tidbits

Isaac, Isaiah, which are you???

he says to call him Isaac, with that pretty little smile and a flash of wolfish teeth, and so they trust him

Until you lead them to the seclusion of Night-- all those pretty little girls in their pretty red skirts, twirling their dainty handbags 'round and 'round, it just drives you mad, doesn't it?

Isaac oh Isaiah, you show your face far too much, and those who know you expect much and more than a sulky little frown

---

"People lose themselves when drawn here, and only those we know retain their names. Inhabitants of that house, all.


It's still with me, though I've run miles to escape it. "

---

"I've been standing at this precipice for years. Time and again, I take one step closer to that threshold, the lights beaming up to my rooftop from the bustle of the congregation below. Soon I am standing with one foot off of the edge, but there is always something that takes it back, until here I am, one, two, three strides and off I would fall, down into the noise and glamour.
I can't wait anymore. If I am to jump, leap, fall, or simply step off of that cement lip, I had best do it now. The wind whips my hair about my face. So long to these kite strings! There was never any more point in this all if I could never tell it to you, and then you were gone, forever out of my reach. I saw it in dreams and in waking, yet did nothing to tell you just what it is I meant. Did I even mean anything after all?
The toes of my shoes jut out into empty space, casting shadows in the spotlight, though the light still catches my face, now featureless. So long to fate! O, how long I have toted your image with me, and now I release it into the winds and night sky. There is only endless space, space, space until I will hit the crowd. They have been waiting for so long, heads upturned in eager anticipation, and one thousand throbbing hearts beat in unison as they whisper for the final act to commence.
In another lifetime, I jumped."

---

[cryptic so you don't have to be!]
---

when i was a young man
i loved a maiden fair
with eyes blue as the sky
and lilacs in her hair

---

Shining shoes in the evening was never a good idea.
We were expected to rise late, long past noon, and ride into our sweatshops on the backs of intolerable peccaries, draped all in roses long since rotted. As the sun casts its dying red light like the sinewy tendons of some great beast, we drag ourselves along the cement until our nails break off and our bellies are bloodied, all for the sake of some two-bit aristocrat whose only desire is to return home at night in the hopes that their wives might be waiting. It is only the catamites for these pederasts.
Once our tongues cracked dry, we slid that burning iron down our throats, taking our time so that we might delight in our trial. That was all it was about anymore; the trials. There was no longer a sense of dignity, of refinement, in our art. Where once we had brought out the brilliance in the most decrepit of footwear, now we were simply toiling.
All for nothing but the chance to crawl back home
back home
back to the hearth.
Sunday's crimes are the dreams of August.

---

titular subjects in dreary evenings on a quiet moor.

What does the gillyflower signify to the small lark upon the fence which divides our fields? Does it mean anything when night falls? Or does it whither and die as the crickets come to life? How melancholic!

We are prone to such thoughts in the cold of a cave filled with echoes. How long do you insist on continuing this?

Questions
Questions
questions?

Prerogative of my inner thoughts. What does it--


No more questions. We are through for now, or at least until it is deemed appropriate. For now it is word and law which conquers the night. Of all the gloomy things, night seems to persist in its standard of eerie, however I find it calming and sensible. Italics in unnecessary places bring forth emphasis where none is needed.

CANTABILE
0000919 0621
Cantabile will recede until a proper thought occurs to iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiihim.


sssssssssllllllliiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiide you can't believe if it's been a while been a long time but hey doc, what do you know now? we know there's no more time left whehehehen it's been a long been a long been a long long whiiiiiiiiiiiiile

When we speak of summer it is in hushed tones.
Don't let them hear you, they whispered through the walls.
No one ever listens to the voices in the walls, for they mislead just as they guide. It is best to hear but not follow when they speak, yet the house could just as easily kill you if you disregard them completely.

"Sometimes our arms bend back," struck us because the Evermore once whispered the very same.

---

Before they knew how to interpret what happened, it was poorly described and highly inaccurate. The following is an example of such. It never happened.

