Blinding

Getting back into writing properly. Trying to decide which novel to focus on though so I'm going through some of the old bits. Can't believe I've basically not touched any of it in over a year.

***

 

None of this had been part of the plan. Granted, the plan had been pretty vague in a tour-record-???-success sort of way, but I could never have predicted how responsible I’d feel. Not just in terms of the band’s ultimate success or failure, but for them as people.

I hadn’t even known them at the start. Blake was just some prat in my French Lit class, and Chris was the tattooed guy he caused trouble with. Tyler was the stray they’d quite literally picked up at the side of the road, and Eric was the smart-arse in the bowler hat that gate crashed ESM’s practice sessions.

They were just caricatures, superficial, defined by their most obvious features. I even named them like that on my blog. Blake, due to his love of holey jumpers, his lip ring and shaggy hair, was Indie Boy. With his ever-changing hair colour and impressive tattoo collection, Chris became Captain Colour. I was the most unimaginative with Tyler who was simply The Drummer, but as he couldn’t focus on anything for more than five seconds and was allergic to shirts, he didn’t exactly give me much to work with. Eric became The Enigma because Goth Boy just didn’t cut it, despite his love of black clothes, The Sandman and Nine Inch Nails.

People judged, and boxed, and labelled. It was just instinct. I came to realise that the more time passed, the messier definitions became. Snap decisions were easy enough. It was getting to know them that made things complicated.

And it was complicated. The thing with Eric. The thing with Phoebe. Chris bouncing off the walls half the time, and Blake quietly trying to move in on my sister. And of course Tyler with the harpy girlfriend. I just wasn’t sure how it happened, or how I became personally responsible for making sure they emerged from all of this whole, and unscathed. Every day that passed made that feel like a greater impossibility.

‘Oli was in rehab, you know,’ I said, eyes fixed on the van’s stained roof. I hoped to never find out what could leave marks like that. ‘Record company paid for it. He lasted maybe two months when he got out.’ I pulled myself up again and glanced over at Eric. He was still down for the count. ‘I don’t get it. You’re a bloody genius and he’s The Badger Cult’s own Sid Vicious. What do you get out of it?’

He remained completely still. I sighed again and made my way to the door. We had four hours before we needed to head for the venue. If he couldn’t drag himself up by then, I’d just have to do it for him.

Movement stilled me just as I reached the front. Eric sat up on his elbows and looked at me from under his hair. ‘I like Oli,’ he said. ‘He makes me feel healthy.’

I slammed the door behind me as a reply. It bothered me that he said it so easily. Some people had an inherent darkness, a shadow they couldn’t quite shake. That was fine. I had no overwhelming urge to fix him. I just wanted to keep him alive. I was beginning to doubt whether he actually wanted that.

Music: My number - Foals

Drop of a hat

I had a trip to the hairdressers last week and had her strip out the red completely, so it’s more violet than the red-violet it was before. Problem is the red kinda held the colour nicely and now the purple is fading out to a colour I suspect is going to be disgusting. Like grey-brown. Yuck. And I’m only getting it done again when I get back from NZ. Double yuck.

I think in the scheme of hair colours, I’ll stick to the red in future. Purple is awesome, but red is more me, I feel. But really, the fading in both is a bitch. Ah well. Only a couple more to go then I’m properly going au naturale. Can’t afford to worry about fading hair when travelling.

There are so many draft blog posts saved over here, t'is rather nuts. I keep starting things and then get interrupted. And when I get home..well that’s it. I have no will to spend time in front of the computer anymore. I’ve also been avoiding my email for the last two weeks, possibly more. The sheer amount of unread emails is enough to give me an anxiety attack. I try to pretend it’s not there, or that I’ll get it to it tomorrow, or on the weekend…but it never happens. I know I need to just stop putting it off and get in there and sort it out but…ugh. There are things I don’t want to sort out, that’s why I’m avoiding it in the first place. If I don’t know about it, it doesn’t exist! *fingers in ears* La la la!

It’s stupid, I know. I’ll get round to it.

Um. What else? Uni’s going ok. I’ve got an assignment due on Thursday that I naturally haven’t started. Will attempt to get something written tonight. I need 5,000 words done by next Wednesday for my independent project as well. I’m going to try to knock about 10,000 over on the weekend. The aim is to have the entire word count for the project done before Easter, so then I can just re-draft and keep writing. I’ve gone with a re-write of Amped, rather than continuing on with Silver & Silent. Only because I’ve hit a bit of a wall with that and I’m not sure I’m entirely comfortable with where it’s going – it lacks direction and I’m not sure the structure of it is really doing it any favours. So rather than beat my head against a wall and be miserable for the next 14 weeks, I’ll just write something that I know exactly what I’m doing.

My Thursday class, professional editing, is overall not too torturous. My classmates annoy me but even though I’m not overly fond of the subject matter, it’s not filling me with utter dread. So really, not too shabby for my last semester. I do think it’s going to drag down my GPA, but we’ll see how we go I guess. Not worried about the writing project at all really – I get on really well with my supervisor, having worked with her in undergrad. I was very surprised she remembered my project, she sees so many students, but she seems to think it had genuine promise. So when this is all done, I think I might try to work on that again. Once this one is finished, and Silver & Silent. Gah. Too many.

That’s about the scope of my life at the moment, I think. There have been outings, and movies, and drinking and such, of course. And work, which continues to be hellish. Nothing new there. I’m applying for so many random things – I don’t even care. I just want to get out of here so I can actually write again. Instead of going home brain dead and miserable. Hopefully, I’ll have something new by May. All I need to do now is get through the next three weeks. Can’t wait.

Music: Killer Queen - Queen

Surf's up

So, in case you’re not up to speed, Australia is the new hell. Come one, come all, we’ve got your disasters and plagues covered! Locusts, floods, whatever takes your fancy. Again I feel I have to say that this country just doesn’t want humans here. It tries to scare us off all the time, but we just don't listen. You'd think the spiders and snakes would do the trick, but there you go. Poor Queensland. Just what they needed – more rain. Not sure what they did, but they sure pissed off mother nature somehow.

Cyclone Yasi...what a stupid name. Why can't we give them mean wrestling
names, like The Destroyer or Maximum Extreme or something.

At the risk of stating the obvious, this is one huge tropical cyclone. Saw some mention on twitter that its eye is 35km. Category 5. They’re expecting winds of over 300km/h and swells of up to 7m. Pretty much the entire northern part of Queensland has shut down. Hope there aren’t any ships out there, that’d be nasty. (Understatement alert.)

In keeping with our new hellish reputation, it’s been sweltering in Sydney town the last couple of days. Yesterday we clocked 42°C at work, and it was still 39.8°C when I got home at 6.30 (after coaxing a near death Jack home, I might add. That car does not cope well with the heat and traffic. I’ve got Martha today, so at least I have an airconditioner that works when stationary.) I don’t really mind the heat as long as I don’t have to do anything in it – lying in my hammock on the deck, great! Moving or walking anywhere, not so much. Sleeping has been the most problematic. I just haven’t been doing much of it. Oh, I try, but it’s a long process and when I do actually fall asleep, I have such weird dreams. I don’t remember the details, but I remember that they’re weird.

In news not related to the weather, I’ve written over 5,000 words in the last 24 hours. Yay! Creativity! All on Amped, which is great. I’ve missed those kids. Shockingly, it’s already February, and before I go back to uni I still have to write more on Silver & Silent, and write an essay. Running out of time! As always. Eh. I’ll just have to fit it in...somehow.

Music: Derezzed - Daft Punk

You'll only leave me dry

The latest competition in one of the mags I work on involved roses, so I got a whole lot of entries about the meaning, favourites etc (there was a whole lot of death as well with the flowers acting as memories or trigger devices, I did not appreciate it). One of them involved blue roses and I of course got curious as to whether they actually naturally existed since I’d never seen them growing. Off to wikipedia I went. Result: blue roses don’t actually exist in nature, mostly they are white roses that have been dyed.

Now, I am obsessed with black roses and when dad tried to get me some for graduation this is exactly what the florist said happened – they dyed them black. I was fairly sure at the time they genetically engineered them to grow like that, but I let it go. The research on the blue roses however revealed that I was so totally right – black roses are genetically engineered to have that colour.

Just once in my life I’d like someone to get me a black rose. I know they’re expensive and nigh impossible to get around here, but still. And yes flowers are stupid and die far too quickly, but that kind of beside the point in this case. It annoys me that on NCIS everyone gets Abby bunches of the things, as if they can just pop down to their local florist and pick them up just like that. Why must I always be difficult?

Also, on this topic – "The black rose's quality of being a rare flower renders it an apt symbol of profound love, or other such things of a rare nature." You see? My sense of romance may be slightly skewed, but I am still romantic (see also: The Crow).

Anyway, random ramble aside, let’s also park my emo-ness for the moment and move onto something else…NaNoWriMo! Woo! I’m all signed up to the madness again and super excited to get into the more social aspect of it this year. It seems like a fun group of people and there are tons of write-ins and events lined up, definitely off to a promising start.

