through the relays of the magical 'verse at high warp

A flutter-by

Mon, 22 Oct 2007 17:55:39 GMT

Random visitation from my dear Ephemera last night as I was getting ready for bed. Thinking about DH, and Remus and Tonks, and how Tonks' decision to follow Remus to Hogwarts was the sort of thing that would have been seen as heroism if they'd both made it. Seen by most as heroism, at least. Remus would probably have just seen the fact that she had risked her life, risked losing Teddy his mother. Which for some reason prompted this, even though I normally can't stand people who decide to ignore deaths they'd rather hadn't happened. (Warning: the cut hides the random output of my tired mind, which hasn't actually written anything more fictional than St. Mags LJ-party narrative in about 20 months.)

In the cheering, jubilant tumult following Harry's triumph over Voldemort, Remus stood in shocked silence. Dora, to his right, was cheering and clapping almost violently, despite her bruised ribs and wrenched elbow. She turned to him, face ablaze with exultation, and threw her arms around his neck, kissing him soundly. He raised his own arms, but rather than embracing his wife in return he grasped either side of her waist and gently moved her away from himself. Seeing the look in his eyes, her smile faded.

"Dora, what in the world were you thinking," Remus burst out, "coming after me like that? You could have been killed!"

Dora brow furrowed, and then she looked incredulous.

"If I hadn't come, Remus, you would have been killed! I didn't want our son to grow up without his father!"

"We talked about that, Dora, we decided together that you would stay behind, with Teddy and Andromeda." Remus' voice, hoarse from inhaling dust from the demolished walls, shook and came close to cracking, "We decided that I would be the one to join the battle, that I was more -"

At the last, his voice failed him, but Dora finished for him, sadness in her voice, "Expendable? Remus, that's not what we decided, and you know it."

"Essentially, though," he responded, dropping his hands to his sides and looking at the floor, "that's the truth, and you must see it. If Teddy had lost his mother, had lost you, that would have been far worse than losing me. And your mother, what would I have said to Andromeda if I had come back to her home with your body, after we had agreed you were to keep yourself, and her and the baby, safely away?"

Remus looked up, to see that his wife's face was set stubbornly, refusing to accept his arguments. She shook her head and turned away, walking toward the doors of the Great Hall.

Reaching after her, he called out, "Dora, wait!" and this time his voice did crack, "Where are you going?"

She didn't turn back to face him, but stopped moving away, as she responded, "I'm going home to feed my son. And to tell him that his Daddy loves him very much and is happy to be alive, even if he is too stubborn to admit his skinny arse is worth saving. And that Daddy will be home soon to tell him just how much he loves him and is grateful to be able to watch him grow up."

"Dora, I -" Remus tried to interrupt, but she continued, her voice tight.

"And then I'm going to tell Teddy just how thick his Daddy can be sometimes, but that Mummy loves him anyway, so much that she had to follow him into danger because if he hadn't come back she wouldn't have been good for anything anymore, she loves him so much and couldn't stand to lose him."

With that, Dora continued walking out of the castle, down to the edge of the Apparition wards. Remus remained standing in the Great Hall for a full minute, his mind echoing with his wife's words. Then he walked slowly after her, favouring the knee he had twisted at some point in his battle with Dolohov. It wouldn't do to arrive at Andromeda's too soon after Dora. It seemed as if she had things to say to their son, and he wanted to hear them again.

The worst recommendation of them all...

Sat, 04 Aug 2007 23:52:11 GMT

Voldy 'ships H/Hr.

Does anyone really want to be on Voldemort's side, even in this?

;)

squee!

Sat, 21 Jul 2007 08:30:42 GMT

It's here, I have it, it's sitting on my floor right now. Eee!

Of course, now I need to go to sleep for a while before getting up to read all day tomorrow, in order not to totally mess up my body clock. Soooooo tempted to read now!

plus ça change...

Tue, 17 Jan 2006 17:44:00 GMT

Go figure. Things can never go quite smooth when I'm worried about them, can they? Submitted my (now-beta'd and ready for posting) story up at the Sugar Quill, and of course it shows up with random characters (â€™) in place of every single apostrophe. So totally not my fault, because the html file I submitted read just fine on my computer, but it reflects badly on me, and looks ridiculously sloppy. Argh!

Update, 1101 hours: all fixed! Merci beaucoup, Zsenya. :)

Pern, and the mysteries of my muse

Sun, 15 Jan 2006 04:23:50 GMT

I've been on a bit of a Pern mini-binge lately. I got copies of Skies of Pern, Dragon's Kin, and the anthology A Gift of Dragons for my birthday in December, and zipped through them during the past week and a half. They were re-reads, other than the one new story in the anthology, so that helped speed me up. Then I felt the need for more Pern, so now I'm re-reading Masterharper of Pern, which is reminding me of one of the odd things about my love for the Pern universe -- I think I'd wish to be a Harper as much as a dragonrider. Okay, maybe not quite as much...but it'd be up there. It's the whole wishing I was musical thing, combined with the want to be a teacher thing. Funny.

