’ll have to make herself. ‘Literally’ has not been ruled out.
More than anything, she’d like to be able to explore, leave her home city and just see what’s out there. Maybe see her birth country, though the politics there sound terrible. Getting swept away to a creepy mansion is close, but she’d love nothing more than to earn enough money to escape.

Notes: Tech could be as loosely defined as a hoe or an axe or even…a sword. Azar finds a shattered sword in its sheath. The pieces are held in place only by the hilt being peace bound. She can feel the broken elemental spirit within. Instead of deteriorating over time like most elemental spirits, this one seems to have gained in potency. The reason for this is an opposing elemental barrier created by the bonding. Azar has no idea what the elements are. She’s never experienced them before in an elemental form and cannot recognize them. This sword is a shamshir, an old Persian sword.

An elemental spirit, when put into a container with an opposing elemental barrier, has only one reaction. Escape. Push back. This is what has caused the spirit in the sword to gain in strength. It has been pushing for a long time. Trying to escape ever since it was sealed within. Sealed evil within a can. The element is Destruction and the opposing barrier is one of Creation. Since Azar claimed the sword, the Creation element has regained strength and is beating Destruction back, since the opposing element now has a magical source of ‘food.’ Before it had barely been able to hold back the destruction as it laid unclaimed. Since the girl picked it up, the sheath and hilt have become more ostentatious and detailed. Artwork of its sealing has appeared on the sheath along with complicated designs that deepen with the day.

Azar, through her traditional magic learning, was taught an unlocking spell. An opening spell. Most casters simply find it useful if they forgot their keys, used for locks on doors, cars, chests. But Azar found another use, it’s been helpful ever since she found she could manipulate elemental spirits into her mason jars and seal them in with opposing elements. This spell allows her to open those sealed jars back up and manipulate the elements within. She can feel the bonding on the sword, and while it would take a lot of magic, she could certainly open it. She’s hesitant (and she won’t realize that’s secondary charms on the bonding doing that) to open it, however, she doesn’t want to waste something so powerful on something so temporary. So she saves it. Until she gets desperate enough. Another thing she’ll never notice is that with the Creation elemental barrier feeding off her, it also influences her. Many of her recent spirit creations have been more artful, more stylized, rather than groupings of clumped together elements.

Just another note, thanks to a mary sue quiz. It asked if animals are unnaturally drawn to her, and I realized that thanks to the company she tends to keep, of the elemental variety, animals are actually repulsed by her and she rarely has contact with animals of any kind.

Some nights, my throat gets filled with phlegm and I find it hard to breathe until I empty my throat. I should probably get my throat and lungs checked out. I grew up surrounded by secondhand smoke. I can easily imagine my esophagus being damaged and not able to hold out the snot running from my nose. This makes it very difficult to sleep sometimes. Last night I had the unpleasant experience that lead to me thinking of death. Yay! Mostly in that if I choked in my sleep, I might have no chance to help myself, or reach help. I also wonder some days how long it would be if I died in my sleep that anyone would even realize it. My door is normally shut, and it's rare if anyone comes in.

In any case, I ended up texting my girlfriend at one in the morning, telling her I love her...just in case I don't get another chance.

Just some creative writing exercises.

One

1.      Who is coming around the corner?

I can barely see her through the night vision goggles, but she comes around the corner with a massive dog. I t might be a mastiff, brownish sweater patterned fur. Sort of that damaged by sun blonde hair past her shoulders. She’s wearing a heavier jacket, it’s cold out, but not so cold that she has to zip the jacket up. As she rounds the corner she pulls back, the reaction when you almost ran into someone. She wasn’t expecting me to be there either.

2.      What is their secret?

She stammers apologetically for almost running into me, but I think there’s more to it than that.  She shyly tells me she comes here to snoop around, visit the abandoned places in the state. She tells me her favorite times feeling like she’s the most alive are when she’s spooked herself badly. She brings her massive dog in case she runs into any actually threats. Just like me, she’s not supposed to be here, I’m guessing that’s why she feels comfortable telling me this at all. The only way she’d get in trouble is if I ended up in the hot water too.

3.      What are they carrying?

She’s only got the leash for her dog in her hand, who really doesn’t seem all that unfriendly, as he shoves his nose into my crotch and leaves slobber stains down my pants. I pat his head as she explains, and I can hear worry in her voice. It seems no matter how I reassure her I won’t cause her any trouble, she’s rather used to exploring these places alone, alone-ish. The look of worry on her face becomes so pronounced I have to make a hasty exit to stop freaking her out.

Two

1.      Why did Peter lose his temper with Joanna?

“You lost them? How could you lose something like them? They reflect light blindingly!”

“That’s exactly how I lost them, Peter! They were so bright that when I put them down and walked away so I could see again, I don’t know where I put them. I think, I think someone took them.”

Peter ran his hands through his hair as he paced around. “Someone? Just someone? It could have been anyone and now they have some of the most powerful items in their hands and they have no idea. That’s just great. Of course now the League could pick them up easily. ‘Someone’ doesn’t have the ability to protect them.”

“I’m sorry, Peter. I – “

“You’re sorry?” Peter shouted in her face. “You’re sorry? The enemy could have their hands on them right now, and that’s all you’ve got? You’re sorry. Gah! I just, I can’t take this right now. I’m going looking for them.”

“I’ll come too.”

“No, Joanna, you stay here. You’ve done enough for today, thanks.” Without a word, but with a very loud slam, he left.

2.      Where did he go after he stormed out?

Peter spent the next few hours storming known warehouses of their enemies, the League. Many times it had been asked, “The League of what?” But there had never been an answer. It was just the League. Often they would seem disorganized and clumsy, but this was commonly a front to hide their true competence. For example, on this particular day all but one of the warehouses in the city were completely empty. The last one held a single table in the center of the very empty room, two chairs, and a hanging lamp directly over the table. At the table sat a communication droid that beckoned Peter to sit down after he’d dramatically smashed the door open.

3.      What happened to him when he got there?

Peter approached the table silently. He sat down silently, and waited silently for the droid to speak. When it did, he groaned inwardly in recognition of the voice coming from the mechanical mouth. Samantha was actually one of the most competent members of the League, but she conversed as the complete opposite. Her annoying voice and manner of speech were an act to put someone off their guard, and even though Peter knew all about the tactic, it worked on him too.

“Hi, Petey! I heard you’ve been raiding all of our warehouses today, heehee. I wonder why you would be doing something silly like that.”

“I know you’ve got them Samantha, and I’m going to get them back.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. The only thing we seem to have is a bunch of big old empty buildings. But then, you knew that part.” This was followed by an obnoxious amount of giggling. There was no chance this was as funny as that incessant tittering suggested. Her laugh quickly reached a high enough pitch to bore right into the headache that had been building all day.

“Samantha, I’m giving you one chance to return the tools before I come find them by force. I won’t be nice about this.” Now the robot was miming doubling over with laughter as Samantha’s shrill voice continued its cackling.

Well beyond his ability to put up with this harassment, Peter stood up suddenly, flipping the table and smashing it into the droid. His super strength made quick work of flattening the droid into the concrete floor. Then out of sheer annoyance he broke through the table, then the droid, and left a palm sized crater in the ground. He stood up, let out a sigh, and clapped the dust from his hands. As he walked to the smashed-in exit, he gave thought to reconsidering his position on not murdering his enemies.

These prompts were found here: Practical Creative Writing

Woo, nearly had a driver collide with my car yesterday when he decided not to look before changing lanes. And today I'm depressed as fuck to the point I barely did the warm-up at swimming. Hooray, I suck!