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edenfallingThis is something I wrote way back when, over two years ago when I was just starting to dip my toes into the role of fanfiction writer as well as reader. It's unfinished, and likely to remain so since despite my occasional really vicious moods (and interest in producing strong emotional responses from readers), I'm not particularly eager to write graphic torture.
Which pretty much tells you all you need to know about the beginning of the story. But I'll also tell you that it's set in the summer before OotP and is told from the POV of a Muggle OC. It started, if I recall correctly, from a humorous plot bunny someone had posted on FictionAlley Park -- but as I was in a bad mood when I started writing, it took a sharp left turn very early on. (That was about the time I started to realize it was a bad idea to go off my anti-depressants. Make of that timing what you will.)
---------------------------------------------
Lord Voldemort: An Introduction For Muggles
---------------------------------------------
Lesson One: Why To Avoid Snake Fetishists
Mallory Stubbins was fed up to here with her life. It wasn't enough that her mother had run off with a snake charmer, leaving Mallory and her sister Meg in their uncle's care. It wasn't enough that Uncle Grover had only sent Meg to university, insisting that schooling would do Mallory no good anyway. It wasn't enough that she'd had to work seventeen different basement-wage jobs over the past ten years, just to keep body and soul together. Oh no.
She'd finally saved up the money to open her own beauty shop, but just when things seemed to be looking up, she had to be knocked on the head and dragged to a stone dungeon by a lunatic who claimed to be a wizard, and who wanted her to give him a pedicure!
Mallory was dimly aware that this shouldn't really strike her as amusing -- she was in danger of her life, after all -- maybe she was in shock? Yes, probably shock. Bugger.
"Whatever I did in a past life, I'm sorry," she muttered, eyeing the lunatic nervously. He had obviously seen better days -- that, or he was seriously into artistic cosmetic surgery. His skin -- backlit by flickering torches -- was papery white and almost scaly, his nose and lips were practically non-existent, and his eyes were red. Snake fetishist, Mallory decided -- if she agreed to do his feet, maybe she should paint his nails green.
"Let me get this clear," she said. "You brought me here because you want a pedicure and I was the first pedicurist your evil minions found. Couldn't you have come to the shop and asked? I don't turn away customers, and this really isn't the sort of place for foot-work. The light's all wrong to start with, and to finish with, I don't have any of my tools."
"I do not ask, Muggle," said the lunatic, his voice high and cold with a hissing undercurrent. "Your shop is gone. Your tools are here. I have suffered foot pain for two weeks -- you will remedy this."
Definitely a lunatic, thought Mallory. Dear God in heaven, what had she done to deserve this? "Listen, sir," she said carefully, "I'm flattered you think I'm talented enough to help you, but I don't cure foot pain. I just make feet pretty. I think you want a podiatrist."
The lunatic regarded her, his red eyes burning into hers. Mallory refused to look down, though her eyes watered and shooting pains stabbed through her head. Something is seriously wrong here, she thought dizzily, something isn't right...
"Lucius, come here," said the lunatic, his cold voice echoing through the dank room, seeming to dim the torches. Mallory shivered.
A black-robed figure entered through a previously unnoticed doorway behind the lunatic's throne-like armchair. "Yes, my Lord?" it said in an unctuous voice. Must be Lucius, thought Mallory; he sounds like Uncle Grover weaseling up to society. Ugh.
"Lucius, the Muggle is a pedicurist."
"Yes, Lord?" said Lucius, sounding a bit nervous.
"A pedicurist beautifies feet," said the lunatic. "I do not need my feet beautified. I need my feet healed. I need a podiatrist, or better yet, a healing potion." The lunatic drew a slow breath. "You intended a Muggle to touch my feet. I am not happy, Lucius."
"My Lord! We were only worried about the difficulties in procuring a mediwizard, the potential that we might be seen," babbled Lucius. "I can fix this easily, my Lord -- only let me take the Muggle away and dispose of her -- I can have a mediwitch here within the hour, my Lord -- I swear this wasn't my fault--"
"Crucio!" cried the lunatic, pointing a thin stick at Lucius, and the black-robed man collapsed, screaming, writhing, and sobbing as if in hideous pain.
Oh bugger, thought Mallory, inching subtly away towards a door she'd spotted on the far side of the room. Bugger me, he really is a wizard. And not a good wizard either, from the looks of things. If I get out of this alive I swear I'll go to church, I won't have sex again until I'm married, and I won't drink either. I'll even think kindly of Meg and Uncle Grover... well, I'll try, at least.