---

She lies, lazily, on her back, eyes glazed over.
“Bring it bring it bring it bring it back.”
Silky orbs dart to the corner of the room. Almost like home.
“I… you see… it just won’t work.”
“Bring it bring it bring it BACK,” repeats the voice from the dark corner.
“Everything, you see, everything is lacking, and then only the Room is left, and reigning, the rain comes, and the Leech King is smiling in your face.”
She twists and curls up.
“Cantabile, why…?”
“Dead poet you can’t be real you can’t come forth shut up shut up shut UP, come back bring it on.”
“I’m only akin to hear it coming forth from a prince, and the birthright of the King is yours and yours alone.”
Lurching from the shadows, the mechanical drone dragging itself from her throat, a marionette, a cheshire, a continuing adjective, Saline, claws at Cantabile’s face.
“This isn’t right. This is wrong. Why can’t I speak?” screams the girl on the bed to a silent window pane.
“If you will it, do it.”
Cantabile’s poetic voice is quiet and dark as he utters the words. Saline is a blur of limbs and hissing false fur.
“No, no, no, stop… please… I can’t stand it… Why?”
The rain raps against the glass, a chill wind whistles through the cracks in the wall.
“This ain’t no gotdamn nothin’ no child’s play just child prey. You can’t refuse this youyouyou can’t stop you gotta keep goin’ gotta keep doin’ gotta STOP.”
Sobbing, the girl falls off the bed, covered in covers and freezing from the cold of love. The house goes quiet, Cantabile’s eye peering at Saline as she dissipates into the shadows.
“And my Prince do come forth I am here only for You and every other.”
The girl keeps silent.
“From now on You can only be the one to success the person We fear and They abhor, while You are the brutal child of Love.”
She turned her head away.
“Cantabile… I...”
“12% is a name fitting for you, for that you are and that you shall be. Praise!”
Her eyes widen in horror as he utters these words, and she starts crying again. Of course, this was the only way things could work in the farmhouse, nothing to be surprised about. It was her fault for ever having come here. August used to always say how selfish she was because of it. Looking back on it, this seemed awfully true.
She thrust her face up to look Cantabile in the eye, feeling bile rise in her throat.
“Where is Atti?”

---

In April the output was high and constant. In May it is all records of musty old accounts.

Cantabile reminds me of the affair of the cupboard, which was not the first nor the last of its kind. It was an infestation of woodlice, their mouths gnawing at the bones of some forgotten inhabitant (the Evermore, so old that we had to pine over old clippings just to find it). Their mandibles mocked those who lived in the house.

(click click click)

Even after they'd left, the noise they left behind was deafening.

(click click click)

---

However, it is the Evermore that should be explained, not the bugs.

---

The Evermore rests in a watery grave surrounded by lilies almost as dead as itself. The fey lights which hover around it are immaterial, nonexistant, and should not be bothered with.

---

Cantabile will not co-operate with Saline prowling hungry.

stutter stutter


stutter

continue later(???)

---

The Attic

Nothing exists in the realm of the Attic but some old memories and shadows so ancient they do not remember their own origins. Things like this happen all too often, but the Attic is where they go to rest. They hate the living, because they are envious, if it can be called that, since their emotions (if you can if you can if you can call it that) are on a wholly different level than the inhabitants'.

You must never worship them.
You must never forget them.
You must never revere them.
You must respect them.
But you must never, ever

worship them.


[with regards to Cantabile, for allowing me the scriptures]

---

The Staircase

"It rose from the black sea, a twisting stairway that stretched to the heavens (commonly referred to as the ceiling, but no one is asking) and beyond, into the outer reaches of deep space (which may also be called the Attic). Its double helix wound in on itself, a tight curvature of flawless architecture. No one knew from where it sprung, but as it is not in their nature to be doubting of the intricacies of the house, no one said a word. They did venture to climb its length, though for some reason none of them could get anywhere, no matter how high they rose they always ended in the same spot.
After years, the staircase disappeared from the spot.
Or maybe it never existed in the first place."


CANTABILE
99136 78422 00b65

---

Wherein the Augustine Principle Is Discussed But Never Defined

To bring back the past is an unnecessary path in life, which we will see in our experiments. The child did not know this, of course, and looked to any means of reliving those long nights outside, alone beneath the stars- and there were plenty of stars back then- with only a wistful look and the dog- the true mother. It was here that Saline first met the child, chattering from upon a branch arching high above, her maw dripping (splat splat splat) and the dog took no notice, but she did curl about the child in the snow, as if to protect it from this thing that did not, as far as she was concerned, exist. The Word's true form is never remembered, and subsequently miscarried over time, but we can be sure that It was poisonous none-the-less, and detrimental to all that the child would experience from then on.
"got a lon-lon-long way to go, huh-huh-huh?? WIPE THAT SMIRK OFF YOUR face you know you wanna know you wanna know where to go but it ain't gonna be an E-A-S-Y thing, hahhhhh???"
The thing was never perfect, and her drone has only deteriorated through the years, her speech growing harsher, but one thing it lacks now that it had then was constant Pitch, and so the child knew it was not a thing to be feared, for it was honest and true like none other.
This is when we see the first discrepancies. The thing would perch up there all winter and well into summer, but come August it would fade, as that month was the month of its namesake, and She took it to reform the Cheshire. Saline's screams could be heard from within the walls, and though the child could hear them, it did nothing- it feared August, as did all inhabitants of the house. So Saline grew to despise the child, more than she did already, for that was simply her nature. She would come when the child lay awake and gnaw at its fingers and toes, clawing its arms and leaving slightly mysterious bruises and scars which the child never had to explain, for no one cared in the least. March would sit with the child as she was accustomed, but she could do nothing to keep the Cheshire away, for she was beneath and had already known August's wrath.
The relationship between August and Saline is unpredictable at best. It is violent and lustful, as is the Saint's relationship with most members of the house (if not, indeed, all) yet She rebuilds Saline in an imperfect manner, with the mechanics never quite falling to Her usual sense. Saline hates the Saint, which is unusual in the house (even 12% could never hate August- it simply isn't possible), and August has neglected any attempt to fix this. She is excited by the cruel Cheshire, intrigued by her rabid screaming and flailing fistsclawsteethmouth. There are no rooms in the house Saline is forbidden from except for the Inner Sanction, which has never been confirmed as existing, so we may ignore that factor.

