It’s now insanely clear how lost I have gotten. I had gone from ‘living’ to ‘existing’, and it’s all because six morons decided to come camp out at my house for nearly two weeks that I understand that.
They called it Meicon. And it was wonderful.Continue reading “Meicon 2015”
[Thursday, February 26, 2015 10:32 AM] Otter: LOOK AT WHAT YOU’VE DONE
[Thursday, February 26, 2015 10:32 AM] Otter: YOU’RE TEARING THIS FAMILY APART
[Thursday, February 26, 2015 10:33 AM] Terra: Well maybe if you cleaned up once in a while…
[Thursday, February 26, 2015 10:33 AM] Otter: :O
[Thursday, February 26, 2015 10:33 AM] Terra: Put on a dress. Prettied yourself up.
[Thursday, February 26, 2015 10:33 AM] Terra: Maybe I’d take you out. We’d leave the kids with Aunty Ryio and have a night out.
[Thursday, February 26, 2015 10:34 AM] Terra: But no. You’re always wearing that frumpy smock.
[Thursday, February 26, 2015 10:34 AM] Otter: It’s comfy
[Thursday, February 26, 2015 10:34 AM] Terra: It’s coveted in bacon fat
[Thursday, February 26, 2015 10:34 AM] Terra: You remind me of your mother.
[Thursday, February 26, 2015 10:34 AM] Otter: It’s comfy and smells of bacon
[Thursday, February 26, 2015 10:34 AM] Otter: What’s not to like
[Thursday, February 26, 2015 10:34 AM] Terra: Frumpy!
[Thursday, February 26, 2015 10:35 AM] Terra: You’re not the woman I married.
[Thursday, February 26, 2015 10:35 AM] Otter: We’re not even married!
[Thursday, February 26, 2015 10:35 AM] Otter: Wait
[Thursday, February 26, 2015 10:35 AM] Otter: Was I drunk?
[Thursday, February 26, 2015 10:35 AM] Ryio: Who wants to play cribbage? (That’s what auntys do right?)
[Thursday, February 26, 2015 10:35 AM] Terra: WHAT HAS BECOME OF US CHISTOS.
[Thursday, February 26, 2015 10:35 AM] Otter: Did we get married by Elvis?
[Thursday, February 26, 2015 10:35 AM] Terra: He was a nice man
[Thursday, February 26, 2015 10:35 AM] Otter: I’m sure he was lovely.
I take back all the nice things I’ve ever said about my friend Terra BECAUSE I CAN.
j/k I like him so much I want him to make a fool of my husband on our wedding day.
Buddha was walking into the city market one day and near the city entrance an old bitter man was sitting on a box glaring at Buddha, who carried a bright smile on his face. At the sight of him this old man started cursing Buddha up and down, left right and center, telling him how pretentious he was, how much better he thought he was and how he did nothing worthy of the air he breathed in this world. But Buddha simply smiled and kept on walking to the market to get what he needed. The Next day Buddha returned to the market and once again that old man was there, this time his cursing intensified, screaming and yelling at Buddha as he walked by, cursing his mother, cursing his father and everyone else in his life.
This went on for the rest of the week and finally as the Buddha was leaving the market the man came up to him, as his curiosity had simply gotten the best of him. “Buddha, every day you come here smiling and every day I curse your name, I curse your family and everything you believe in” the old man says ” but every day you enter this city with a smile knowing that I await you with my harsh tongue, and everyday you leave through the same entrance with that same smile. I know by speaking to you now that you are not deaf, why do you keep on smiling while I do nothing but scream the worst things I can think of to your face?”
Buddha, with the same smile still on his face looks at the old man and asks “If I were to bring you a gift tomorrow morning all wrapped up in a beautiful box would you accept it?” to which the old man replies “Absolutely not, I would take nothing from the likes of you!”.
“Ah ha” the Buddha replies “Well if I were to offer you this gift and you were to refuse then who would this gift belong to?”. “It would still belong to you of course” answers the old man. “And so the same goes with your anger, when I choose not to accept your gift of anger , does it not then remain your own?”
Never in my life have I felt more desperate to find and hug someone.
One of my friends lost his dad the other morning. I knew it was coming, he had told me that he’d be missing from our general super static stupidity when he had gone home the first time. I’ve offered to be an ear if he needed it and when it first happened, I spent some silly money to get him something he’d be unable to get for a while because that’s all I could really do.
There’s that big ocean thing separating us. Sigh.
All my love Terra, I hope you come back online soon, at least our stupidity can make you smile. It’s really odd and terrible to think about such a generally happy, awesome guy so utterly miserable.
Every once in a while I catch wind of what people I once considered my better of friends are doing and I’m promptly not invited to annnnnd its a little saddening, actually.
Then I do this shit.
Not a single goddamned regret. Have your party. I HAVE THESE CLOWNS.
ERIN. HUG ME.
Here’s a small background: I’ve been writing a bunch in the same ‘universe’. They all come from the same origin story, which I’ll post eventually when I feel content with the fine tuned details. It’s quite hard to create an entire world, lore and all, and then pack it all into ONE deal. The ideas just kept spewing, so, I expanded
This portion is the beginning of ‘Sapphire and Jade’, a story that focuses on the Calinthian Kingdom. It introduces one of the main characters. There shouldn’t be too much lore-heavy stuff going on here since it is an intro chapter and very much one of the first bits I’ve ever written in this universe, so it’s low on the lore scale. Balor and Musa are the big two gods, often spoken about in curse or praise.
She was born of Rosel, a great Calinthian weapon smith and a simple seamstress. Her mother died in childbirth. She had four children who were born cold, and the one that filled the room with her screams took her last breath with her. As her father cursed the loss of his wife, he celebrated the birth of his only child. A daughter he named in her honor, of the fragrant trees that left the air around the tiny cottage faintly sweet, a blue eyed child named Laurel.
Rosel did not know how to be a proper father to his only child, but with time he did the best he could. Her lullabies were the sound of his hammering, she learned to walk around molten metals, she even learned to speak from the brash customers who appeared at his door. For all this, Laurel loved him so. But, as she aged, so did he. By the time she turned ten years old, the great Rosel was nearly seventy, and his body was simply tired. His hands moved like they worked in gloves of thick syrup. The once rhythmic beats of his hammer became further and further spaced apart and lost their strength.
His tiny daughter came to him one day as he rubbed the oil of her namesake on his hands, relieving the burns his weakened hands suffered. She asked him what she could do to help him. Rosel told her to go to school, to become strong and smart.