"Stop," said the lunatic, shifting his wand in her direction. Lucius crumpled into a tight ball, whimpering in relief. "Come here, Muggle."
Mallory found her legs walking forward without her agreement. Bugger me, she thought again. Of all the things in the world, I had to get an insane evil wizard with incompetent minions coming after me. I hate my life.
Her legs stopped about six feet from the lunatic, who was still sitting in his armchair. Clearing her throat nervously, she said, "If it's all the same to you, sir, I'd prefer to leave now that you've cleared up Lucius's misunderstanding. I have a shop to get back to, sir."
The lunatic laughed, a thin, cruel sound. "You have no shop, Muggle; Lucius had it burned. And I have no reason to let you go. Tell me, will anyone miss you?"
"Hordes of people," said Mallory recklessly. "My employees, my fiancé, my sister, my uncle--"
"Do not attempt to lie to me," said the lunatic. "Imperio. Will anyone miss you?"
Mallory giggled slightly, drifting in a pleasant golden haze. "No, of course not," she said. "Joyce, David, and Mary will think I died in the shop. William's a cheating bastard and I stopped seeing him months ago. And Meg and Uncle Grover disowned me."
The lunatic smiled. "Very good. Lick the floor, then follow Lucius to your new home."
Mallory bent and licked the stone floor, marveling at the flavor of the dirt and mildew. She wondered why she'd never tried licking a floor before -- it was lovely, really. When she stood Lucius was smirking at her -- a quite attractive expression on his pale, pointed face -- and motioning her to follow. She walked obediently after him, smiling absently. It was so comfortable not having to think for once; she ought to thank that amusing wizard.
Lucius led her through several twisting corridors lit by the same guttering torches before stopping at a small cell. "Your new home," he said, smirking.
Mallory looked around with delight -- the cell had a rusty water-tap, a waste hole, and a stone bench under a narrow horizontal window at the very top of the far wall. What a lovely new home! She walked eagerly through the doorway.
As Lucius closed the iron gate behind her, the golden haze abruptly dissolved. "Oi!" shouted Mallory, whirling around in alarm. "What's going on? Where am I? Don't lock that gate!"
"Muggle scum," spat Lucius, an ugly smirk spreading over his face. "You'll stay here until my Lord says otherwise. And you'll pay for getting me in trouble. Crucio!"
The world exploded in agony. Mallory writhed on the rough stone floor, screaming until her throat was raw, trying her best to tear her skin off her bones. Every part of her body was broken and burning and if it lasted one more minute she knew she'd go mad and...
It stopped.
She panted weakly, unable to stop her tears and whimpers. She felt scraped raw all over, inside and out, and she was hanging onto her sanity by a ragged fingernail.
"Pleasant dreams, Muggle," said Lucius, his voice faint and blurred by static.
Mallory fell into blackness.
---------------------------------------------
Lesson Two: Variations On Chinese Water Torture
A week later Mallory was still locked in the tiny cell, and was far closer to losing her sanity than the night Lucius had tortured her. This time, rather than pain driving her mad, she was succumbing to the seemingly mutually exclusive torments of boredom and terror.
It was funny how soon terror, artfully maintained by her captors, became mundane.
This was not to say she wasn't terrified -- she was simply past the point of jumping at every noise and insect, and nearing the stage of hallucinations. Mallory huddled on the stone bench, back pressed into the corner, arms clutching her knees against her chest, and tried desperately not to blink as she watched the corridor through the iron gate.
Various evil minions had visited her at random intervals over the past days, and had made it quite clear that her days were numbered. The trouble was that no one would tell her the number. It would be comforting to at least know how long she had left before her hideously painful and lingering death.
Mallory shook her head. "Stupid," she muttered. First she'd merely wanted to know the date of her death to ease the tension of uncertainty. Now, however, she was actually looking forward to the agony -- obviously she was losing her mind. This struck her as vastly amusing; she giggled to herself.
"You'll be one of the sacrifices at the initiation," one of the evil minions -- a short, pudgy man with a living silver hand -- had told her the morning after Lucius had cursed her. "Our Lord is only recently returned from death," -- here he flexed his unnatural hand -- "and he's gathering new servants. Normally we wouldn't bother making sure the Muggles we use won't be missed, but the Lord wants to keep his rebirth secret for a while to confuse his enemies. Since we already have you, it's easier to keep you alive a few days than to bother finding a replacement."
