So, I wanted to post something before Uni dooms my ass, but I haven't finished that-which-begun-as-a-drabble-and-ended-up-10-pages-and-counting, so I'll just post the first mini-chapter and hopefully update the rest soon.It's a post MP1 AU, and a pretty much a ripoff of Volt's SG, structure-wise. Wheee!
Chapter I : The Beginning After The End
- I -
There are two ways for changes to occur.
They can adapt the mannerism of a snake – slowly and steadily creeping under your skin, tailoring themselves around your life with inhuman precision and neverending patience. It's the kind of change you stand no chance of noticing until it's too late, and everything has twisted beyond any recognition. You may never even remember how it was before.
Maybe - it tempts you to think – this is how it's always been, and the rest was nothing but a distant dream.
And then there's the hurricane variant. Riding alongside with the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse, it nonchalantly sweeps whatever gets in its way. Everything you know, everything you care about, everything you love – it's all blown to hell in a blink-and-miss second, and you're left with nothing but the wreckage.
And the dead memories of what once was.
The hurricane likes me better.
It's not long after dawn, and the sun paints blood-spattered patterns on the morning sky.
There are no clouds in sight – a disturbing clarity that bears no relation to reality whatsoever.
The road stretches on for an apparent eternity - grey, dusty and completely empty. I'd make an analogy to the condition my soul happens to be in, but it's a bit too easy, really. I prefer some challenge to my metaphors.
I wonder if I'm supposed to be waiting for something. Or someone.
I should've ordered a cab, but it seemed redundant at the time.
Maybe I should just start walking, but I have no destination in mind. Not even a vague sense of direction.
That's what happens after the end of the story. The reader is gone, the temporary drama evaporated without a trace, and you're left all alone inside a field of static of your own making. No drive, no purpose, no future.
Only a past tied with quiet desperation around your ankles, growing more silent by the minute.
And once it's gone, there'll be nothing left.
A pleasant spring breeze passes by, catching my jacket in a nervous embrace. It strokes my face gently, and my breath becomes momentarily trapped in my chest.
No, the past isn't going anywhere.
And neither am I, at this rate.
Standing still is an almost natural reaction to this idyllic desert setting.
I half-expect the mandatory tumbleweed to roll by. Or at least the distinguished ghost of John Wayne to pay me a short visit.
Instead, I'm greeted by the distant roar of an engine - a manticore awakening in a faraway dreamland.
I turn to look at the source. So far it's only a black dot on an invisible horizon.
It's growing at an uncanny rate, though, and I get the fleeting feeling it's about to turn into a black hole and devour me whole. Not that I'd particularly mind, should that happen.
It doesn't, surprisingly enough. It turns into a dark outline continually painting itself with a stark assurance against the light canvas provided by the philanthropic morning.
Eventually, it manages to find its distinct physical shape, devouring short-lived rays of light in the process.
The black Mercedes is a sleek, deadly panther. But it's rightfully accustomed to hunt side by side with its best friend and even better camouflage, the night.
At this hour, it somehow retains most of its calm elegance while appearing entirely and painfully out of its element.
The man behind the wheel, however, doesn't have any recognizable element to cling to, or hide behind. He's crafty enough to know how to mingle with any of them, wear them like a second skin, and no one would be the wiser.
Of course, when you mess with too many elements, you often end up with a messy explosion on your hands. Or in your face.
The high school chemistry book isn't too bad, as far as guidelines to life go.
The car doesn't slow as it draws nearer, instead choosing the last moment to pull into a stop, emitting an impressive screech of abused tires.
The entrance's got to be properly dramatic, after all.
The window slides open with a sense of cinematic timing, revealing behind it a grin with a brightness level which easily contends with the sun in the field of sunglasses-requirement.
"Bang! You're dead, Max Payne."