Anyways, thinking about Pern got me thinking about something a bit odd. I don't think I've ever actual been bitten by a Pernese plot bunny. Darkover plot bunnies (or maybe plot rabbithorns ;) ), I've experienced aplenty. Star Trek, of course -- the first story I wrote that could be considered fanfic was Star Trek-based. I've even found myself writing bits and pieces based on Tamora Pierce's Wild Magic quartet.... But never Pern. Quite strange, considering that I'm quite a devoted reader of all things Pern, and have been for as long as I've been reading Darkover and a serious fan of Star Trek (and I've read Pern books more recently than I've read anything Darkover or watched an episode of Star Trek). It could possibly be because Marion Zimmer Bradley always encouraged Darkover fans to play in her literary sandbox (to the extent of editing a bunch of anthologies of Darkover short stories written by others -- essentially high-level, semi-official fanfic). Anne McCaffrey, on the other hand, has been a bit more...posessive of the Pernese literary sandbox at times, from what I've heard around and about.

On the other hand, the first Darkover plot rabbithorn that bit me showed up when I was 12 or so -- I seem to remember handing in a story in Language Arts class in grade 7 that was firmly Darkover-based, complete with a glossary. I was still busy tracking down all the public library's Darkover and Pern books at that point, and although I may have read one or two of the Darkover anthologies I don't think I'd heard anything anywhere about how Anne McCaffrey may have felt about fan fiction. So...why the Darkover writing habit, and not Pern? It's a mystery to me...and my muse is a silly wee creature (as per the first post in this LJ of mine :) )

Another blast from the past

Mon, 05 Dec 2005 05:30:59 GMT

I can't exactly remember when it was that I wrote this. It may have been some time in first year, or grade 12...the date on the original AppleWorks file is May 2001, but that's just when I typed it into the computer, as it was originally written by hand on random looseleaf from my school clipboard. Although my earliest stories that could be classified as "fanfic" was Star Trek-based, I started reading Marion Zimmer Bradley's Darkover books in grade seven or so, and I wrote my first story that involved the Darkover universe in grade...10, I think. This one came at least a couple of years later than that, a couple of years after I'd first read Traitor's Sun and gotten hooked by Illona, a character so different from many of the other female characters in the Darkover series, and on the relationship between her and Domenic (Nico) Alton-Hastur. At some point I got bit by a rabid plot bunny involving them in the same Tower for training, with all that comes with the different moral code of Tower life, although I haven't managed to go very far with the whole arc that emerged fuzzily in my head. This snippet (okay, so maybe 1100 words is a bit more than a snippet) stands alone and fairly readable, though, and started when the beginning image popped out at grabbed me by the writing hand.

Flames. Heat. People screaming, the crackle and roar of fire everywhere. The smell of burning. People, known people, trapped in a fiery inferno, and she was helpless, powerless, unable to help them, to save them....

Pulse racing, sweat pouring from every pore, Illona awoke, wrenching herself violently out of bed as if trying to flee the nightmare. The jolt of cold felt even through the carpet as her feet touched the floor woke her fully, and she hastily drew her legs back under the covers. A pull and a twist, and the blankets were settled about her body once again. She started taking deep, slow breaths, feeling her heart begin to beat at a somewhat more normal rate. Her body was still tense, however, despite her efforts. She concentrated harder, willing her muscles to relax. Toes – unclench. Legs – stretch out, and muscles – relax. Shoulders – straighten. Hands – uncurl. Arms – relax. Eyes – close.

Flames.

Eyes snapping open, a convulsive shiver wracking her body.

“Why?” she moaned softly, “Why me?”

Then a familiar discrete presence in her mind, at once questioning and soothing.

Nico? she asked silently.

Affirmation, and a question. Was it the dream again? Not that I need ask, I could hear you from here. Wry humour in that.

She groaned. Really? I was broadcasting? She had thought she was over that....

Don’t worry, breda, you weren’t.... I don’t think anyone else picked it up, it’s just that I’m attuned to you.

Suddenly she realised something. If she had been asleep.... Nico, did I wake you up?

A mental chuckle. No, I was reading. Then a sense of gentle concern. Are you going to be all right?

A deep breath. I think so. Go back to your reading. A small laugh of her own. You and your books. Don’t read too late, hear?

Wry acknowledgement, and a vague wordless almost-promise. Good night, Illona.

Good night, Nico.

Contact severed, but leaving Illona in a much more bearable frame of mind. Drowsy now, with an image of her friend behind her eyelids instead of fire, and a sense of comfort rather than helpless terror. This time her eyes closed by themselves, and she soon fell back to sleep.

An internal wake-up call reluctantly developed in a life on the road roused Illona shortly before dawn. She opened her eyes, saw that it was still dark, and promptly closed them again. I don’t have to get up yet.... She drifted back to sleep.

Not much later, she woke again. This time, she did not go back to sleep, but rather lay in bed, savoring the warmth, even more so because she knew how cold it would be outside the insulated cocoon of blankets. Steeling herself, she heaved her body out of bed and staggered to the washstand. Gasping, she splashed her face with cold water from the basin. She was dressed in record time, but her clothes were so cold her teeth were chattering, so she jumped back in bed for a few minutes. When she finally felt warm enough to face the day, she got out of bed once again.