I’ve been ummm-ing and aaah-ing about what to write. I’ve had a few ideas floating around all year that I thought I might tease out, but talking to Abs about hers made me realise I really missed those Amped boys. So what the hell, I’m rekindling the ESM passion and writing a novel of the season 2 arc. I will of course ramble/rant about my progress, and you can also check out my profile should you feel so inclined.

Speaking of writing, I’m doing this ridiculous micro-fiction thing online where you can win a Random House mentorship. Brevity has never been my strong point so I’m harvesting the sympathy vote – come on guys, vote for me! I think you have to register, which is a pain I know, but pretty please? I’m happy to offer bribes of hugs or cupcakes or whatever you prefer (you’re reading that the wrong way, aren’t you? I know you are *narrows eyes*)

TL;DR – NaNo, yay! 12words, vote for me!

Music: While you wait for the others - Grizzly Bear
Mood: Procrastinating (naturally)

The truth about heaven

I thought NaNoWriMo was supposed to make you feel better about your writing. At the moment I just want to bang my head against the wall.

Ariene arrives at the rectory just before midnight. She is content to watch at first as she regains her breath. She had to improvise a bit, not having arranged previous transport, so she parked her Tesla two kilometers away and walked in along the back road. She preferred to hire bikes when doing a job, they were easier to conceal and made it much easier to lose a tail should it be required.
Ari isn’t usually one for going into something on a whim, but this is bloody Zusak. If she doesn’t act quickly she’ll miss her chance and that simply isn't an option. She really has an axe to grind with the man. After all, it is rather damaging to a reputation to have a bounty taken from under one’s nose, but what comes around goes around. Ari sniffs. Karma is a bitch.

Woe.

On this topic, I feel I need to address Abbi's novel (which you can read by donating here). I know that she is completely heartbroken, an outcome I have been dreading from the start. It's so much worse knowing that it's unavoidable, a necessary step in another direction. It was hard enough to deal with in the first draft short story format, but the journey has been much bigger this time and the consequences hit even harder. I just want to give Abs a huge virtual hug and hope that everyone who can actually give her a real hug will do so for me.

When I first came up with Eric over two years ago (I can't believe it's been that long), I saw a pale, too-thin guy who sneered at the world and swore to love nothing. He was broken, contradictory, confrontational and absolutely gorgeous. Along with Blake, Chris and Tyler, Abbi and I created our ultimate band that we loved enough to plan an entire television show around. And make no mistake, we really do love these boys. They are very much real to us. I've always favoured Eric in my flashfic pieces because he is so fucked up which gives me a lot of depth to work with. It's wrong to play favourites I know, but I love the boy to death.

Abs and I went all out creating back stories for these boys, but I don't think either of us could ever have predicted how attached we would become to Eric's. Again, there was just so much there to work with. When Anthony came to Abbi, it all just fell into place, and she sculpted this tale that fit my boy perfectly. It is hard to go through it, and I know it is incredibly hard for Abs to write it because I know how much she loves Anthony, but it is sadly necessary for the bigger picture. A picture I hope you will all one day see. In the end it is the characters that dictate the path of the story.

I realise I have just justified something as being "necessary for the story" - a line of thought I have been vehemently contesting since July. I promise you that this is nothing like that. It is not something that could have been avoided and it is not something that was entered into lightly or happily, and certainly not something we'll be making fun of in the future. Because we are real writers, and sometimes your characters creep in under your skin and become as close to you as our own flesh and blood.

I just had to write something cause I need people to know how incredibly hard this is for her. This is the best I can do stuck halfway across the world and without cursed live messenger. Much love dude. I'm sorry that I inadvertently made this a necessity. I really am.

Music: The fan squeaking
Mood: Dizzy

Listen to music and see faces in its fires

I will not read your script:

It rarely takes more than a page to recognize that you're in the presence of someone who can write, but it only takes a sentence to know you're dealing with someone who can't. (By the way, here's a simple way to find out if you're a writer. If you disagree with that statement, you're not a writer. Because, you see, writers are also readers.)

QFT. Also,

To make matters worse, this guy (and his girlfriend) had begged me to be honest with him. He was frustrated by the responses he'd gotten from friends, because he felt they were going easy on him, and he wanted real criticism. They never do, of course. What they want is a few tough notes to give the illusion of honesty, and then some pats on the head.

One of the few things I've learnt at uni is to deal with criticism (and to not argue with it.) You have to really listen and take it on board. You can still ignore it of course, but it's important to at least consider it because usually the things you love the most about something is the thing that doesn't work all that well. It's probably the hardest part of the writing process though. If you ask for feedback, you have to be willing to take it and you cannot take it personally. You may have poured your heart and soul into something and love it dearly, but you can't let that predetermine your response. If you are defensive, you can't learn. I was super defensive about a particular bit in an Amped script once but when I started the re-write and thought about it, I took it out. I may love it but that doesn't change the fact that it doesn't actually work well with what we're trying to say. I never finished that re-write, but I will some day (December dammit!)

What I'm trying to say is, I've reached the point where I want criticism, you can keep the pats on the head. I don't care about that anymore. I've worked with a number of published professionals now and I generally feel confident enough in my writing. What I want is to get better, and I can only get better if there's criticism. As they say in Almost Famous, be honest and unmerciful. As the previously linked post notes, it's the kinder thing to do for the long run.

On the topic of things that I love, I'm still listening to The Gaslight Anthem. I'm giving 'I'da called you woody, Joe' a lot of air time mostly because it captures perfectly the way I felt the first time I heard The Clash too. I've never really been able to articulate what it meant when I found punk, not without sounding idiotic, and now I no longer have to try, the song has captured the feeling perfectly.

As heard by my wild young heart, like directions on a cold dark night,
Saying "Let it out, let it out, let it out, you're doin' all right."

God I love music. It seems to have the ability to capture feeling in a way no other medium can. I've often wondered whether my love of music didn't merely stem from my obsession with words. I listen to a lot of things that aren't particularly melodic or innovative, but that has stunning lyrics that I can't resist. This train of thought clashes with my love of punk though, where generally wordplay and poetics are discarded in favour of simply being loud and/or angry. Then there's classical music, and my obsession with the piano. In the end I can't help but think music transcends some sort of barrier that contains other forms of expression. Maybe it's just because melody can't really be tied down in words, caught and examined and explained, not really. By going against traditional form of interpretation so it resists translation into referential meaning. Critics try, of course, but it's such a subjective thing, it almost comes across as cupping water in your hands. Words can be twisted, taken out of context, and misinterpreted. Music just is.

I'm afraid I'm going to have to pull out some long Nick Hornby quotes now:

It is, perhaps, the curse of the trade. 'All art constantly aspires towards the conditions of music,' Walter Pater said, in one of the only lines of criticism that has ever meant anything to me (if I could write music, I'd never have bothered with books); music is such a pure form of self-expression, and lyrics, because they consist of words, are so impure, and songwriters, even great ones like [Aimee] Mann, find that, even though they can produce both, words will always let you down. One half of her art is aspiring towards the condition of the other half, and that must be weird, to feel so divinely inspired and so fallibly human, all at the same time. Maybe it's only songwriters who have ever had any inkling what Jesus felt on a bad day.
[Chapter 11: So I'll Run, 31 Songs, p.58]

Music, like a colour, or a cloud, is neither intelligent nor unintelligent - it just is. The chord, the simplest building block for even the tritest, silliest chart song, is a beautiful, perfect, mysterious thing, and when an ill-read, uneducated, uncultured and emotionally illiterate boor puts a couple of them together, he has every chance of creating something wonderful and powerful. I don't want to read inane books, but books are built from words, our only instruments of thought; all I ask of music is that it sounds good [and makes me feel something.]
[Chapter 19: Caravan, 31 songs, p.114]

I can't live without books any more than I can live without music. I can't really write without music either. There's something so intoxicating about art, these various creative forms of expression. Sometimes I feel like the secrets of the universe is wrapped up in there somewhere. Somewhere within the contradiction that at times feels so encompassing and so overwhelming, within that ability to make you feel so very alive and yet so very inadequate. Like the first time I read Hemingway.

Anyway, with another favoured Hornby quote, I'll go back to work:
But sometimes, very occasionally, songs and books and films and pictures express who you are, perfectly. And they don't do this in words or images, necessarily; the connection is a lot less direct and more complicated than that...It's a process like falling in love. You don't necessarily choose the best person, or the wisest, or the most beautiful; there's something else going on...I'm talking about understanding - or at least feeling like I understand - every artistic decision, every impulse, the soul of both the work and its creator. 'This is me,' I wanted to say when I read Tyler's rich, sad, lovely novel. 'I'm not a character, I'm nothing like the author, I haven't had the experiences she writes about. But even so, this is what I feel like, inside. This is what I would sound like, if ever I were to find a voice.'
[Chapter 2: Thunder Road, 31 Songs, p. 11]

Pic from here

[Parting shot: I think this whole thing sums up why I continue to feel compelled to defend Twilight - for the mere the fact that she thanks the artists that inspired her in the acknowledgements and that, with the playlists she posted online while writing the books, you can see the effects of that inspiration. That said, I had to go through fifty thousand Twilight related images while searching for one to include in this blog - there is a world beyond these books people, a wonderful world filled with hobbits, dead princes, pirates, snarky detectives, femme fatales, gangsters, reporters, crime, fairies, sword fights, true love, doomed romances and if you're reading The Dresden Files, it has all of that save the pirates. Broaden your horizons beyond Forks, to introspective moody, narrators; to larger than life characters; to fantastical, funny, heartbreaking, thoughtful books that are just waiting to be fallen in love with. Truth, beauty, freedom, love! Oh hang on, that's Moulin Rouge...]