He smiled at her. "You're going to die anyway. You might as well die doing something to serve the Dark Lord."
Mallory had fallen to pieces and sobbed into her skirt to the man's combined amusement and discomfort. Couldn't deal with crying women, she supposed afterwards -- it seemed a silly problem for a minion of evil -- but then again, these evil minions did bear striking resemblances to Uncle Grover.
If only something would happen! Mallory felt she could deal tolerably well with an initiation, even with torture, so long as it was something definite, something she could see or hear or put a name to. She'd never done well with anticipation or intangibles. Give her a face or name to put to an obstacle and she could fight, but this... this utter nothingness, this sheer disregard, this nameless terror and waiting... she was falling apart.
No. She had fallen apart several days ago. Dear God, she hated her life. She hated herself for being weak enough to succumb to the lunatic wizard and his cheap-purchase minions. For goodness' sake, they hadn't even done anything to her! Well, anything much, besides random episodes of magical torture, but that she could more or less deal with. Pain was tangible, after all.
It was the waiting, the timeless emptiness, the fear of the unknown, that wore her away. Chinese water torture had nothing on waiting, Mallory thought wryly. Each hour in the cell drove her further into herself, further from any sane way to interact with the world. Watch Mallory Stubbins wear away, eroded by isolation and impatience -- drip, drip, drip...
Yes. She was definitely going mad.
"Get on with the fucking initiation already!" she yelled, raising her head from her knees. "You hear me, you unspeakable snake man? Kill me! What are you waiting for?"
Her words echoed futilely down the dark corridor, fading into nothingness. "Dear God, I'm sorry," she whispered, huddling tighter into herself, burying her face in her grimy skirt. "I'm so sorry for everything. I know it's all my fault. I want to die. But please, before I'm completely gone -- let me die before I'm mad."
She had a dim feeling it might already be too late for that.
---------------------------------------------
Lesson Three: Things To Do On Tuesday Evenings:
Several days thereafter -- Mallory thought it was a Tuesday, but wasn't at all sure why; it just felt Tuesday-ish -- Lucius came to her cell, accompanied by the minion with the silver hand and the nameless jailor who'd brought her occasional meals. They peered at her incuriously.
"Is she sane enough to react properly to the initiation, Avery?" Lucius asked the jailor.
Avery shrugged. "I've no idea -- you think I spend time with the creature? She's stopped flinching, though, and the past few days she's taken to singing snatches of utter nonsense. She has no sense of pitch -- it gets quite wearing to listen to all hours."
"Hmm," said Silver-Hand. He stepped forward and surveyed Mallory, his beady eyes sharp and unsettling. "Let me see a moment... Crucio!"
Mallory screamed, collapsing from the bench to the floor, the minor pain of bruised limbs drowned by the overpowering agony of the curse, ripping her bones from her body...
The pain drained away, leaving her staring dully at her unmarked flesh, shaking with aftershocks and phantom fire running through her nerves. She looked warily at the three black-robed men, wondering what would happen next.
"Well, Muggle, do you want me to do that again?" asked Silver-Hand, his tone light.
"No!" panted Mallory, "please no! Anything!"
Silver-Hand smiled triumphantly, turning to his companions. "She'll do," he said. "Unlock the door, Avery, and bring her to the graveyard. The Lestranges are collecting the other scum."
Avery pointed his wand at the gate and muttered something vaguely Latin under his breath. The lock clicked open and the gate swung idly on its hinges until he slammed it open and hauled Mallory off the floor by her right arm. "Move, Muggle," he said, and marched down the corridor, holding her arm firmly twisted behind her back.
---------------------------------------------
Work continues well. And today I learned how to do stuff with key orders and leave requests, so I now have some stuff to do when no work-order related business is happening.
Have been evilly distracted from writing by some absorbing Marvelverse stories (yes, I'm a comics geek along with my other failings... *grin*). So no NaNo word count progress. I have, however, been plotting in the back of my mind, and have clarified some sticky political points as well as blocked out the action scene coming up in Talin's half of the story. Which is good, because I suck at action scenes.
