talkingsoup (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
talkingsoup) wrote2006-08-05 05:36 pm
talkingsoup) wrote2006-08-05 05:36 pm
Entry tags:
Nyu!
Writing fanfic is weird. Isn't it weird? It is, it's really weird. Not like writing original stuff. You don't have to pay as close attention to the same things. Also--I mean, how do you work with characters that aren't your own? They're ornery! They're not yours, so you don't know them as well, so it's harder to get them to do things. Things just don't flow as well. You have to poke them with a stick to get them to do anything. Next they'll be demanding wages and benefits.
Anyway, yeah, I started it. Oh-ho-ho is it teh suck. I don't have much written yet, about a page so far. Gonna start with Roxas joining the Organization and I don't know where it's gonna go from there. Ugh. It's pretty ghastly, but since I'm a masochist, I'll post what I've got here. Read at your own pain. I'm calling it "The Fic of Doom."
“You’ll never guess what’s happened.”
Axel opens one green eye to peer up at Larxene. She’s standing over him like some kind of sentry. Not that Larxene is particularly tall. She’s always had that kind of presence, though.
Axel utters a low groan. It was such a nice nap, too, and this is his favorite couch. Green and plush, the kind that’s good to collapse on after a difficult mission. Can’t a guy get a little rest after dodging Heartless for God knows how long?
He keeps his complaints to himself, however. When Larxene speaks, and when she speaks without peppering her sentences with curses and choice insults, something interesting is happening.
Axel takes a guess. “Hm. Xaldin and Xiggy are getting married.”
“Close, but not quite.” It’s funny—at least Axel thinks so—but Larxene isn’t smiling. Larxene doesn’t smile. She only smiles when she’s hurting something.
“The higher-ups dragged home a Thirteenth.”
That gets him. Axel sits up, swinging bare feet onto the cold floor. The floors are always cold here; the Superior has a disdain for carpets. Axel looks up at Number Twelve, already wearing his wicked grin.
“New fish, huh?” Axel gives a sadistic little chuckle and rubs his hands together in true mad scientist fashion. Vexen would be proud. “I love new fish. Meeting room, right?”
Larxene turns away with a snort. “You have five minutes. And get your damn cloak on, you look like some college bum.”
Ah, Larxene. She’s like poison ivy—rash and all. Axel looks himself over. Alright, she has a point, he’s got the deadbeat teen look down pat. Wrinkled gray shirt, standard-issue Organization black pants that are bunched from sleeping in them. His boxers are showing. He runs a hand through spiky red hair to get rid of the bed-head. Yeah, not gonna win any fashion contests. Axel thinks the look suits him.
“Sure thing, Mom.”
Number Twelve ignores the comment, raises her hand and opens a shadow portal. As she’s about to step in, she turns back to Axel with a curious look on her face.
“You don’t call him Xiggy to his face, do you?”
“Xiggy? The Pirate Scarface? Well, I’m still alive, aren’t I?” Axel pats his chest, where his heart would be, if he had one. “Oh, wait, no I’m not.”
Larxene just gives him a cold stare. One day he’s going to get a smile out of her. Just to spite her.
“Pirate Scarface,” Larxene muses, stepping into the shadows. “Creative.” And with that, she disappears.
“No one uses doors around here anymore,” Axel mutters to himself as he leans over the back of the couch to retrieve his cloak. The thing is damned inconvenient. “What did the doors ever do wrong? Poor, underappreciated doors. I’d feel bad for them if I could feel.”
Axel likes to hear himself talk. No one else is worth listening to.
Please, please read it and tear it apart so I know what I should fix. This is actually written almost exactly in the Mot style, with some changes. I figure the kind of disillusioned, detached and yet internal (eh?) style Mot has works pretty well for these heartless bastards.
*ahem*
My eyes hurt. Eye doctors. I hate the eye doctor. I wouldn't hate them as much if they didn't have those dilating drops. Do you have any idea how hard it is to drive around in XOMG BRIGHT SUNLIGHT with your pupils the size of your irises? I had to pick up my paycheck today too, and I kept my sunglasses on inside. Didn't want anyone asking, "Dude, are you high?"