Music: Norwegian Wood - The Beatles
Mood: Pensive

Cool enough to not quite see it

If no one watches ABC2 from 8.30 tonight, it would be due to no fault of my own. I have plugged Torchwood and Being Human to everyone today. I'm not quite sure why I've been such a cheerleader, but the mood took me. Look at me, doing my part for the fandom like a good little fangirl. Besides, I stumbled across this - "where excitement comes before morality" - which has to be one of the most apt descriptions of Torchwood I've seen in a while. It also poses such great innuendo possibilities, but I think the ability to appreciate that comes after you've been far too obsessed with this show for a while. It's a terrible, terrible influence. Fun though.

I suppose the tentative airdate we were given last night just put me in a fandom friendly mood.

I completely forgot I had a hair appointment today. Luckily, I was down in Revesby after work doing random tasks and paying bills for dad and such, so I wandered past the salon at the time I was due in. Spent a few hours having unexpected me time. Quite nice really. While there, I found out Robert Pattinson Cedric had been hit by a cab. Hmm, I hope it didn't damage his devilishly handsome good looks...oh wait, never a risk of that.

Ah sigh. I need to stop picking on the guy. He can't help it after all.

Random comment - I find the Clandestine Cereal range very strange. Not only that but they have a Space Monkey! Bah, that's ours! Damn you, Pete Wentz.

Hmph.

In general, I'm exhausted. My dad's really been trying my patience, asking twenty questions at every opportunity, offering running commentary on everything he does, and making intefering remarks as I was making Chicken Parmigiana for dinner. I don't hover around making snide comments when he cooks, why can't he just leave me be? After all, I'm not completely useless and I'm most certainly capable of reading a damned recipe. I did take two years of Hospitality you know AND I've cooked twice already this week - no one's died. It really pisses me off. Work has been quite hectic too, as it usually is this time of year, and I've just felt run of my feet most of the time. Overall, I just seem to get nothing done. Sigh. I think I'm going to curl up in the lounge (yes, while watching ABC2, practice what you preach) and see if I can finish Small Favor tonight. I'm only three chapters in but it usually doesn't take too long. With hot chocolate. Never forget the hot chocolate.

Here are some photos I took in the backyard this afternoon:


I ventured outside to find this little freak eyeing me up. I've named him Louis.


Louis is highly unimpressed by my existence.


In profile, with that thing hanging from his beak. It was really getting on my nerves but he didn't even notice. Birds! No sense of style!


Post-feed. I missed the actual attacking and capturing of unaware prey because I was chasing little miss sook around when it happened.


Here she is, being cuddled by my dad. She's been really emo today. I feel like I should be putting some MCR on for her or something.


The cockatoos soon showed up, making the ungodly racket they so love.


This one was squaking for some attention. Suffice it to say there are a lot of them.


Om nom nom.


I like this one, it looks like it's surveying its kingdom. Which is fine by me, as long as it's not looking at me like I'm something tasty. They sometimes do, and though I know it's completely irrational, it kinda freaks me out. What can I say, birds are creepy.


Finally, some sky. One thing I like about winter is the sky, it always looks so crisp and clear. None of that weird orange-ish glow you get in summer, only thousands of different shades of blue.

Music: Mayonaise - The Academy Is [cover]
Mood: Blah

I've figured out every hour in every day, except tonight [completed]

Prompt: There wasn't really one. Just Amped bringing its drama.
Characters: Kiley Marshall, Phoebe Marshall, Chris Fraser, Harrison Blake, Tyler Wilcox, Eric Hayes, Tristan Emery (Amped)
Timeline: Start of Season 2.
Word count: 4, 162 (Total). This part, 2, 238.
Author’s comments: The second, and final part, of what I posted last night. I wasn't really going to do this much on it, I was daunted by the whole epic conversation re: backstory and didn't want to go into it (epically draining), but I pushed on anyway. Probably would have been wise to quit while I was ahead, but whatever.

---

The crowd was slowly dispersing, the effects of drunkenness floating up to her perch on the stairs. The night was in its final death throes and Kill shivered as the cool breeze wrapped around her. She couldn’t find the energy to care enough to go back inside though. It was that very same feeling that stopped her from turning around when she heard the door open behind her.
“I don’t want to talk Pheebs,” she muttered, assuming it was her sister, wanting to attempt another heart to heart. She’d been doing that an awful lot lately.
“That’s ok. I just need you to listen really.”
Kill stiffened at the voice and turned around to watch Tristan cross the small distance between them before settling next to her with a slight huff.
“We’ve never actually met.” he said, angling towards her.
“No we haven’t,” she replied, holding out her hand, “Kill.”
“Tristan,” he smiled, taking it, “I’ve heard a lot about you.”
“Same.”
“All scandalous lies, I promise.”
Kill couldn’t help but smile. “I wouldn’t be so quick to write it off, if I was you. Overall, it’s been good stuff.”
Tristan chuckled “Well, I do try.”
Kill looked out into the night, shifting uncomfortably under his gaze. After a few moments, he broke the silence.
“There’s nothing between us, you know. Not for a long time.”
Kill kept her gaze firmly ahead, barely daring to breathe. He sighed and continued.
“Sometimes I don’t think there was anything there at all and that I just wanted there to be. Saw what I wanted, you know? I’m not used to not being wanted.” He chuckled softly under his breath, and then turned to face her. She could feel his gaze burning into her cheek. “He wants you though.”
Kill snorted and met his gaze. “Please. He doesn’t know what he wants.”
“I think he does. He just doesn’t know how to admit it, even to himself.”
Kill sighed, dropping her eyes to her hands. In all the various situations she might have envisioned for herself, this definitely wasn’t one of them. Sitting on a deserted step in the middle of the night with Tristan Emery discussing the object of both of their affections. Hell, what were the odds. Still, something about the dancer made her feel completely at ease, completely open. He’d understand after all.
“Sometimes...” she began hesitantly, “Sometimes he looks at me like I’m the only thing keeping him sane. Then other times it’s like he can’t stand it, as if my just being there actually hurts him.”
“He looks right through me,” Tristan said softly.
Kill looked at him. “He does like you though, you know that right? I mean he always said he enjoyed hanging out with you –”
“Oh I know,” Tristan interrupted, waving his hand, “And I don’t blame him for any of it. It’s mostly my own doing. One of the things to understand about Eric is that he has a lot of skeletons in the closet, and that’s where he likes it. There’s so much more going on with him than I really understand and he just doesn’t like me enough to try to get over whatever it is that’s holding him back.”
“You aren’t alone there.”
“He hasn’t been the same since he’s been back,” he said shrewdly. When Kill didn’t reply, he continued. “He’s been way more self-destructive than usual. He missed the band, he missed you. He’s been beating himself up over it.”
“We aren’t the ones who left him. He wanted to come back.”
“I think he feels obligated to finish what he started here, but he hasn’t been happy.”
“He’s never happy.”
“He is when he talks about you lot.”
She sighed and looked up at him, searching his face. “What exactly do you want from me Tristan?” she finally asked.
He looked away, taking a deep breath as if weighing his answer.
“Give him a chance.” he said quietly, meeting her gaze again.
“What if he doesn’t want it?”
“He wants it.”
“I wish he’d just talk to me.”
“He’s a lot of work.”
Kill flashed him a small smile, before looking away again. “I wish he’d trust me.”
“He doesn’t know how.”
“That’s a bit presumptuous,” Kill replied, doubtfully.
“Hey, I’ve watched him. He hides away everything that means anything to him. It’s like pulling teeth trying to get anything personal out of him. I mean hell, did you know he had a sister?”
“Yeah.” Seeing his look, she explained almost apologetically. “I overheard him on the phone.”
“See? It’s all skeletons in closets with him. It’s like he doesn’t even trust himself, let alone anyone else.”
Kill thought about this for a few seconds before turning to Tristan again. “You know what Tristan, the rumours are true,” He looked at her confused. “You are more than a pretty face.”
Tristan laughed, squeezed her arm and got up. “I can see why he likes you.” He looked down at her, sobering slightly. “Don’t give up on him.”
She gave him a brief smile and after searching her face, he nodded once and headed back inside.
Kill allowed the stillness of the night to settle around her, barely registering the faint thrum of music and laughter that floated along on the breeze. She sighed and rested her head against the wall.
“I don’t think I could, even if I wanted to.” she murmured into the night, allowing it to secret away what she wouldn’t even admit to herself the last few months.