Actually, the Marvelverse stories have been rather useful for pinning down the mental/emotional side of Talin's reaction during the brief fight. So that's a small silver lining to my total distraction. *sigh*
Which pretty much tells you all you need to know about the beginning of the story. But I'll also tell you that it's set in the summer before OotP and is told from the POV of a Muggle OC. It started, if I recall correctly, from a humorous plot bunny someone had posted on FictionAlley Park -- but as I was in a bad mood when I started writing, it took a sharp left turn very early on. (That was about the time I started to realize it was a bad idea to go off my anti-depressants. Make of that timing what you will.)
---------------------------------------------
Lord Voldemort: An Introduction For Muggles
---------------------------------------------
Lesson One: Why To Avoid Snake Fetishists
Mallory Stubbins was fed up to here with her life. It wasn't enough that her mother had run off with a snake charmer, leaving Mallory and her sister Meg in their uncle's care. It wasn't enough that Uncle Grover had only sent Meg to university, insisting that schooling would do Mallory no good anyway. It wasn't enough that she'd had to work seventeen different basement-wage jobs over the past ten years, just to keep body and soul together. Oh no.
She'd finally saved up the money to open her own beauty shop, but just when things seemed to be looking up, she had to be knocked on the head and dragged to a stone dungeon by a lunatic who claimed to be a wizard, and who wanted her to give him a pedicure!
Mallory was dimly aware that this shouldn't really strike her as amusing -- she was in danger of her life, after all -- maybe she was in shock? Yes, probably shock. Bugger.
"Whatever I did in a past life, I'm sorry," she muttered, eyeing the lunatic nervously. He had obviously seen better days -- that, or he was seriously into artistic cosmetic surgery. His skin -- backlit by flickering torches -- was papery white and almost scaly, his nose and lips were practically non-existent, and his eyes were red. Snake fetishist, Mallory decided -- if she agreed to do his feet, maybe she should paint his nails green.
"Let me get this clear," she said. "You brought me here because you want a pedicure and I was the first pedicurist your evil minions found. Couldn't you have come to the shop and asked? I don't turn away customers, and this really isn't the sort of place for foot-work. The light's all wrong to start with, and to finish with, I don't have any of my tools."
"I do not ask, Muggle," said the lunatic, his voice high and cold with a hissing undercurrent. "Your shop is gone. Your tools are here. I have suffered foot pain for two weeks -- you will remedy this."
Definitely a lunatic, thought Mallory. Dear God in heaven, what had she done to deserve this? "Listen, sir," she said carefully, "I'm flattered you think I'm talented enough to help you, but I don't cure foot pain. I just make feet pretty. I think you want a podiatrist."
The lunatic regarded her, his red eyes burning into hers. Mallory refused to look down, though her eyes watered and shooting pains stabbed through her head. Something is seriously wrong here, she thought dizzily, something isn't right...
"Lucius, come here," said the lunatic, his cold voice echoing through the dank room, seeming to dim the torches. Mallory shivered.
A black-robed figure entered through a previously unnoticed doorway behind the lunatic's throne-like armchair. "Yes, my Lord?" it said in an unctuous voice. Must be Lucius, thought Mallory; he sounds like Uncle Grover weaseling up to society. Ugh.
"Lucius, the Muggle is a pedicurist."
"Yes, Lord?" said Lucius, sounding a bit nervous.
"A pedicurist beautifies feet," said the lunatic. "I do not need my feet beautified. I need my feet healed. I need a podiatrist, or better yet, a healing potion." The lunatic drew a slow breath. "You intended a Muggle to touch my feet. I am not happy, Lucius."
"My Lord! We were only worried about the difficulties in procuring a mediwizard, the potential that we might be seen," babbled Lucius. "I can fix this easily, my Lord -- only let me take the Muggle away and dispose of her -- I can have a mediwitch here within the hour, my Lord -- I swear this wasn't my fault--"
"Crucio!" cried the lunatic, pointing a thin stick at Lucius, and the black-robed man collapsed, screaming, writhing, and sobbing as if in hideous pain.
Oh bugger, thought Mallory, inching subtly away towards a door she'd spotted on the far side of the room. Bugger me, he really is a wizard. And not a good wizard either, from the looks of things. If I get out of this alive I swear I'll go to church, I won't have sex again until I'm married, and I won't drink either. I'll even think kindly of Meg and Uncle Grover... well, I'll try, at least.
"Stop," said the lunatic, shifting his wand in her direction. Lucius crumpled into a tight ball, whimpering in relief. "Come here, Muggle."
Mallory found her legs walking forward without her agreement. Bugger me, she thought again. Of all the things in the world, I had to get an insane evil wizard with incompetent minions coming after me. I hate my life.
