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konstantyaI recently started reading through some old FFVII writings, and while a lot of it is cringe-inducing in its bloatedness (this was before I became the editing whore I currently am), some parts were actually kind of nice, and as this is a writing journal, I figured why the hell not post some passages. (I suspect they'll never see the light of day otherwise, considering they're from abandoned WIPs I don't much like the premises of anymore.) So here are three angsty, drabbly things that I mostly just like for the language and imagery.
Characters: N/A
Word count: 71
Uneasiness and sorrowful tension thrive here. There are no shadows of former tenants that knock and howl at night, but still, this building is haunted. We haunt it. We drag our ghosts behind us and they’ve taken up residence as surely as we have.
They hover in the air and sink into the walls. Sometimes I think that if you tore down some plaster, you’d find secrets bubbling up like black oil.
---
Characters: N/A
Word count: 148
He doesn't stay out of fondness. He isn't selfless. Taking care of her tasks simply lets him put off his own troubles. Each gun he tests is one more distraction from the future hanging over his head like a storm about to break. Each cat he feeds is one more fleeing step from the past that dogs his heels. Each dish he dries is one more lie that lets him pretend he's normal.
He's weak, and worried, and scared, and selfish. That's why he stays, and that's why she lets him. Because she is selfish in the exact same way.
The effort she puts into ignoring him lets her ignore her self-destruction. She does not sleep, downs painkillers as if they were bread and water, drinks black coffee as if she breathes it.
They ask no questions, offer no answers, make no apologies, and use each other shamelessly.
---
Characters: Vincent.
Word count: 335
*Mentions OCs. Explanation below.
He dreamt.
He floated like liquid silver and settled like lead crystals in a gypsy tent. Cait Sith laid out his fortune in tarot cards, and they were Nanaki's proud roar echoing through the canyon, and Yuffie's teenage-fierce loyalty to her country, and Barret's love for a daughter that wasn't his, and Cloud's steady determination despite a scrambled past, and Cid's let's-kick-ass grin around a cigarette, and Tifa's courageous laugh that chased away worry, all wrapped up in smoke.
He played poker with blue-suited comrades from his past, and the tarot cards were his chips. He wagered nothing and lost everything, and his superiors called him a natural.
Gold bars of the setting sun splashed across the walls and a melody tinkled out on a piano and spelled T-O-M-O-R-R-O-W. Lucrecia laughed far away, and she was both the cinder-sweeping girl and the wicked step-mother, and when she turned she was Aeris smiling at him, and by the time she reached him she was Anise. She touched a finger to his chest, and it was bread from the hearth and fresh linen, and when he looked down, her feet were buried in the earth.
When you're on your knees, you're closer to the ground, she said, and things seemed nearer.
The sun rose across Junon like fresh coffee, and set into the harbor like bloody gashes across a floor.
Hojo grinned a Petri-dish smile with clipboard coldness, and a gold band around his finger glinted in harmony with surgical steel and jabbed with needles in minor keys. The piano strings inside him shrieked like cats and snapped like backs, and then Romey told him she'd get them replaced and to help her move the couch, and Hojo was stuffed in some drawer because she had work to do.
It snowed, and he swept the fire escape clear to uncover twisted, black iron. It kept snowing, and he kept sweeping. And then the broom fell from his hands and landed in the alley below without a sound.
-
This came from an old, unposted, multi-chapter WIP that was kind of my baby, way back when. It started off as this terrible, wangsty Vincent/OC romance, and then I realized it was crap and started to revamp it into a much more tolerable, kind-of-genuinely-angsty Vincent/OC friendship, except I only revamped it, like, half-way, so there’s still all this random, romantic subtext lying around. It’s kind of a shame, because the basic plot is probably salvageable, it’s just that I’d have to rewrite, like, 95% of it before it would be something I’d actually post in good conscience.
Anyway, Romey was the main OC, an abrasive, anti-social, workaholic gunsmith who Vincent fell in with. (The second drabble was actually a take on their relationship, but I figured it was vague enough to not need an explanation.)
Anise was a secondary OC, a teenage Hooker With a Heart of Gold, who dreamt of quitting the biz and getting an education and starting over.
Characters: N/A
Word count: 71
Uneasiness and sorrowful tension thrive here. There are no shadows of former tenants that knock and howl at night, but still, this building is haunted. We haunt it. We drag our ghosts behind us and they’ve taken up residence as surely as we have.