***

Eric was angry – angry for losing control of himself like that; for thinking she’d still want him; for wanting her to still want him. This was better after all. She was better off without him around to bring her down too. He was better off not having anyone who actually gave a fuck about him, which made it so much easier not to give a fuck about anyone else. He was so wound up he nearly threw a punch at Tyler when he came through the door.
“Whoa there man, I come in peace,” Tyler quipped, throwing up his hands and flicking his head trying to get his hair out of his eyes.
Eric merely glowered at him and continued to pace along the small confines of the room he had, well, fled into. Tyler watched him thoughtfully for a few moments before speaking.
“I saw Kill. She seems almost as upset as you.”
“Just leave me alone Tyler,” he forced out between clenched teeth, his fists clenching and unclenching on their own accord.
“Bad things happen when you’re on your own.”
Eric threw him a look that would have sent a lesser person ducking for cover. Tyler merely looked back at him serenely.
“You have to allow yourself to love Eric. It’s a key part of the human experience.”
Eric’s eyes flashed and Tyler actually took a step back. “You did not just fucking say that to me!” Eric was vaguely aware that he was shaking. He was also vaguely aware that he shouldn’t be getting into this with Tyler. It was Tyler for fuck’s sake. The haze that had settled over his mind made it hard to act on any of this though. All he could react on was the hurt, the humiliation and the anger, so much closer to the surface than it had been in years.
“What gives you the fucking right to stand around offering advice on the fucking human condition?” Eric hissed, taking a step closer to Tyler, “You don’t know a single fucking thing about me. You don’t know what it’s like to wake up and find the love of your fucking life dead! You don’t know what it’s like to watch your world fall to pieces around you just when you had finally dared to think it might actually be worth something! You don’t know what it’s like to lose your family, to lose everything! And to know it’s your own fucking fault! So don’t stand there telling me love is part of the fucking human condition! I KNOW what it is to love!”
Tyler stared back at him, his own eyes wide as he tried to process the words.
“Eric, I…” he paused and looked at him concerned, “What happened?”
Eric stared back at him, feeling utterly defeated. His lungs didn’t seem to want to take in any air, and his heart didn’t seem to want to keep pumping. He turned away from Tyler, running a hand across his face.
“His name was Anthony, and we were seventeen…”

***

Tyler sat next to Eric, not actually touching, but close enough so Eric knew he was there. He didn’t know how long they had been there, but it felt like the world had shifted in that time. Tyler always thought he was very in-tune to people’s emotions, and a lot of things about Eric made a hell of a lot more sense now.
“I destroy what I love,” Eric said quietly, his voice rough from emotion and the raging he’d done, “She’s better off without me.”
Tyler shook his head, shifting slightly on the hard floor. He wasn’t used to sitting still like this. “Don’t you think that’s up to her? You can’t decide something like that for her.”
“I…she…haven’t you listened to anything I’ve said?”
“Of course I have. It’s cause and effect. You’re mad because she makes you want to get better and you hate yourself for it. But you shouldn’t really. And you really shouldn’t write this off under the guise of it being for her own good. She deserves better than that. You owe it to yourself to do better than that.”
Eric merely shrugged. Tyler watched him carefully. Eric wanted this, but he had no fight left in him.
“It’s ok to love her. He’d be happy. He wouldn’t want you to be alone forever. He’d want someone to take care of you for him.”
Eric rested his head in his hands, and Tyler finally reached out and touched him, tentatively resting his hand on his shoulder.
“I don’t want to forget him” Eric mumbled, barely audible.
“You never will.”
Eric too a shaky breath, and lifted his head. “What is it with you, Tyler? Why do you know everyone’s secrets?”
“Poison” Tyler replied shrugging. Eric looked confused so he continued, “You know, you have to suck the poison from the wound? My dad always said people where the same and that sometimes they needed someone to draw it out for them.”
Eric blinked once before leaning his head back against the wall. “Not the weirdest thing you’ve ever said.”
Tyler shrugged and got up, figuring that if Eric could make quips, he was ready to have some time on his own.

***

Phoebe could not find her sister anywhere. She had been searching everywhere since Eric’s impromptu stage invasion, figuring that it would lead to all sorts of trouble. She was getting kind of worried, cause when Kill pulled a disappearing act it was hardly ever a good sign.
“Tyler!” she called, spotting him coming through the stage door, “Have you seen Kill?”
He nodded, and threw a thumb over his shoulder. “I was just talking to her outside.”
Phoebe moved towards the exit but Tyler grabbed her arm. “Uh I think she wants some time alone, Boss.”
“Tyler, I’m her sister.” she replied as if that explained everything, levelling him with a withering stare at the same time.
“But it’s about her and Eric, we’ve finally figured something out.”
“You know something, don’t you?” Phoebe asked, narrowing her eyes.
He smiled serenely back at her. She looked at him shrewdly for a moment.
“You sure she doesn’t need me?” she asked and when Tyler nodded his affirmation, she shrugged, “Okay, but I’m holding you responsible.”

***

Kill knocked on Eric’s door, her mind still reeling from what Tyler had told her. She shifted nervously from foot to foot, chewing on her thumb nail as she waited. After what felt like an eternity, Eric opened the door and she looked at him, really looked at him, taking in his gaunt frame, messy hair, drawn face and bloodshot eyes.
“Kill, I…” he began surprised, eyes searching his face. She simply stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him. His own immediately settled around her, words dying on his lips.
“You should have told me,” she murmured into his chest. He stiffened but she held on tightly. “I’m so sorry Eric. I’m so, so sorry.”
“So am I,” he replied, hugging her closer.
She was surprised to find she was crying. Eric pulled back to look down at her, cupping her cheek. She dragged in a breath like it was the last she’d ever have. He closed the door and pulled her over to his bed, wrapping his arms around her and holding her firm against him as she clung to him in turn. After a few moments, when her breathing returned to normal, she looked up at him, meeting his red-rimmed eyes. “Tell me about him?” she asked softly, hesitantly.
Eric kissed her hair and pulled her close again. She rested her head in the crook of his neck and settled in, listening to dawn as they helped each other chase the dark away.

Music: The Long Way Home - The Material
Mood: Geeky

I've figured out every hour in every day, except tonight

Prompt: There wasn't really one. Just Amped bringing its drama.
Characters: Kiley Marshall, Phoebe Marshall, Chris Fraser, Harrison Blake, Tyler Wilcox, Eric Hayes, Tristan Emery (Amped)
Timeline: Start of Season 2.
Word count: 4, 162 (Total). This part, 1, 924.
Author’s comments: So I just wrote this in the last couple of hours, channeling that inner angst and self doubt. It's been a while and it feels good just to churn something out again, so forgive any dodginess. It isn't really structured properly, more broken and offering bits and pieces of the day of ESM's first homecoming show. Different perspectives, mostly Kill though. There is a hell of a lot of backstory happening with Amped, we just can't help ourselves, so this plays on that. I'll post the rest tomorrow night.

- - -

The student union still looked exactly the same. It hardly seemed fair, Kill thought as she looked around the room. In the months that had passed since her last visit here, her life had irrevocably changed and it seemed wrong somehow that there wasn’t a physical manifestation of this. Her eyes danced across the stage, the bar and the tables, dodging memories as they went. Everything changes, but everything stays the same. She ignored the dull ache in her stomach, stopping her thoughts from dwelling on the look, the smell, and the feel of the place, all of which only served as a reminder of the past. In fact, Kill stopped thought altogether and merely concentrated on breathing. In. Out. Constant. Safe. Breathing was neutral ground, a necessity that allowed everything else to just fade into the background if she focussed enough. It was the only was she could keep going, the only way she could keep living her dream. She had wanted this life, she still wanted it. So what if there was something else she wanted too, something more. That didn’t matter anymore. She couldn’t afford to dwell on the what-ifs and still live this dream of hers. So she masked her emotions and did her best to never think beyond the present.

Grounded again, Kill ran her fingertips along the edge of a table, its surface sticky with the evidence of many great nights. Her eyes found Tyler as he pulled the new bassist along beside him – Jim? Dom? Kill never could remember his name. It had been possible for Blake to record most of the bass and synth for the album, but in the end the cold truth had remained. They needed a new member if they were ever going to play live again. They had put it off as long as they could, subconsciously Kill had thought, but now the new guy would have his first show in the very place it had all started. The symmetry of it all would normally have amused her, but Kill had little thought for it now. The only way she could keep up this masking-of-emotions business was if she thought only of the band and her role within it. It was all that mattered. No, it was the only thing she would allow to matter.

A hand on her shoulder made her jump and she turned to find Chris grinning at her. She recognised the mischievous look in his eyes immediately and returned his smile brightly. It was always a welcome distraction when Chris was scheming and he knew she was always in. With only a slight nod of his head, they set off in the direction Tyler had disappeared in.