Her legs stopped about six feet from the lunatic, who was still sitting in his armchair. Clearing her throat nervously, she said, "If it's all the same to you, sir, I'd prefer to leave now that you've cleared up Lucius's misunderstanding. I have a shop to get back to, sir."
The lunatic laughed, a thin, cruel sound. "You have no shop, Muggle; Lucius had it burned. And I have no reason to let you go. Tell me, will anyone miss you?"
"Hordes of people," said Mallory recklessly. "My employees, my fiancé, my sister, my uncle--"
"Do not attempt to lie to me," said the lunatic. "Imperio. Will anyone miss you?"
Mallory giggled slightly, drifting in a pleasant golden haze. "No, of course not," she said. "Joyce, David, and Mary will think I died in the shop. William's a cheating bastard and I stopped seeing him months ago. And Meg and Uncle Grover disowned me."
The lunatic smiled. "Very good. Lick the floor, then follow Lucius to your new home."
Mallory bent and licked the stone floor, marveling at the flavor of the dirt and mildew. She wondered why she'd never tried licking a floor before -- it was lovely, really. When she stood Lucius was smirking at her -- a quite attractive expression on his pale, pointed face -- and motioning her to follow. She walked obediently after him, smiling absently. It was so comfortable not having to think for once; she ought to thank that amusing wizard.
Lucius led her through several twisting corridors lit by the same guttering torches before stopping at a small cell. "Your new home," he said, smirking.
Mallory looked around with delight -- the cell had a rusty water-tap, a waste hole, and a stone bench under a narrow horizontal window at the very top of the far wall. What a lovely new home! She walked eagerly through the doorway.
As Lucius closed the iron gate behind her, the golden haze abruptly dissolved. "Oi!" shouted Mallory, whirling around in alarm. "What's going on? Where am I? Don't lock that gate!"
"Muggle scum," spat Lucius, an ugly smirk spreading over his face. "You'll stay here until my Lord says otherwise. And you'll pay for getting me in trouble. Crucio!"
The world exploded in agony. Mallory writhed on the rough stone floor, screaming until her throat was raw, trying her best to tear her skin off her bones. Every part of her body was broken and burning and if it lasted one more minute she knew she'd go mad and...
It stopped.
She panted weakly, unable to stop her tears and whimpers. She felt scraped raw all over, inside and out, and she was hanging onto her sanity by a ragged fingernail.
"Pleasant dreams, Muggle," said Lucius, his voice faint and blurred by static.
Mallory fell into blackness.
---------------------------------------------
Lesson Two: Variations On Chinese Water Torture
A week later Mallory was still locked in the tiny cell, and was far closer to losing her sanity than the night Lucius had tortured her. This time, rather than pain driving her mad, she was succumbing to the seemingly mutually exclusive torments of boredom and terror.
It was funny how soon terror, artfully maintained by her captors, became mundane.
This was not to say she wasn't terrified -- she was simply past the point of jumping at every noise and insect, and nearing the stage of hallucinations. Mallory huddled on the stone bench, back pressed into the corner, arms clutching her knees against her chest, and tried desperately not to blink as she watched the corridor through the iron gate.
Various evil minions had visited her at random intervals over the past days, and had made it quite clear that her days were numbered. The trouble was that no one would tell her the number. It would be comforting to at least know how long she had left before her hideously painful and lingering death.
Mallory shook her head. "Stupid," she muttered. First she'd merely wanted to know the date of her death to ease the tension of uncertainty. Now, however, she was actually looking forward to the agony -- obviously she was losing her mind. This struck her as vastly amusing; she giggled to herself.
"You'll be one of the sacrifices at the initiation," one of the evil minions -- a short, pudgy man with a living silver hand -- had told her the morning after Lucius had cursed her. "Our Lord is only recently returned from death," -- here he flexed his unnatural hand -- "and he's gathering new servants. Normally we wouldn't bother making sure the Muggles we use won't be missed, but the Lord wants to keep his rebirth secret for a while to confuse his enemies. Since we already have you, it's easier to keep you alive a few days than to bother finding a replacement."
He smiled at her. "You're going to die anyway. You might as well die doing something to serve the Dark Lord."
Mallory had fallen to pieces and sobbed into her skirt to the man's combined amusement and discomfort. Couldn't deal with crying women, she supposed afterwards -- it seemed a silly problem for a minion of evil -- but then again, these evil minions did bear striking resemblances to Uncle Grover.