Slipping her feet into soft-soled indoor shoes, she padded out of her room and down to the lower floor of the Tower, where the dining area was located. Still somewhat bleary-eyed, she walked into the room. Not looking where she was going, she collided headlong with a brick wall. Or at least that was her first sleep-muddled impression, but when she looked up, blinking, she saw that she had actually walked right into Darien, one of the Tower mechanics. He smiled indulgently down at her.

“Not quite awake yet, are we?” he asked, laughter in his voice.

Illona glared up at him. “You,” she grumbled, “are far more cheerful, not to mention awake, than is in any way proper at this hour.”

The man so addressed merely chuckled as he sidled past her. Illona’s morning grumpiness was a byword in the Tower.

There was a large pot of porridge on the side table, bubbles rising occasionally from the heat of the small brazier underneath. Set close by was a small pot of honey, a stack of bowls and a pile of spoons. Illona made her way across the room, walking slowly lest she bump into something. Yawning, she rubbed here eyes with balled-up fists, and reached for a bowl.

The porridge had dried fruit in it, plumped up from the water and long boiling time. Propping her head on one hand, Illona began mechanically spooning the cereal into her mouth. She stopped with her spoon in midair. Something was missing! Jaco, she thought firmly, or I’ll never wake up. She yawned once again, and rose.

The jaco pot was on a separate, smaller brazier, with a jumble of mugs beside it. The girl poured herself a generous mug, and added a large dollop of honey as was her habit. She returned to the table, and sat down with a sigh, returning to her meal. She tried to concentrate on her food, hoping to block out images from her nightmare of the night before. Of course, she knew such an attempt was practically futile, but she nonetheless focussed on the business at hand, the texture and taste of the porridge, the sudden burst of flavour from the fruit, the sweetness of the added honey, the bitter chocolate of the the jaco. But she was still tired, and here eyes closed as her mind drifted away from the simple tasks of spooning and sipping.

Flames. Screaming. Burning.

Her eyes snapped open. Inwardly, she swore, cursing the gods.

Her feeling of despairing helplessness emerged in a strangled whisper, “What am I going to do?”

“Finish your breakfast?” came an amused voice.

Illona started. “Wha’?”

She looked up, and saw Domenic, looking as tired and sleep-rumpled as she felt. A light smile turned up her mouth, but did not really reach her eyes.

“’morning, Nico,” she greeted her friend.

Domenic did not reply immediately, but simply looked at her, concern evident in his eyes.

“Are you all right?” he asked quietly.

Reflexively, Illona opened her mouth to answer ‘yes’, but then closed it again, thinking. “I’m...managing,” she finally replied, watching Nico’s brow wrinkle in concern.

“I wish there was something I could do....”

“Don’t worry, Nico,” she reassured him, “I’ll be fine.”

But the cheerfulness in her voice sounded forced even to her own ears, and it was evident from her friend’s continued frown that he did not believe her assurances. He reached across the table, his fingers resting gently on hers in the feather-light touch of telepaths, but the thought he sent her way carried all the wordless comfort of a hug.

“Just remember that I’m here for you, breda,” he said softly. “Never forget that.”

She looked up at him, and her smile began to melt the despair in her eyes. She felt her throat begin to close up, and a familiar prickle behind her lids. Not trusting her voice, she replied silently, I know, Nico. And...I’m glad.

That was then, this is now...

Fri, 04 Nov 2005 20:03:09 GMT

Not entirely sure what prompted me to start up this LJ -- my third. So now I have one personal, one travelblog for the trip to the UK I'm just finishing up, and this for fanfic-related purposes. I think I blame the LJ Firefly fanfic community for the urge to create this LJ; I wanted to be able to comment on people's LJ-posted fics, and join the ff_fanfic community, but not with my regular LJ. And now I'm faced with the urge to actually put something in the journal as well as using it to comment on other people's posts...which puts me in a bit of a sticky situation. Not that I don't have things I could, in theory, put in here -- it's just that they aren't much worth sharing, and I'm a bit scared of sharing the things I write, in general. Especially because most of what I write never gets finished, and/or doesn't have much in the way of redeeming characteristics. I blame Ephemera (Ephy for short), my muse...she's a silly wee thing.

As for that, well...I guess maybe I do have something to post, after all. Originally written in the spring of 2000, if I remember correctly (May, perhaps?) during a fit of poetic creativity inspired by the combination of a open-ended poetry assignment for my English 12 class (the assignment being "hand in at least 15 lines of poetry by such-and-such a date" -- I went a bit beyond that, all in) and looming grade 12 provincial exams I should have been studying for.

Ephemera

A fluttery creature,
bereft of true inspiration.
All her ideas feature
other people's creations.

A promising beginning,
sometimes she may send.
Her ideas sure are thinning
when I ask her for an end.

Middles she can manage,
I write them with gusto.
Her absence can cause damage
to a rather fragile ego.

For ideas for my poetry,
I'm sure I'd find a use.
But now she's gone and left me,
my rather fickle muse!