***

Phoebe watched her sister surreptitiously from the opposite side of the venue. Not that Kill would have noticed if she had simply been staring, but that in itself was part of the problem. She was so wrapped up in watching for any sort of emotion from Kill that she didn’t notice Blake approaching until he rested his chin on her shoulder.
“What are you thinking about?” he asked, wrapping his arms around her.
“Nothing.” she replied, leaning back against him. She was still getting used to the new dynamic in their relationship, but she’d be lying if she said it wasn’t damned nice.
“Nothing, nothing? Or my boyfriend’s so hot I have to spend my free time puzzling over it, nothing?”
Phoebe turned to him, arching an eyebrow. “Not everything’s about you, Harry.”
“Shocking!” Blake quipped, looking scandalised.
“I know.”
Phoebe turned back to watch her sister as she absentmindedly trailed her fingers over a table. She was staring into the distance, as if completely oblivious to her surrounding. Phoebe frowned again and Blake noticed, following her gaze.
“Kill?” he asked, looking back at Phoebe.
“Yeah. I’m worried about her.”
“Why? She’s fine.”
“No,” Phoebe said, shaking her head, “She’s not.”
Blake turned his attention back to Kill again just as she smiled brightly at the newly arrived Chris. He watched the two of them lean together conspiratorially before they set off after Tyler and Jim.
“Yeah, she is.” he insisted, “Look at her, she’s just like she always is. Into the band and up for a challenge.”
Phoebe pulled away from him, still frowning after her sister. “But that’s all she is.”
“Ok, you’re losing me here.”
“When’s the last time she’s shown any interest, emotion even, for anything outside of the band? It’s like she’s not in there when she’s not working.”
“She’s always been way into the band though.” Blake countered, still looking confused.
“You’re just seeing what she wants you to see” she said, shooting him an exasperated look, “I know her better than to fall for that.”

***

Kill was still trying to get washing powder out of her hair, evidence of the latest practical joke, when Blake clapped his hands together.
“Right,” he began, game face on and sounding all business, “Better get on with sound check then.”
Everyone scrambled to get organised and Kill watched as he-of-no-name slung his bass across his skinny frame. She cocked her head slightly, one hand still fluffing her hair, as she tried to make sense of the scene in front of her. It simply refused to fit into her picture of the band, no matter how much she wished it would.
“Kill?” Blake called, startling her out of thought.
She looked up at him confused, meeting his questioning stare. “Hmm?”
“You ready?”
“Wha - Oh! Oh, yeah. Sorry.”
She scrambled across to the sound booth as realisation dawned on her. She ignored the pang she felt when she looked back up at them from her position, and bit the inside of her cheek when she noticed her hands shaking as they hovered over the controls. Sound was something Eric had been teaching her and she wasn’t used to doing it alone. In and out, she reminded herself firmly, forcing a smile. None of the guys seemed to have picked up on anything weird, which was a small mercy at least.
“Okay, Blake. Let’s go.” she said loudly, amazed at how steady her voice was. She threw herself into the work, blissfully losing all thought in the noise for the next half hour.

***

Phoebe entered the dressing room to find it deserted except for Kill. She was sitting on the floor staring at the opposite wall without apparently seeing it.
“Where is everyone?” Phoebe asked, watching her sister blink a few times before turning to look at her.
“Outside. Smoke break, I think. You know how they get with this hurry-up-and-wait business.”
Phoebe nodded and watched her for a few minutes. Kill didn’t say anything more, instead dropping her gaze to a book she held in her lap.
“Is everything ok, kiddo?”
Kill’s head snapped up immediately. “Of course, why wouldn’t it be?”
“I don’t know. You just seem a bit out of it.”
“I’m just tired.”
“You know you can always talk to me, right?”
“Of course,” Kill replied, smiling, “But everything’s fine. You really don’t have to keep asking.”
“No harm in checking,” Phoebe shrugged, “I’m going to find the others. You wanna come?”
Kill shook her head, eyes firmly on her book again. Phoebe took the hint, letting her gaze linger for a few more seconds before leaving the room. She didn’t miss the twitch of Kill’s jaw.

***

The room was slowly filling up under Kill’s watchful gaze, the air buzzing with excited chattering and anticipation. Nearly everyone on campus was turning out for the big homecoming show, all looking forward to a good time. Her eyes flicked across the room, taking in the ever increasing amount of faces on every round and searching for familiar ones. The minute her gaze landed on the bar, she felt a slight thrill of recognition thrum through her as she spotted the lean, blonde figure of what could only be Tristan Emery. He leant forward to grab two drinks, the perfect line of his back clear in her line of vision. She had to hand it to the boy, he really was gorgeous. She followed him as he moved through the throngs crowding the bar until he reached a table. As he rested his hand on the occupant’s shoulder in a familiar movement, Kill’s heart found a new home in her larynx. Eric twisted around in his seat to accept the drink, and she quickly moved away to rejoin the others. It didn’t matter. It really didn’t. There was no reason for it to matter. If she was honest with herself, maybe she’d been hoping to see him while at the same time she really hadn’t wanted to. But honesty wasn’t high on her list of priorities these days. It didn’t change anything. He left them. He left her. He always told her nobody waited for anybody, and clearly he lived by his own rules. At that moment, Kill wished she could live by his rules too.

***

The venue was buzzing with excitement. Everything had started out so ordinarily. The new bassist seemed to struggle a bit but everyone was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. Before they could really see if their faith would be returned, Eric Hayes was on stage, practically pushing the poor guy off. The crowd went mad. This was Evil Spacemonkey as they were meant to be. This was everyone’s dreams come true. It was definitely shaping up as a night to remember.

***

Kill couldn’t believe it. She simply could not believe it. After everything, he just took to the stage and joined in…like he belonged there. Which of course he did, but that didn’t make it any easier to watch. It didn’t stop her heart from trying to simultaneously jump for joy and shrivel into a tiny insignificant speck, never to be seen again. No. She couldn’t think like this. It wasn’t like that between them, that much he’d made clear. She had no reason to act like it was. That would be pathetic. He was good for the band, and the band was all that mattered. Nodding to herself as to affirm her resolve, she continued stacking the boxes.
“Kill,” he spoke so softly, she would have thought she’d imagine it if not for the feeling of a physical presence behind her. She straightened slightly but didn’t turn around.
“Eric.”
There was shuffling and she stiffened.
“Please don’t.” he said, still so softly.
She squeezed her eyes shut quickly, before turning around. Her eyes immediately locked with his blue gaze and she had to look away before continuing, “Don’t want?”
“Don’t do this.”
“Do what?” She made the mistake of locking eyes again.
“This! This pretending everything’s ok. Because it’s not. Nothing’s been ok, not since –”
He didn’t get a chance to finish because Kill kissed him. She kissed him with all the anger, fear and passion she’d been bottling up for the past three months, and he kissed back. When they pulled apart, Kill drew back her right arm and punched him.
“Jesus!” Eric exclaimed incredulously, hand against his jaw.
“I won't let you fuck this band around again,” she said coolly, glaring at him and refusing to acknowledge the throb of her knuckles, “You’re either in for the long haul, or you’re out.”
Eric stared at her for a minute. Without saying a word, he turned and left the room. Kill didn’t even notice that she had started shaking. She merely sat on the nearest box, cradling her hand against her chest with her eyes fixed firmly on the door.

***

Music: I fill up the time - Rose
Mood: Accomplished

Goodbye my hopeless dreams

I have this song stuck in my head [Almost Lover by A Fine Frenzy] and I have decided I want it in the final episode of Amped season 1. For the whole Eric/Kill debacle. I realise this probably makes no sense, but I just wanted to write it down before I forgot.

I've done a 180 back to going to London again instead of LA. For one thing, I have more time to save. And I should theoretically actually have enough to do it. Theoretically being the key word here. This latest change of mind occured mostly because its snowing like mad there atm. Snowing! And even though snow is just glorified rain, I still have an innocent fascination and glee for it that comes from minimal exposure. Its a novelty and it makes London seem like the more magical option. Not that it'll be snowing when I go, but that's not really the point. I can also justify this whole madness as a legitimate trip for the benefit of my future (career). It could be like a screenwriting weekend! We could do work, and discuss, and listen to professionals etc etc. Aren't I clever...don't answer that.

Anyway, sticking to this nonsense with my wanderlust, I've been thinking about my end of year trip. Don't think I'll do the whole prolonged trip that was originally planned. Currently considering New York then Chicago (for christmas...despite it's Planet Hoth qualities). Or if I get a round trip ticket perhaps San Fran - Chicago - New York - London - home?

Then the next year, Canada. The year after...well who knows. Perhaps another Europe tour, Austria and Germany. Maybe with a mid-year break to Japan thrown in somewhere.

I only get discount travel till I'm 26. I figure I should make the most of it, and especially before I start a proper job...whatever that may be.

I'm very weird you know. Most people feel more settled once they've been away. Me? I just keep wanting more. I guess essentially I'm just greedy.

In case all this rambling isn't clear, work is exceedingly boring. Even though we are really busy, I don't have much to do other than come up with half-baked schemes and nurse this headache. I blame the heat quite frankly, and airconditioing, it's making me nauseous. So yes, it's still hot as hell with no end in sight, and I don't understand why there are this many sick people here. Everyone is extra grumpy too. All I want to do is rest my head on my desk here, it's so nice and cool...

