Date:	2006-09-18 13:16
Subject:
Security:	Public
Mood:	restless

For the first time in a long time, she missed the bastard.
What they could have made of this mess, once upon a time.

Come sail your ships around me
And burn your bridges down
We make a little history, baby
Every time you come around

Hey everybody when you walk the walk
You gotta back it all up
But can you talk the talk?

It was a start.
Too little too late most like, but she'd seen tides turned under worse odds.
But would they be willing to do what it takes?
Would he be too preoccupied with the lights of center stage to feel the knife between his ribs? The enemy at the gate.
Her mind still mulled over the little she knew, trying to find an in, an edge.

She sighed.
A pound of flesh.
Never enough.

She would have to find something better for both.
Too long had she languished. Time to move.

Dear world, I'm pleased to meet you.

The moonlight, the smell of wet grass and grave moss, familiar and soothing. How many times had she walked here with him, in his favorite place...

The baffled king composing Hallelujahs.

Starlight, more than the faint gaslight on the main steeet behind her, showed her the giant lying in the pink slush of the alley still drew breath. Like his exhalations in the stark air, rivulets of steam danced up from a dozen wounds. A shadow, black in this light, was creeping farther and farther out from the soon to be corpse.

She moved close. She knelt. She'd seen meat chopped like this before, but marveled at his tenacity. She tangled her fingers in his wet, uruly locks. In that moment she finally decided. He would be worthy.

But remember when I moved in you
And the holy dove was moving too
And every breath we drew was Hallelujah

She listened to him pace in the small basement. The Beast was restless tonight. It would not be long before he asked for a lesson. Patiently she continued her work, nib scratching numbers into her ledger. She sat on the hard little chair in a simple white sarong, one leg tucked under her, candlelight playing shadows across her bare chest. Without so much as a glance up she sent blood burning through her limbs as she heard his enormous boots tromping towards her. He hesitated barely a fraction before sliding a huge meaty hand across her bare breasts, bravado trying to assert right. Before he could close around her torso she had his wrist and was forcing the huge arm around. Smoothly she shifted her weight to the foot on the chair and raised the other knee to his chest. As his right wrist completed it's forced circuit to rest between his own shoulder blades, she threw her weight against the knee below his chin and felled the Beast of Bayard. His weight was crushing her hand but her grip was firm. Her other hand she pressed against his mouth, stifling the welling protests. She stared into his eyes.

"I possess you. You do not possess me." She watched his eyes as he struggled to find a way around her statement. "I did not make you to be my slave, Gideon. You can earn your freedom. But you must learn." She brushed his newly bald scalp in a light gesture of affection and rolled aside slipping her bruised hand out from under his back and flowing gracefully back to her seat. She permitted herself the slightest smile, looking forward to his reaction as she dipped her quill again.

She tied you
To a kitchen chair
She broke your throne, and she cut your hair
And from your lips she drew the Hallelujah

...

She knelt, tangling her fingers in the wet, unruly grass of the grave.
A rivulet of blood dripped slowly down each of her cheeks.

And I've seen your flag on the marble arch
and love is not a victory march
It's a cold and it's a broken Hallelujah...

She leaned back from the little machine, her pale, inked face looking particularly ghoulish while illuminated only by the blue-white glow from its screen, and surveyed what she had tapped in. She slid a slender finger on the small rectangle and tapped it gently to activate the button called "check spelling" with a slight smile at the memory of how laboriously she used to pen and re-pen every correspondence to ensure it was suitably legible and devoid of ink blots and water spots.

She missed, slightly, the smell of parchment and the soothing glide of a well-cut nib, but really it wasn't such a bad bargain. Those things she had still, when she chose. But change in the world is inevitable, and the danse would stand still if it did not embrace evolution.

She tapped the magic cursor over the rectangle marked "send".
( Read more... )

The IAU has a "watchlist" of at least a dozen other potential candidates that could become planets once more is known about their sizes and orbits.

These include Sedna, which could be the first object to be discovered in a hypothetical region of the Solar System known as the Oort Cloud, as well as several Kuiper Belt objects with comparable sizes to Pluto.

Three asteroids - Vesta, Pallas and Hygiea - are also on the watchlist.

http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/science/nature/4798205.stm

Date:	2006-07-09 16:18
Subject:	Another battle in New York
Security:	Public
Mood:	pleased

Moving swiftly, quietly through the musty hallway, down the stairwell, M focuses on listening to the sounds of the battle ahead. Curiously clear yet vaguely apart, the ring of blade and ripping of flesh tells it's tale, sharpened by the intensity of her focus; held apart by the blanket of her grandchilde's mind, blending her coterie into the darkness and silence without.