If only something would happen! Mallory felt she could deal tolerably well with an initiation, even with torture, so long as it was something definite, something she could see or hear or put a name to. She'd never done well with anticipation or intangibles. Give her a face or name to put to an obstacle and she could fight, but this... this utter nothingness, this sheer disregard, this nameless terror and waiting... she was falling apart.
No. She had fallen apart several days ago. Dear God, she hated her life. She hated herself for being weak enough to succumb to the lunatic wizard and his cheap-purchase minions. For goodness' sake, they hadn't even done anything to her! Well, anything much, besides random episodes of magical torture, but that she could more or less deal with. Pain was tangible, after all.
It was the waiting, the timeless emptiness, the fear of the unknown, that wore her away. Chinese water torture had nothing on waiting, Mallory thought wryly. Each hour in the cell drove her further into herself, further from any sane way to interact with the world. Watch Mallory Stubbins wear away, eroded by isolation and impatience -- drip, drip, drip...
Yes. She was definitely going mad.
"Get on with the fucking initiation already!" she yelled, raising her head from her knees. "You hear me, you unspeakable snake man? Kill me! What are you waiting for?"
Her words echoed futilely down the dark corridor, fading into nothingness. "Dear God, I'm sorry," she whispered, huddling tighter into herself, burying her face in her grimy skirt. "I'm so sorry for everything. I know it's all my fault. I want to die. But please, before I'm completely gone -- let me die before I'm mad."
She had a dim feeling it might already be too late for that.
---------------------------------------------
Lesson Three: Things To Do On Tuesday Evenings:
Several days thereafter -- Mallory thought it was a Tuesday, but wasn't at all sure why; it just felt Tuesday-ish -- Lucius came to her cell, accompanied by the minion with the silver hand and the nameless jailor who'd brought her occasional meals. They peered at her incuriously.
"Is she sane enough to react properly to the initiation, Avery?" Lucius asked the jailor.
Avery shrugged. "I've no idea -- you think I spend time with the creature? She's stopped flinching, though, and the past few days she's taken to singing snatches of utter nonsense. She has no sense of pitch -- it gets quite wearing to listen to all hours."
"Hmm," said Silver-Hand. He stepped forward and surveyed Mallory, his beady eyes sharp and unsettling. "Let me see a moment... Crucio!"
Mallory screamed, collapsing from the bench to the floor, the minor pain of bruised limbs drowned by the overpowering agony of the curse, ripping her bones from her body...
The pain drained away, leaving her staring dully at her unmarked flesh, shaking with aftershocks and phantom fire running through her nerves. She looked warily at the three black-robed men, wondering what would happen next.
"Well, Muggle, do you want me to do that again?" asked Silver-Hand, his tone light.
"No!" panted Mallory, "please no! Anything!"
Silver-Hand smiled triumphantly, turning to his companions. "She'll do," he said. "Unlock the door, Avery, and bring her to the graveyard. The Lestranges are collecting the other scum."
Avery pointed his wand at the gate and muttered something vaguely Latin under his breath. The lock clicked open and the gate swung idly on its hinges until he slammed it open and hauled Mallory off the floor by her right arm. "Move, Muggle," he said, and marched down the corridor, holding her arm firmly twisted behind her back.
---------------------------------------------
Work continues well. And today I learned how to do stuff with key orders and leave requests, so I now have some stuff to do when no work-order related business is happening.
Have been evilly distracted from writing by some absorbing Marvelverse stories (yes, I'm a comics geek along with my other failings... *grin*). So no NaNo word count progress. I have, however, been plotting in the back of my mind, and have clarified some sticky political points as well as blocked out the action scene coming up in Talin's half of the story. Which is good, because I suck at action scenes.
Actually, the Marvelverse stories have been rather useful for pinning down the mental/emotional side of Talin's reaction during the brief fight. So that's a small silver lining to my total distraction. *sigh*
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2004-11-17 10:18 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2004-11-17 10:39 pm (UTC)And 'odd'? *is now very curious*
(no subject)
Date: 2004-11-17 11:11 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2004-11-17 11:32 pm (UTC)*boggles*
(no subject)
Date: 2005-05-22 03:15 pm (UTC)I hope you find the time to finish this someday, good OCs are a real treat for me to see.
You remind me of Camwyn in that matter.
It takes true talent to write as well as you do.
(no subject)
Date: 2005-05-23 05:24 pm (UTC)