Music: A symphony of coughing and sniffing (in four parts)
Mood: Grumpy

Keep us comatose but audible

Forcing myself back into writing with the flash fiction business. It's about time. Honestly, you'd think my Honours thing will simply write itself in excellent style the way I've been floating around.

Prompt: Double prompt from Abbi's flash 'I hate myself' and a pic from my prompts file.

Characters: Kiley and Phoebe Marshall (Amped)
Timeline: About five months before ESM form
Word count: 1,439
Author’s comments: I don't know really. I wanted to show Kill as being grumpy and maybe a bit insolent, but when she realises her sister needs her, she's there for it. I'm beginning to think she really needs to be needed. She wants to solve everyone's problems even if she has no idea what they are or how to go about it. Probably why she can't leave Eric alone.

***

Kiley Marshall hated a lot of things. She hated the feel of wet grass under her bare feet. She hated the smell of vanilla, especially in cleaning products. She hated cinnamon sticks in her hot chocolate, and the smell of nail glue. She also hated driving at night. Driving in general wasn’t exactly one of her favourite things to do. In fact, she never even wanted to get her licence in the first place. Her dad had started nagging her about if before she was even legal, and like any good teenager, the more he carried on, the more she struggled against it. It wasn’t just misplaced teenage rebellion; her father was a terrible teacher. Kill was convinced sticking a needle in her eye would have been better than being trapped in a confined space with him while he gave vague instructions and then made that disapproving noise at the back of his throat when she invariably screwed up. The argument went on for weeks until finally, Phoebe offered to teach Kill herself.
“I don’t need a licence,” Kill had insisted, glowering at her sister.
“Oh come on, you never know when you might need it.”
“This is London Pheebs, it’s called public transport.”
Phoebe had just rolled her eyes and taken a course which Kill had thought to be entirely unfair.
“You’ll never be any use to a touring band without a licence.”
Kill had glowered at her sister, wanting to say that she wouldn’t be of use to one anyway, but she had recognised that look in Phoebe’s eyes. It was the one that meant business, the “resistance is futile!” look.
Of course, Phoebe never really got around to the actual teaching. Her job made her life pretty hectic, and she was always running from one place to the other, apparently never standing still. Kill had envied her that and with that reason, she had finally sucked it up and faced the torture her father dubbed ‘teaching’. In retrospect, it probably worked out for the better – half the time Phoebe’s driving was two minutes shy of a car wreck. That didn’t mean Kill enjoyed it, from the monotony to the traffic, it was hardly her idea of a good time.
“Jesus,” Kill muttered as a car rounded the corner, high beams momentarily blinding her. It was only a few seconds before they dimmed apologetically, after all who expected anyone to be on the road at 1am on a Thursday?
“Jesus,” she said again, swiping at a stray hair irritably as the wipers swiped at the rain. The rhythmic thud was almost hypnotic as the rubber drew bleary wet lines across the glass when any stray light fell across it. She sincerely hoped it wouldn't be like this all the way to bloody Birmingham. Birmingham! Kill sighed and turned up the music. It was going to be a long night.

~

Phoebe was sitting on the kerb when Kill arrived. She pulled up and was about to switch off the car, but before she could even move, Phoebe was already clambering into the passenger seat. Kill cocked her head.
“Err…Pheebs?”
“Just drive,” Phoebe replied with her eyes fixed firmly in front of her.
Kill sighed and rubbed her neck. “Do you think I could get some coffee – ”
“Please…please, I just want to get out of here.”
Phoebe’s voice broke slightly on the first word. Kill turned to really look at her, taking in her slumped posture, her blank face, the way her hair was plastered to her forehead and dripping slightly and she didn’t even seem to notice. She frowned, uncertain if she should say something or not. This was the indomitable Phoebe Marshall after all. Force of nature. The one with all the answers. Or at least, she had always had all the answers to Kill’s questions.
“Please.”
Kill bit her lip and shifted back into drive.

~

The caffeine rushed through her system almost immediately, and for the hundredth time in her short life, Kill thanked the illustrious god of the coffee plant. She brought the cup to her lips and just breathed deeply. It might be service station coffee, but goddamnit, it was coffee. After being dragged out of bed in the middle of the night on a cross country drive she sure as hell wasn’t going to be picky. She had grabbed a couple of Red Bulls for good measure too, and now stood in front of the plate glass window watching Phoebe dozing in the car. Well, Kill thought she was dozing. She could just be pretending so she could avoid talking, but that was hardly necessary, Kill had no idea what to say anyway. Still, she supposed she had to say something. She drowned the rest of her coffee in one go, and moved back to the car. Phoebe didn’t even stir as she slammed the door behind her.
“Red bull?” she asked, half-heartedly holding the can out to her sister. When no response was forthcoming, Kill sighed and placed the cans in the cup holders. She moved to turn the key in the ignition but stopped, turning in her seat to face her sister again.
“Pheebs?” she began, “Pheebs look at me please.”
Phoebe sniffled. “I’m trying to sleep here.”
“Yeah, funny thing, I was trying to do that not too long ago myself.”
Kill waited, but her sister seemed completely shut off. Taking a deep breath, she decided to go for the obvious.
“Phoebe, what happened?” she asked gently, resting a hand on her arm, “Did something happen with Van?”
Phoebe jerked upright like a current had run through her. She rounded on Kill, eyes burning. “I don’t want to talk about Van!”
Kill gaped at her, startled at the severity of the reaction. Before she could respond, Phoebe slumped back into her seat, looking so utterly defeated, Kill could hardly believe it was actually her sister.
“Just take me home Kiley, please” she mumbled, turning her face back to the window, “I just want to go home.”

~

Kill pulled up outside Phoebe’s apartment feeling utterly spent. It wasn’t just the five hours worth of driving in the middle of the bloody night that did it, it was the sense that her sister was falling apart and there was nothing she could do about it. They hadn’t spoken at all on the drive back into town and except for the brief exchange when Kill tried to convince Phoebe to come back home with her to which Pheebs had reacted violently against, there was nothing but a draining silence in the car. Kill had no idea what had happened and she wasn’t sure she wanted to know. Whatever it was, it had to have been bad. She’d never seen Phoebe like this, and she couldn’t even begin to imagine what could have led to it. All she knew was that she desperately wanted to take it away. Whatever was crushing her sister, she wanted to make it disappear and make sure it never came back. She had no idea how to do that though. If there was one thing Kill hated more than anything else, more than cinnamon sticks or vanilla or driving at night, it was feeling helpless. So when Phoebe eventually managed to get out of the car, and stumble along the path to her apartment block, all Kill could think to do was to run after her and just draw her into the biggest, tightest hug she could possible give. Phoebe seemed resistant at first, unwilling to be touched, but eventually she relented and allowed Kill to just hold on to her for a bit.
“Do you want me to stay?” Kill asked quietly.
“No.” Phoebe drew in a shaky breath, shaking her head slightly. “No, I just need space. And time. Time’s good.”
Kill pulled back to look at her. “Are you sure?”
Phoebe nodded.
“Call me, ok?”
Phoebe nodded again.
“Will you be – ” Kill began, but Pheebs interrupted, waving her hand.
“Fine, fine. Go. I’ll call.”
Kill took one last uncertain look at her before moving back to the car. She buckled her seatbelt and watched her sister’s form disappear into her apartment block. Taking a shaky breath of her own, Kill pulled away from the kerb. She ran two red lights on the way home, the last one earning her an angry beep from another driver. Kill found she didn’t care. She also didn’t care whether a licence made her more useful to a touring band. All she cared about was that for once she could actually be of some use to her sister. Huh, Kill thought as she finally pulled into the driveway, the ends justify the means. Who would have thought it?

Music: Good to know if I ever need attention - Brand New
Mood: Tired

Etched with marks, but I can deal

Prompt: This was spontaneously prompted by the following two lines - “The palest ink is better than the sharpest memory” [Chinese Proverb] and “I will follow you into the dark” [song by Death Cab For Cutie].
Characters: Eric Hayes (Amped), allusions to Kiley Marshall and Anthony Galvin.
Timeline: Shortly after the end of season 1
Word count: 446
Author’s comments: Another tortured Eric fic, oh the poor boy, stuck with an evil creator like me. Not that I’ve been alone in the creation of his demons, mind you. Still, I just had the buzz to do something a bit more introspective. ESM have gone off to record an album but he’s stayed behind, unwilling to leave uni when it’s the only thing that he’s held on to for so long. He was unable to actually explain this to Kill of course, so there’s a whole other level of angst to be had on her behalf. So he’s sitting around feeling conflicted, still longing for what he lost and for what he’s given up. I also just realise how appropriate this song is - “That face is tearing holes in me again.” Actually, I should do another one based on the last line of the song – “I’m holding on by letting go of you.” Hmmm *ponders*

***

This isn’t the first time.

My vices are all lined up. The drugs. The booze. The sex. It all comes back to one thing. Your face swims in my mind, blurred by an ever present guilt. With you, I was whole. I had a purpose. I had plans. You made me want it. For a moment, I saw the future and it was magic. The problem with magic is that it doesn’t last. It’s all smoke and mirrors and quick hands. I wasn’t fast enough. I missed a trick. Everything imploded. Everything but me.