They hover in the air and sink into the walls. Sometimes I think that if you tore down some plaster, you’d find secrets bubbling up like black oil.
---
Characters: N/A
Word count: 148
He doesn't stay out of fondness. He isn't selfless. Taking care of her tasks simply lets him put off his own troubles. Each gun he tests is one more distraction from the future hanging over his head like a storm about to break. Each cat he feeds is one more fleeing step from the past that dogs his heels. Each dish he dries is one more lie that lets him pretend he's normal.
He's weak, and worried, and scared, and selfish. That's why he stays, and that's why she lets him. Because she is selfish in the exact same way.
The effort she puts into ignoring him lets her ignore her self-destruction. She does not sleep, downs painkillers as if they were bread and water, drinks black coffee as if she breathes it.
They ask no questions, offer no answers, make no apologies, and use each other shamelessly.
---
Characters: Vincent.
Word count: 335
*Mentions OCs. Explanation below.
He dreamt.
He floated like liquid silver and settled like lead crystals in a gypsy tent. Cait Sith laid out his fortune in tarot cards, and they were Nanaki's proud roar echoing through the canyon, and Yuffie's teenage-fierce loyalty to her country, and Barret's love for a daughter that wasn't his, and Cloud's steady determination despite a scrambled past, and Cid's let's-kick-ass grin around a cigarette, and Tifa's courageous laugh that chased away worry, all wrapped up in smoke.
He played poker with blue-suited comrades from his past, and the tarot cards were his chips. He wagered nothing and lost everything, and his superiors called him a natural.
Gold bars of the setting sun splashed across the walls and a melody tinkled out on a piano and spelled T-O-M-O-R-R-O-W. Lucrecia laughed far away, and she was both the cinder-sweeping girl and the wicked step-mother, and when she turned she was Aeris smiling at him, and by the time she reached him she was Anise. She touched a finger to his chest, and it was bread from the hearth and fresh linen, and when he looked down, her feet were buried in the earth.
When you're on your knees, you're closer to the ground, she said, and things seemed nearer.
The sun rose across Junon like fresh coffee, and set into the harbor like bloody gashes across a floor.
Hojo grinned a Petri-dish smile with clipboard coldness, and a gold band around his finger glinted in harmony with surgical steel and jabbed with needles in minor keys. The piano strings inside him shrieked like cats and snapped like backs, and then Romey told him she'd get them replaced and to help her move the couch, and Hojo was stuffed in some drawer because she had work to do.
It snowed, and he swept the fire escape clear to uncover twisted, black iron. It kept snowing, and he kept sweeping. And then the broom fell from his hands and landed in the alley below without a sound.
-
This came from an old, unposted, multi-chapter WIP that was kind of my baby, way back when. It started off as this terrible, wangsty Vincent/OC romance, and then I realized it was crap and started to revamp it into a much more tolerable, kind-of-genuinely-angsty Vincent/OC friendship, except I only revamped it, like, half-way, so there’s still all this random, romantic subtext lying around. It’s kind of a shame, because the basic plot is probably salvageable, it’s just that I’d have to rewrite, like, 95% of it before it would be something I’d actually post in good conscience.
Anyway, Romey was the main OC, an abrasive, anti-social, workaholic gunsmith who Vincent fell in with. (The second drabble was actually a take on their relationship, but I figured it was vague enough to not need an explanation.)
Anise was a secondary OC, a teenage Hooker With a Heart of Gold, who dreamt of quitting the biz and getting an education and starting over.
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Date: 2011-01-06 10:14 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-01-07 03:23 am (UTC)Nice icon, by the way. XD
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Date: 2011-01-07 02:45 am (UTC)And nice writing, I'd been missing reading some of your stuff.
no subject
Date: 2011-01-07 03:29 am (UTC)I've been kind of itching to write more FFVII stuff, if only because
I dearly miss the Turksmy style has evolved quite a bit since I was last really active in the fandom. But I'm trying to be good and finish the fics I currently have in progress before I start any more. DXno subject
Date: 2011-01-08 02:36 am (UTC)writing porndoing other things.The game is in progress, but it's called Last Arrival (http://lastarrival.wikia.com/wiki/LastArrival_Wiki)
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Date: 2011-01-09 01:05 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-01-18 12:57 am (UTC)