CANTABILE
99136 78422 00166

---

no one here

just



m










e

.
---

I've been sitting here with this page up because it's nice and dark and I never want to sleep again. Kankubeinze Saline tearing through my gut in her usual rampageoh i thought this was over[it'sneverover] and then we're scrimmaging again and what's more oh March

oh March

your paperdust tears bring no warrant of mention in the times when August rules, nominative genitive declension three and we're all here waiting for her eyes cast up in a systematic approach to entropywhich
in theory
isn't reliable[bubububutalwaysknowyouknowknowknownonono]-ledge to land upon in times as these we're never too alone but all too familiar with it.

I am alone[lypersonbynature].

---

"I have plenty, but what about you?


is what they ask me."

---

"AUGUST
It was August all along

Oh Saline, Saline, those stitches left a nasty mark, but no one could shut you up, huh huh huh?

Was it Atti? Music girl's temptation leaving you lusty and you know you ca-ca-can't resist and it is of course

why


they stitched your mouth shut. I'm sorry, I've been away so long, but photos of August brought me back, so here I am and here we are


aren't you proud of me? "

---

"I just want to be sick stammering uncontrollable and effortlessly ill, and in the time it takes to realize these things you're all gone
Because I'm sick stammering uncontrollable but the effort in my illness is less sweet than I'd have you believe
Because I'm never satiated never happy never never ever please and if I am it's not really something truly believable
Infatuation which drives me mad and drives her to the arms of every man every woman every boy girl boy and when I'm mad it's all over it was really nothing
Nothing at all
Because I'm always the one told to stay to remain as the world goes to pure entropy around me
Because nothing ever matters when you're living on cardboard cutouts handouts selling yourself your selves to live
You can't live on the streets when they've all been decimated

This was all brought on by pictures of someone I knew and no one I was."

---

There was a storm in the house, but the inhabitants never noticed the walls shaking. All they could do was sit there as torrential rain tore through the plaster, flooding even the upper floors. It was their daily routine to endure the deluge, the tepid waters churning around and within them.
This was never the right time. No concept of time could penetrate the murky depths as slowly, steadily, they plunged into the abyss, never to be seen again.



Sometimes we still hear them from the well.

---

really no meaning
sloppy scraps strewn on the floor
i broke the plate

---

"Scrawled on a shred of purple paper with no intentions, not quite haiku and not quite important, but of some significance nonetheless. Reaching across a void sometimes proves fruitful.





In any case, I'm sick. Nose, throat, this is horrible. "

---

Clockwork

tic

toc

toc




toc


Intricate vitality. I am a wor[l]dslayer, come for your clocks and your home items, any strainers you previously thought detestable I find delectable. Send two by two by four times none boxes of junk and fishing rods and I'll give you a fist of coins to do your laundry.

Meager wages aren't really something to be taken for granted when living on cardboard.

---

"Babble babble babble babbel Babel Babel Babel Bible Bible Bible Biblical Biblical bibliography bibliography xylophone anagram Tutankhamun tintinnabulation obligatory esoteric quadratic Tetragrammaton Ophelia sanction textiles raids disobedience radiant omniscient haemophilia introvert tranquility"

---

"Entire nations shall fall before me when I march forward.
I only wish for one to stand after it all is over.

Loneliness is a sorry thing."

fuuuuuuuckkkkkkk thiiiiiiiissssss stooooooooryyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy

are and i are working on something better




everything here is now rendered irrelevant.

[characters] Raff

(Are finished this up; colours etc. Major props to her for being, you know, amazing.)



This is stupid.