Self destruction.

I kept going for you. That didn’t mean I had to enjoy it. Hell, I couldn’t enjoy it. There was nothing left in your absence, time stretching ahead to the precipe of a yawning cavern. In a way I followed you into the dark. Mine was just a living hell strewn with nameless faces, interchangeable scenes, and hateful flings…all just to accentuate the fact that nothing meant anything, and there was no consolation.

Then there was her.

A persistent image, both impossible and infuriating. Splashes of colour and life, threatening the careful boundaries I carved in order to justify my existence, to tolerate it. Something stirred and with it came the shame, the betrayal. Everything I had was tied to you. I lost myself. She found the pieces, and with it came dreams and inspiration. She made me want it. The edges of my existence glowed in technicolour. How could I let her get that close? There was meaning again, and it was dangerous. I had no right to want this. I didn’t deserve it.

I was right.

Your shadow lingers, I can trace the echo of it. It’s an unconscious move I have perfected in the years I’ve spent alone. She left when I couldn’t. I wouldn’t. I can’t leave you behind. I can’t let go, and lose what little of you I have left. I also can’t hold her back. What would you say now, if you were with me and we were watching the disintegration of some poor lovelorn soul? Would you lean against me, shaking your head, and outlining the pros of just going for it? After all, you always were a hopeless romantic.

These thoughts tear holes through me.

I line them up metaphorically, logical and neat. The sex. The booze. The drugs. Not to think, not to feel, just to exist and forget that any of it is real. I knew you’d haunt me forever, welcomed it in fact, but I never thought I’d be haunted by another ghost of missed chances.

This isn’t the first time. I don’t have the strength to make it the last.

Music: Straitjacket feeling - The All American Rejects
Mood: Pensive

With every mistake, we must surely be learning

The first of my new writing exercise regime.

The prompt for this was the following line from Hey Jude by The Beatles (of course) - The minute you let her under your skin, then you begin to make it better. It features Eric and Kill from Amped, and comes in at 844 words. It's probably not the best, but hey, practice makes perfect (and for those who don't know, no, I don't write mindless romantic dribble, there's some real shit going on in Amped, but this is just a snippet of a bigger whole...all these exercises will be like that, I am more trying to just write as opposed to actually convey an entire story in a few hundered words, so yeah, just keep that in mind.)

***

How did things come to this? When exactly did he let things get so out of his control that he ended up punching some or other tour manager and standing in the flowerbed outside a label party? Eric wished he knew.
Another wretch from the girl next to him distracted him from his thoughts and he turned to her, rubbing soothing circles on her back as she doubled over. He didn’t bother masking his concern as Kill shook with the force of her body exorcising the litres of Snakebite she’d downed during the night. Her hair fell haphazardly across her face, sticking slightly to a pale cheek. Eric noticed her hair was getting longer and more dishevelled. They were all going that way. There was hardly time to sleep on tour, let alone maintain hairstyles. Of course Phoebe had been threatening to tie them all down and shear them, but Tyler had been a little too keen on helping and no one really wanted to let him near a pair of scissors if they could help it.
He smiled at the thought and almost unconsciously brushed the stray hair behind her ear. He liked it that little bit longer. It made her seem more fragile somehow, like someone who might actually need him. Kill’s eyes snapped open at the motion, and when she looked at him, it was both grateful and angry. There was something else too. Something that made his stomach tighten but he quickly suppressed it, forcing himself to deny he even saw it in the green depths of her gaze in the first place.
He looked away quickly and she straightened. Yeah sure, she needed him. She needed him like he needed Tyler’s Metallica binges when he had a hangover.
“I don’t get you Hayes,” she said quietly. He titled his head slightly at the sound, but didn’t turn to face her. He could imagine her perfectly, outlined in the haze of the not-quite-full moon surrounded by trampled flowers, with her hands on her hips and her eyes narrowed.
He couldn’t do this. Not to her. He didn’t deserve it, and she certainly deserved better. If he turned around and met that gaze, the one that was always searching and which always seemed to see too much, he wouldn’t be able to turn away, and he knew that he should. He was broken and a part of him didn’t want to be fixed.
He scrunched his eyes and tried to hold onto the feelings, the loss and the guilt that kept him up so many nights. It was too easy to forget things when he was with Kill, too easy to want to be whole again. He sighed and opened his eyes only to find her standing in front of him, concern outweighing the wealth of emotion in her eyes. God, she had such honest eyes.
“Are you ok?” She touched his arm and he started, backing away from her. Kill immediately brought up her defences, fire in her voice again as she stared him down.
“What do you want from me?” she spat, hand on her hip just as he’d imagined it.
Eric opened his mouth to respond only to find he had no witty reply, no sarcastic observation to hide behind. He tripped over his words and cursed his overenthusiastic alcohol intake which was no doubt to blame for this entire fucking mess.
“I – I want to love you.” The words tumbled out on their own accord and as Eric heard them cutting through the night, he blinked in surprise to find that they were in fact his. Kill stared at him, a mirror of his own reaction.
“I want to let myself love you,” he said again, barely more than a whisper.
She shook her head, slowly, as if rolling the phrase around her head. She didn't take her eyes off him before she moved, closing the distance between them again.
“You don’t know what you want, do you?”
Eric dropped his eyes to the floor as he gave a barely audible reply. “I wish I did.”
Kill said nothing. Instead, she took his hand and squeezed lightly. He stared at their hands for a second before he laced his fingers through hers. What was it about his girl that always put him so off his guard? She was determined to break through his best defences and he wanted to let her through. But he knew where that would end. Still, the basic human contact, the comfort of being touched, of being cared for…it felt better than he was willing to admit to himself. It all came down to basic risk assessment, and he was far too drunk to make any proper decisions.
“We should get back to the van” he said finally.
“Yeah, we should.”
She shivered and Eric extracted his hand and wrapped his arm around her shoulders. She smiled up at him, wrapping her own around his waist. Together they walked down the sloping driveway and into the night, neither one saying a word.

Music: I've just seen a face - Jim Sturgess
Mood: Busy

I'll swallow my pride if you'll stay for the years

And today I know that tomorrow is going to shine golden and bring our hearts back home

I'm floating down on my little bubble of low-level madness. I had some really loopy random thoughts yesterday...one even pertaining to the nature of immortality, which is a subject I spend much time pondering. Utterly depressing as unending life (or death, depending what incarnation you find yourself in) may be, it can also be completely fantastic. Imagine what you could do with all that time. All the things you could learn! It's gorgeous. Of course you end up alone and miserable, but hey, everything has a price. Unless of course you are a Cullen, in which case you can have a happy immortal family...in comparison to Ann Rice's vampires, who just don't roll that way. Lestat especially has a bad habit of trying to make himself some company and then running off, or letting them run off. It always reminds me of that line in Troy where Achilles is talking about the gods with Briseis and he says "we men are wrecthed things." I always adapt the line to suit my purpose at the time, in this case, we immortals are wretched things. It's relevant, ok! I love that scene, "The gods envy us. They envy us because we are mortal, because any moment might be our last. Everything is more beautiful because we're doomed. You will never be lovelier than you are now. We will never be here again."

For the record, I somehow incorporated the movie into an English essay in Year 12, that's why I can recall these lines.

What I find funny is how, sometimes, you'll come across something in some random spot and then suddenly it is everywhere. I came across the term "deus ex machina" on the Tropes Wiki site and since then I have found it in books, articles, even uni readings...and pretty much just everywhere. I went years without seeing it used and then suddenly, it's there. It's much like the Lone Ranger in fact. It's bizarre. All it does however is make me want to watch The Matrix.

My dad is so cute when he runs away from the creepy aliens of whatever I'm watching. He took one look at a bit of 'Small Worlds' and stalked off muttering to himself about things related to Doctor Who and weird creatures. He hates it. I taunt him regularly. Although strangely enough, his objection to aliens does not extend to the talking keychain I acquired today in a moment of weakness. I had to hide my keys cause he kept pressing the "Exterminate! Exterminate!" button. And now my mum wants to take it to work so she can walk around and brandish the "You must be upgraded!" one at people.

See, then people wonder where I get it from.

My purchases for the day did not limit itself to fangirlish acquisitions (although I did get the Torchwood yearbook while I was at it - nothing says fangirl quite like flagrant merch acquisition), I also purchased 2 pairs of jeans (black and worn traditional) and they're gorgeously long. Well not long long, but longer than I am accustomed to having. I love finding long jeans, it's such a rare occassion *revels* Oh and I got an umbrella from Dangerfield after freaking the girl out quite a bit. I forget that most people find it disconcerting when someone wanders in cicrles with a blank look on their faces and touching everything. I was trying to waste time, what can I say? Anyway, the umbrella has skulls on it. It looks pretty flimsy on closer inspection, but it'll do. Hype are still selling those psuedo Wellingtons, at 30% off at the moment. I'm wondering whether I should get a pair...cause I really am going to need waterproof shoes and Docs are heavy. Decisions, decisions. Once I have shoes, I believe I have everything for the trip...well except a plug. But in general it's all sorted. Which is good seeing as I'll be on a plane two weeks from today.