Though the frames I got are pretty neato. Won't get em for a week or so, but they're my first-ever plastic frames, and they're like red and blue. Heh heh.
Fortunately it's the weekend, so though my mom is still away my dad's here, so Ben's mostly in check. Which is good. Though I think he messed up the brakes on the pimp van. Grr.
Stuff.
Anyway, yeah, I started it. Oh-ho-ho is it teh suck. I don't have much written yet, about a page so far. Gonna start with Roxas joining the Organization and I don't know where it's gonna go from there. Ugh. It's pretty ghastly, but since I'm a masochist, I'll post what I've got here. Read at your own pain. I'm calling it "The Fic of Doom."
“You’ll never guess what’s happened.”
Axel opens one green eye to peer up at Larxene. She’s standing over him like some kind of sentry. Not that Larxene is particularly tall. She’s always had that kind of presence, though.
Axel utters a low groan. It was such a nice nap, too, and this is his favorite couch. Green and plush, the kind that’s good to collapse on after a difficult mission. Can’t a guy get a little rest after dodging Heartless for God knows how long?
He keeps his complaints to himself, however. When Larxene speaks, and when she speaks without peppering her sentences with curses and choice insults, something interesting is happening.
Axel takes a guess. “Hm. Xaldin and Xiggy are getting married.”
“Close, but not quite.” It’s funny—at least Axel thinks so—but Larxene isn’t smiling. Larxene doesn’t smile. She only smiles when she’s hurting something.
“The higher-ups dragged home a Thirteenth.”
That gets him. Axel sits up, swinging bare feet onto the cold floor. The floors are always cold here; the Superior has a disdain for carpets. Axel looks up at Number Twelve, already wearing his wicked grin.
“New fish, huh?” Axel gives a sadistic little chuckle and rubs his hands together in true mad scientist fashion. Vexen would be proud. “I love new fish. Meeting room, right?”
Larxene turns away with a snort. “You have five minutes. And get your damn cloak on, you look like some college bum.”
Ah, Larxene. She’s like poison ivy—rash and all. Axel looks himself over. Alright, she has a point, he’s got the deadbeat teen look down pat. Wrinkled gray shirt, standard-issue Organization black pants that are bunched from sleeping in them. His boxers are showing. He runs a hand through spiky red hair to get rid of the bed-head. Yeah, not gonna win any fashion contests. Axel thinks the look suits him.
“Sure thing, Mom.”
Number Twelve ignores the comment, raises her hand and opens a shadow portal. As she’s about to step in, she turns back to Axel with a curious look on her face.
“You don’t call him Xiggy to his face, do you?”
“Xiggy? The Pirate Scarface? Well, I’m still alive, aren’t I?” Axel pats his chest, where his heart would be, if he had one. “Oh, wait, no I’m not.”
Larxene just gives him a cold stare. One day he’s going to get a smile out of her. Just to spite her.
“Pirate Scarface,” Larxene muses, stepping into the shadows. “Creative.” And with that, she disappears.
“No one uses doors around here anymore,” Axel mutters to himself as he leans over the back of the couch to retrieve his cloak. The thing is damned inconvenient. “What did the doors ever do wrong? Poor, underappreciated doors. I’d feel bad for them if I could feel.”
Axel likes to hear himself talk. No one else is worth listening to.
Please, please read it and tear it apart so I know what I should fix. This is actually written almost exactly in the Mot style, with some changes. I figure the kind of disillusioned, detached and yet internal (eh?) style Mot has works pretty well for these heartless bastards.
*ahem*
My eyes hurt. Eye doctors. I hate the eye doctor. I wouldn't hate them as much if they didn't have those dilating drops. Do you have any idea how hard it is to drive around in XOMG BRIGHT SUNLIGHT with your pupils the size of your irises? I had to pick up my paycheck today too, and I kept my sunglasses on inside. Didn't want anyone asking, "Dude, are you high?"
Though the frames I got are pretty neato. Won't get em for a week or so, but they're my first-ever plastic frames, and they're like red and blue. Heh heh.
Fortunately it's the weekend, so though my mom is still away my dad's here, so Ben's mostly in check. Which is good. Though I think he messed up the brakes on the pimp van. Grr.
Stuff.