Simplistic DRRDRRDRR!Raff. His chaotic form gets a bit more.. special? later on, hurr. But here's its basic form; a giant, stupid weasel with too many eyes (and usually too many mouths as well). Hmm hmm.

Raff doesn't really know how to, ah, access his potential power, so he only really transforms if he's "tantalized". Uhh, I don't really feel like explaining much, since I actually hate Raff more than my other characters somehow. He's not much more of an asshole than anyone else.
He's actually quite young, only around 27 years old. Mana, in contrast, is more than 700 years old. Raff.. doesn't really know much about.. anything. He was originally a merchant from Tal (his skin and hair colour/texture is very typical of Tal), but after his chance encounter with Siegurd he wandered the world in a sort of haze, not very conscious; not quite a "manic" period, but unstable in form and mentality nonetheless. Eventually, Deszo found out about him and, thinking him too unstable, sent his brigade to exterminate him. ... of course, Raff, having the persistence of a cockroach, survives, being found by two small children (Marianne/Marigolde and Micah/Rubin(/Reuben)) who took him back to their town, give him a name (he.. doesn't remember much from before about a year before this), got him all fixed up, when... Deszo more or less finds him again, causes him to go chaotic, unfortunately Raff destroys the town and blah blah blah this makes more sense in my head. He's pretty much a lost puppy ONCE AGAIN after this, except more stable blah de blah blah blaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

Eventually ends up traveling with Sasha, Lorant, and Rudolf, Lorant absolutely hates him (it's mutual) since Raff's... not such a nice person. Oh I give up. I can't write coherently whenever I try to explain characters/story shit.

[characters] Reese & MunAyin

Mmm, Reese(SulReissma) and MunAyin are a great example of just how godawful my story is, but eh.
I redesigned them on a whim recently, since Reese used to look like some sort of awful clown and MunAyin was just... ffff lame. Plus they looked nothing alike, even though they're supposed to be twins. Wat. I only scanned the really rough concepts I did of Reese, since the MunAyin ones are.. even sloppier. Somehow. Eeegghghh I'm so out of it tonight ffdsghdghgf.



(these are pretty bad, but uhh- rough idea of Reese's design, tentative colourscheme)
Reese is actually incredibly short, but he wears whatever will make him appear larger/taller (i.e.: horrible horrible high heels) aaand he and MunAyin are assassins, though originally were, uh, just kids on the street. Even though they're twins, MunAyin is much, much taller than Reese, and his eyes are pale hazel, while Reese's are dark brown, and Reese is much more effeminate, lacking his brother's muscular build. They're each missing one eye; MunAyin lost his(left) protecting Reese, and Reese sort of.. took his own eye(right) out as a "pact" of sorts. (FFFFFFFFFFFT) MunAyin ends up "silenced" at the age of 15, which is a quasi-religious ceremony performed by the "cult" they're a part of, so he can't really speak.

Oh, and Reese calls MunAyin "Mava", it's a.. term of endearment.


I'd rant more, except most of the things about them are awful. I hate myself so much fffhurrrrr.

Christ I'm dead tired. Sorry for the sheer lack of sense/linear thought in this hurr hurrr.


(.. I don't think anyone looks at this anymore? Hmm oh well)
http://i459.photobucket.com/albums/qq311/tervuren/scan035.jpg
Reese and Raid (one of Are's characters) waiting out the rain after food shopping? And a mini map of the Empire, totally incomplete.

huh

I never really realized just how shitty my story is until I thought about some of the, ah, specifics. Wow. Yeeah I should probably ditch it.

Also somehow Mana is such a goddamn pedo. He.. was a priest, you know. And then there's Reese and MunAyin..

.. yeah.


.... yeeeeeeeah no.

less german

(copied from LJ)
Tidbit even though I'm sure no one really cares: "Ophelia"'s touch is incredibly painful to Friedrich, and it kills most chaotic entities. So.. if she were to touch Raff, it would cause rapid decay, ultimately killing him, even in his human form (chaotic entities can rarely be killed in this form, only incapacitated/disabled, even though it is significantly weaker than their chaotic forms), yet with more powerful bearers it causes permanent scarring/damage, and may eventually kill them (Half of Friedrich's face has "chipped", a form of decay which looks like shattered glass, and his left arm shows early signs of decay). It has to do with the Ophelia-strain's activation in women who bear it (and, to a much lesser degree, men), which interacts with chaotic power in not-so-friendly ways, thus making them sought after by any military forces to combat the seemingly invincible chaotic entities (they are far more common than people who bear chaotic power, and they have almost normal lifespans, making it easier to raise them from a young age).

.. although this is still mostly separate from the story, it's a bit too "fantasy"-like for what I'd like, though I'm sort of on the fence for making it "official" or.. something. wat.