All this madness because I had to go into uni this morning with my stupid Honours forms. Camilla wasn't there, but I was prepared today and left it there along with an envelope so she could simply sign it and send it back to me. Aren't I clever? Come on, someone say I'm clever. She emailed me earlier to say it was in the post. So viola. Once it gets here, I can drop the tree's worth of paperwork in at the Tower and it's all done. Finally.

On my way to uni, which I may point out is exceedinly creepy when there is no one there - just a sleepy security gaurd on the ground floor and the crazy computer lab doors making weird noises and swinging open when you walk past; I saw a funny ad on the bus this morning for a beer company, I think it's Bluetongue beer, and it says "No lizards were harmed in the making of this beer. However one was squashed by our delivery truck in Perth." Tongue in cheek. Very nice.

Oh oh, while walking home from the station (yes walking home, and it was quite hot) I was thinking about scriptwriters and what they're thinking when they kill off their characters. I mean, what makes you think "hmmm, let's kill one of them"? I could never imagine killing one of the ESM crew. How horrible. I was trying to think of who I would kill off if I had to, and I just couldn't do it. Although Tyler would probably be the most likely candidate. Though I suspect Abbi will shoot me for even following this particular train of thought.

Oh. My. God. The whole fangirl/merch thing just reminded me (yes, four paragraphs later, I think it's clear that my brain ain't wired all that sharply at the moment), I have misplaced my Teenagers MCR shirt. I am not impressed. I keep going to put it on and then not finding it. I love that shirt, it's a bit big but it doesn't look stupid. And it's Teenagers. Teenagers! I don't know what the hell could have happened to it. I want it, damn it!

Sigh.

I want a desktop wallpaper that says "You can't always get what you want, but sometimes you get what you need" with Gwen, Jack and Ianto. Not surprisingly I had this thought while walking home as well. And indeed, I was listening to the song. As always, trusty iPod Beckettoo is made of awesome. I guess I could make my own wallpaper but I haven't really mastered the art of backgrounds on photoshop, and since having photoshop I have been reluctant to use anything else, even though I have a much better technical grasp of Corel.

You would think I'd have something better to do with my time, but no, I am a useless uni grad now. Watch me waste space.

I realise I didn't have an obsession of the week last Friday, so here's a belated obsession. It's a song called 'Doomsday and the echo' by Lovedrug. It recalls elements of Coldplay and Jack's Mannequin, probably the piano's doing, and is just a really gorgeous soft song. It's a soundtrack song, in my opinion. An honourable mention also goes out to 'I promise you walls' by Shiny Toy Guns which I have just recently fallen in love with.

Well, I've rambled most efficiently. But hey, at least it isn't about pigeons! Long story, don't ask.

Music: Just say you're not in to it - Mayday Parade
Mood: Tired

Every mountain scaled for you

I have done nothing.

Nothing.

There are only two words adequate for this situation. You guessed it. Epic. Fail.

Although technically I haven't done nothing, I re-arranged my flair board on Facebook. That is something, meagre and pathetic, but something.

I have however not done any uni work, and again failed to acquire a Halloween outfit.

But hey, the surgery is closed tomorrow so I figured I can write my piece for novel writing then...I have to have it by Monday so Ally can do her review of it...and I have to do hers. I completely forgot about that assignment. I hate the sneaky ones that you forget about then suddenly, bam, you have actual work to do. It's outrageous.

Hm. Children's writing is done. Just going to hand in the first chapter. That's been done since the second week of uni. I have the whole story neatly planned out in my head so I can explain it for workshopping too. So that's really not a problem.

Which leaves Screenwriting. Woe. I should have written the vampire script. Grumble. I kinda wish I hadn't taken Screenwriting this semester. I was so excited because of the whole Amped thing, and in general I've always had a bit of a soft spot for scripts. But all I've come to conclude from this class is that Screenwriting really isn't my thing. It's too repetitive, pedantic, structured and annoying. It's a form in which everything has been made as difficult as it can possibly be. Writing comes naturally to me, when I'm in that space, I just write without thinking, it doesn't even feel like a cognitive process...but with scripts, I don't know. Now that I know the theory and rules and regulations, I can't simply distill the writing into script form like I was doing before. I'm sitting there, thinking, oh shit, I write this now but it's going to have to be rewritten a thousand times, condensed and expanded into pitches and treatments, blah blah blah. It's no wonder it takes people so long to write scripts. I feel like Frodo having to set off and destroy the ring. I don't like it. It's hard; it feels like work; and I don't want to do it anymore. And that sucks, because what am I meant to do with Amped? We've created this whole universe, and I love those characters like they're real people and I want to do something with them, but I cannot get my mind back into the right frame to write these scripts. I'm thinking maybe it should be redone in novella form. A series of books. Older teen audience maybe, same one as the tv show would have been marketed at. Or maybe I just need time to get over the academia inspired horror. Guess we'll see.

So anyway, obsession of the week. There be two! First up, 'Sex on fire' by the Kings of Leon. This song is some sort of orally transmitted disease. It gets in your head and rots there. Pleasant. I know a lot of people can't stand it, but I'm really quite fond of it. In fact, I'm quite fond of the whole new album. I can listen to it continually without even caring. This is a first since my tolerance of KOL is fairly limited (and I'm sorry, but Caleb looks mentally unstable with short hair). It's a lot more accessible than some of their older stuff...and I guess that's why many hardcore fans aren't to keen on it. In fact, I think 'Only by the night' is sexy. Can't tell you why, but hey, what else is new.



My other obsession is Ianto Jones, Torchwood character. Oh, how I have angsted over poor Ianto this week. He's this adorable, sarcastic, awkward guy with some emo moments, and he can be really funny...and I just want to hug him. I want him to be loved and to be happy because he deserves it, and yet at the same time there's a little voice in the back of my head that says it's never going to happen. As Lizzie said, he's probably going to die a horrible, horrible death. And you know what, it's going to break my heart. He's my favourite (other than Jack, but that is unavoidable thanks to the 51st century pheromones and all). I think part of it is just being able to relate to him because hell, I'm a sarcastic, awkward receptionist with emo moments too...and I'm constantly appearing at the desk from where I was lurking in the back room or making coffee or getting people organised *shrugs*. Oh and I love how he constantly verges on homicidal rampages whenever Jack is caught or trapped or whatever. The stupid boy would probably take a bullet for him and how counter-productive would that be. I just think he's adorable. End of story. And the moral of this said story is simple, and one we all know, I become far too emotionally invested in fictional creations. But reality is yet to provide me with anything even vaguely as entertaining.



Prove me wrong reality, prove me wrong.

Although, I have to point out, my obsessing isn't really that fangirly. I mean I've read things and seen things posted by real fangirls, and really, I can't compete with that. We manage to remain functioning normally 99% of the time...the only exception might be that time Lizzie and I dived behind the stuffed toy rack when we ran into Mikey Way...but I blame that on shock and sleep deprivation...ah good times.

Random quote for the day : I think I just invented the banana daiquiri a couple of centuries early. Do you know they'd never seen a banana before? Always take a banana to a party, Rose, bananas are good.

Music: Resounding - Say Anything
Mood: Listless

Eyes for striking

I shouldn't be blogging. Really. I only woke up an hour and fifteen minutes ago. Nothing has happened to warrant a blog. I don't even have anything to ramble about in that nonsensical way I do...and yet, here I am. Because I am BORED. Work is boring. Completely and utterly boring. How did I ever live without Jasper to distract me? And of course, Abbi's gone away so there's no one on MSN, she usually makes time go faster. Everyone else is at work/uni. I didn't even bring a book to read under the desk in the sneaky way I have perfected. Mostly because the book I'm reading is too big to pull this off effectively...The Dresden Files books on the other hand are the perfect size, so that's why I got through them so quickly.

Epic. Sigh.

I hate being bored. It's moments like these I really start feeling like I'm losing my grip on sanity.

To add to this wonderfully exciting start to the day, I woke up with a sore throat of unswallowable proportions (I am a writing student, I'm allowed to make up words). This is extra annoying cause I was feeling so good yesterday. Why can't I just be happy and healthy for a bit? I blame the green guy from yesterday. I've started taking cold tablets just in case - he was really sick and I don't need that, thanks.

I wanted to finish episode 5 of Amped last night but I didn't. I'm finding it really hard to write actually...just coming up with bits. It's strange, I thought it would be a lot easier at this point.

Most of my uni work is done. I just need to workshop and "re-draft" so that they think I listen to what they're saying. The only real thing I have to do is my Honours proposal. That's a whole bundle of laughs, that is.

Judging by the dreams I had last night, my subconcious has taken a dodgy turn for the worst. I now also have the All American Rejects song 'Dance Inside' stuck in my head, and you know that's quite a dodgy song. Catchy as hell tho.

You know what, I can ramble like it's nobody's business...

And I'll be fine, you'll be fine
Is this fine? I'm not fine
Give me pieces, give me things to stay awake

Music: Dance Inside - the voices in my head
Mood: Distracted