They are almost down to the dim rectangle of the doorway. A crash of blades upon blades, followed by their hiss and whir as they flurry through the air tells her that she will find the Old Hound dead ahead. As good a place to start as any, better in many ways.

She breaches the threshold as her eyes find exactly what she expected: the Old Hound, a sword in each hand, locked in a death struggle with another, darker kindred- as if fighting his reflection in a filthy copper mirror- his foe equally intent, vicious, rusty machetes whirling to meet the flashing silver swords. With a fluid second step she breaches the silk darkness of her offspring's mind-cloak and bares her fangs.

Throwing all the weight of the monster within through her hiss, she sends tendrils of horror, fueled by centuries of ugliness she's witnessed or done, every whisper of the unspeakable careening forward, reaching and grasping for the mind of the Old Hound's foe. M smiles, tongue sliding over a fang, as the impact of her assault hits and she feels her quarry's mind crumple under her tender touch. His body follows suit and the strength of his muscles can now be seen in his quivering fetal contractions instead of his blows. Like sand through a timeglass members of her coterie flow past her, descending on their victim. The cool silken mind-shadow once again enfolds her protectively as she watches them tear him apart. Her petit sorcier grabs his face with one hand, scorching cheek and boiling an eye with the wrath of his Loa, the Old Hound delivers another slice, and another of their number claws the prone target into torpid stillness.

One.

On one side of the murky basement the femme Lance drives a curved blade into his foe, taking a cut in exchange. Nearby, the foppish “Pirate” is trading ineffectual blows with another ugly Brood, the pirate unhurt and the Brood untouched by his rapier. To the east of them, Saran's Brat snarls and drops a huge axe-wielding enemy. He rises, hands still cocked, intestines sliding off his claws and dusting to ash as they fall. Turning for a new target, he rips one of the female 'hellcats' off Scythe's back, allowing the Scythe to refocus his ferocity on the enemy at his face. Freed of distraction, the formidable gangrel ends what seems to have been a long and bloody fight by slashing his foe across the neck, severing the spinal cord. But nearer to the center Charles is struggling to connect with his foe, taking blow after blow from her spiked flail.

The coterie descends. Petit rips off a chunk of her shoulder with his hideous maw, an offering for the Crone. Julian gets a pistol shot off. M balls up all the terrors of the worst creatures of the earth and hurls them forward at the mind of the elusive hellcat. The little bitch doubles over and falls, spasming and gasping. Mon petit rips another chunk from her shoulder as Julian drops a contemptuous, almost careless bullet into her belly. The cool drape of Grandchilde's hiding closes around M again. The hellcat, apparently forgetting why she fell, resumes her fight with Charles, who has no better luck this time. Petit and Julian each take a shot at her, but she is still too fast. Each in turn blinks from sight, leaving her swinging her flail at empty air and hissing in frustration. Underwood comes for her but catches only cloth in his claws. M's three fellows appear once again. Julian grazes the hellion with a bullet. Charles lunges and misses, taking another crunching blow from the flail. He falls to his knees. Finally the four visible kindred surround the brood bitch and she paces, feral and trapped, for a moment within their circle. The four tackle her as one and tear her apart.

Two.

Elsewhere the Old Hound, Solon, Saran's Brat and the other one have made a similar mess of their last target.

All that remains is the endless duel. The kindred of New York stand silent and watch as this new one of their number vents his grudge in a struggle to the death with his enemy.

He does well.

________________________________________________________________________

I feel a stirring deep within
Slowly picking up momentum
Like the tide coming into shore
Over and under in its course...

[Euphoria, Delirium]

Date:	2006-02-08 15:41
Subject:	X-posted: SHINY!
Security:	Public
Mood:	happy

Thanks to the magic of metaphysick I have a shiny new sheet for my new shiny pc. YAY him!

Shadow name: Atalanta
Name: Violet M. Cunningham (aka 'Vy')
Order/Path: Arrow/Obrimos
Profession: Archaeology graduate student

In an extremely vague nutshell, think Zoe meets Lara with magic powerz.

I'm all excited. I'll post something more illustrative when I have time.

Last minute tie-ins very welcome!