And I wonder -
Ow. x3, I guess. One for Max, one for general brain-hurting God This Fandom is Grim, and one for a brain-numbing stupor. I think you may have siphoned any talent I might or might not have once possessed, because you're still cranking out the genius (shut up, you are) and I can only stand by in a kind of dumbfounded wonder.I've probably jokingly asked for people to teach me their ways a million times, but with you it'd be a little more serious a request. ;_;Lately I notice the little references you always make. This time you've got horsemen, last time (time before? Damn memory) was that with the dogs and then the Dutch boy, wasn't it? I like those, and don't see a lot of them in fanfic (at least not back when I still read outside the comm. :P). It's like you can always pick the right moment to make the comparison, and I wish I could do that. It's not like I don't know of a million little things that could be done that way, it's just that my mind doesn't like to drudge them up and apply them. =_=Anyway. Yes. Rambling. I really hope you have some fun with Uni, and that it doesn't turn out all doomful, but if it does keep you as busy as you think it will I'm gonna miss this stuff (and you) a hell of a whole lot until you can come back to it. ;___; Closing notes: I hope I didn't say anything that hurt your feelings earlier. I notice you got very quiet. Also, damn you for making me love Vlad more than I sometimes realize. :|
Thanks. ;_;But, uh, no, with the talent. You're just having a blockful phase, but once that passes, I bet you'll be right back to stuporing whatever is left of my brain. *Tap tap skull to emphasize hollow sound.*My ways involve fiber-opticness and weird detachment and randomfulness and much self-inflicted doom. Not much to teach there. 'xcept head-a-sploding, but it's a very special talent.I guess I find it easier to make weird references than to use actual descriptions. I actually do it with MLF a bit, too, but I doubt peopleses notice because it's usually vague or obscure. Or Russian. :D And I'll try, with the Uni. Gotta go have this first day business in 20 minutes. Would be nice if I actually managed to sleep at nights, though. Or maybe I should somehow convince myself night is day. At any rate, I don't intend to stop writing, but I don't have a clue how things will turn out. Not at all, with the feeling hurting. I'm getting quiet because there's a dead zone in my head. It's nothing to do with you, and I really love talking to you. Sorry for being all hit-and-runful lately (kinda afraid it's only gonna get worse). And Kitty needs lovin'. It's either lovin' or kaboom, y'know. *Fluff molest.*
Kitty's awesome. D:On a mildly contrary note, I believe I too have the very special head-a-splode talent, so. >_>*Makes a brain nest in the Dead Zone and attempts to force it to relocate.* u_u
I first have to say how I love Max is in this state of mind that opposes itself while being neutral. Like with the cab, but thinking it's redundant. I dunno, it's almost self defeating, but it's like he can't bring himself to be entirely self defeating.And don't say ripoff, damn you. >_< Unless you did it on purpose, which I doubt; it'd be the equivalent of saying Volt ripped off The Gunslinger format by Stephen King. Also, you have this whole suspension quality that I've iterated about a thousand imes already,a nd I think a lot of it has to do with the whole one sentence paragraph thing. It's like each sentence or thougt takes up it's own, significant place in space, not just a slew of them flowing together to make an idea. Which isn't to say this hasn't got flow, because, you know what? It does. It's got a very unique flow to it, and it's a rather tough one to have cooked up, and it may be attestable to that thar linear sequnce writing. I like it because it's so different from your other stuff. Not to say your other stuff is bad in comparison- not at ALL, but you know what I mean. It's neat.I have to say, I thought this Max, was a very little hard bugger to pin down, voice wise. It's like he wasn't sure what he was morphing into, and sinc he's in this in between stage, he's just grabbing anything that comes to hand and using it. It's this combination of little!Max, a morphing-into-older-Max, and a hint of Vlad that's probably because of the situation.I also loved the interaction- between Max and his environment (like he isn't sure if he hates it yet, or if it hates him, ir what the hell he and it are doing together, just this whole uncertainty thing he doesn't want to think about), as well as that with Vlad. I have to say this is actually different than most of your other typical Vlad/Max interactions, since although it still has that wamrth in it, it's got this quality where it's standing on the edge of a knife, and it could go either way, but isn't likely to. That may not have been too clear, but I think it's paints what I feel fairly enough. :D Uh.... I know this seems WAAAAY too long for what you have above, but you know what else it's for. :D Anyway, for something you're not used to doing, this came out fucking awesome. For real, it has the same beautiful quality your stuffs always do, consistent and wonderful to read. I just love it. :DDDD