Date:	2006-01-06 09:55
Subject:	Mage?
Security:	Public
Mood:	cheerful

OK soooo... I know I've been a bad gamer lately and been taking a break, but morningsprite and tokentales and princessdiablo and countless other great roleplayers assure me that mage is the new hawtness. And since the concept of mage has always appealed to me but I've never been in a long running game of it, and we now have a shiny new system which shall hopefully alleviate some of the weirdness of old mage.

So I'm making a pc! Whee! But I just have the barest ideas thus far, and am feeling very flexible [my too-hot-trainer calls me hyper-flexible ;) *snicker*] sooooo

Anyone have suggestions, ideas, places they need filled in for their stories? I'm open to anything thus far, and I'm woefully/blissfully undereducated on the venue as yet... but I kinda want to build a person and layer the mage on top, so I'm taking my time with the details.

Anybody? Bueller?

haven't posted anything for this one in a long while
unfortunately, I wasn't feeling up to requiem saturday, so I have nothing much to post

Elmo, Holly McNarland

I’m still thinking about you
A thousand ways to kill you
I’m still dreaming in pink
Gives me the reason to think
When I lay down my head I’m still okay
When I lay down my head to go to bed

Where do you fit in?

Didn’t say to come in
Where the hell have you been?
I can see you’re excited
You can tell you’re invited
Justify your evil ways
Make up for lost days
Didn’t mean to close the door
When I threw you to the floor
Didn’t mean to close the door
On my personal whore
Where do you fit in?

You run out of expression
You let me make a suggestion
You’ve left a scratch on my face
I can see to this day
You’re no innocent man
Come and catch me if you can
Didn’t have the time of day
But I fucked him anyway
Didn’t have the time of day to play
Where do you fit in?

I'm still thinking about you
1000 ways to kill you
I'm still dreaming in pink
Gives me reason to think
When I lay down my head I'm still okay
When I lay down my head to go to bed
Where do you fit in?

Where the fuck have you been?

She shifted the rudder, cold wind caressing her face and tangling it's fingers in the length of her hair. Handling the small slip was almost effortless... so many little modern coveniences. Still a boat was a boat, the principles of line handling were permanent, and tacking and jibeing had not changed since triangular sails came into vogue.

The rough, relative tranquility of the sea this evening suited her mood. So many currents of thought flowed and danced around each other in her head.

Date:	2004-12-05 17:58
Subject:	ooc housekeeping
Security:	Public
Mood:	chipper

Hey all,

This is and will be the ic lj of my pc... known at the start of game as Moll White.

I've begun friending some ljs of people I suspect I'll be bumping into a lot icly. If anyone has any objections please just let me know and I'll remove you. Likewise, add me if you like, but if you would be so kind as to toss me a comment to let me know who you are (if it isn't obvious) that would be appreciated. Most ic entries will be locked, so sign up now!

If you want to contact me privately about tie ins or anything, the email is jewels987 (at) gmail (dot) com.
Thanks!
~jewels

:)

trying to finalize write-ups... therefore anyone who I have ties with who I haven't talked to much is encouraged to speak up now :)

Date:	2004-11-27 13:09
Subject:	rough, tentative location timeline- vague, but you know where u fit in...
Security:	Public
Mood:	contemplative

Well most of you. If you don't know where u fit in, lemme know, we'll likely be able to find a spot fer ya. :)

mid-late 1500's: England, Hispaniola, is involved in an attack on Marcus's ship, some time on the continent

1600's: the usual, all over the place, notably the Atlantic, MA, Nederlands, Pacific explorations, New Amsterdam

1690-1740: sleepytime

1740-1760's: wild times at sea

1760's: returns to the islands for awhile

late 1760's-1790's: spends much time in France, heading back to colonial/revolutionary NY off and on

1790's-1800: back in the big apple for awhile

1800-1815: NYC, Portsmouth, some travel

1817-1842: widdle nappsie?

1842-1900: kickin it with kid's in da hood, involved in local stuff, some civil war siliness, some travel esp. later in century.

late 1800's-1917ish: leaves the kids with nanny, goes gallavanting about Europe and surrounding areas with abandon :)

1920's & 30's: mostly home again, but not every minute

1940's: back in europe and back in action

1950's-1970's: *yawn*

1970's to present: I <3 NYC

of course there are lotsa little things not listed here... but this should give a basic guideline :)

testing 1, 2, 3

Here is text to play with for the moment...