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Saturday, July 19th, 2008
mullenkamp
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10:44a
Given the icon, let's say this is why Gant wears glasses.
It took me 15 minutes to get my right contact in this morning, due to trying to do it in the bathroom mirror, over the sink, with paper towels placed over the sink for when I inevitably dropped it. But hey, only 15 minutes. Not bad!
...It took 45 minutes to get the left one in, due to the weird angles I had to lean in at in order to see what I was doing - and then my fingers covered my eye, and I still couldn't see what I was doing.
Finally I took the full-body mirror from my room into the bathroom, set it in the sink leaning back towards the bathroom mirror to give me a slight upward angle, brought a chair in from the dining room cosplay-prop-making table and set that up in front of the sink, covered what remained of the sink with paper towels... And that only took me an additional ten minutes.
All I can say is this had better get easier. I could probably have cut out the parts for Hokuto's other shoe and sewn them together in that time. :P Since the mirror was part of the problem, though, I stopped at Meijer on the way back from taking ![[info]](http://p-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif) akatonbo to work, and got a little pedestal mirror for $5. Maybe I'll try putting them on at my desk next time. This was the first time I'd ever tried putting them on at home, with the usual equipment, and well... akatonbo noted that it's just in general not a good idea to put contacts on while leaning over a sink. Thing is, my only frame of reference for people putting contacts in is having watched kitarin do it at cons - generally while leaning over the hotel room's sink. So I figured I could do it! ...But not when I'm this inexperienced. :P
Then while I was driving around and doing errands (also have cord to make Nokoru's frogs for the coat and for the fastenings of Hokuto's boots now, plus Hokuto has - as I threatened - sparkly gemstone-studded false eyelashes and no Klavier, you can't wear them too) my left eye just kind of went weird. It stopped being blurry and wonky as soon as I wasn't driving and got into a store... and then started again when I got back in the car. Then since Meijer was huge, I noticed as I was walking through it that I was getting an eye strain headache, like I do when I'm walking around without my glasses at a con, because my brain doesn't think I have them on and therefore it has to strain really hard to focus. Which it doesn't, except at very large distances. My eyes' response time for focusing close up then focusing far away and vice versa definitely seem slowed too. I suppose that's why everything seemed to be so weird while I was driving.
When I'm not trying to change my focus drastically, like when I'm sitting here at the desk? Everything's fine. Still a little arc of light at the bottom of my vision, but the eye doctor said that's normal with these kinds of lenses. I think it has something to do with the way they're shaped... or the thickness or the little lines etched in the side, or something, I dunno. I can see when I look in the mirror that they're completely covering my iris and going into the whites, so I know they're not slipping.
So anyway, have half an hour before I should really go to bed in order to get enough sleep for work tonight. I could be spending this on the shoes, since I just got more stuff for them... but instead I'll probably spend it trying to get the contacts out. :P They're really okay in general, and I wouldn't mind wearing them instead of glasses, if getting them in and out wasn't such a MASSIVE PAIN IN THE BUTT. At least getting them out is about a million times easier, and maybe having a mirror up close will help.
Should also post the epilogue to that fic before I crash. ...I'm a little weirded out by all the people praising it, honestly. But it helps to remember that (after this fiasco particularly, which I am still floored by, and I'm not sure whether the people who are claiming they acted appropriately or the people who don't seem to notice that they were a part of it are more disturbing to me; for the record, I wish I'd had the nerve to make the post I linked to) there are probably at least as many people who think I'm an idiot and on crack and possibly should be drug out in the street and shot so that I will never ruin their favorite characters again, but (in this other fandom, which is nice) are just not saying so. That's much easier for me to deal with. :D
Edit: And after putting it off repeatedly... five minutes! Most of which was failing to get out the left one, then giving up and trying the right one, which went off the iris but slid down into the corner of my eye and wouldn't come out until I blinked it back into place and started over repeatedly... and then getting the left one on the first try afterwards. Small close-up mirror definitely helps some. That, and steeling myself to not fear my own long fingernails.
current mood:  frustrated
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maypirate
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8:41a
Bending spoons with Britney Spears
In brief, Thursday I actually achieved some things on my thesis and didn't feel quite as useless as usual. And working outside yesterday went okay, and then it meant I got off work early and could gallavant about the rest of the sale, and I kept it all within the budget I alotted for myself. Then I collapsed at Joel's with my feet falling off until monkeybobert summoned me.
Whereupon I discovered that in my rush to get to work that morning, I had left a light on in my car, so the battery was dead. Good job me. So I found a book in the stuff homoshiroi left behind and waited for AAA to come and fix it, which they did, and then I drove around for half and hour with Bob, learned that Kraft Macaroni actually can expire, and watched an episode of House from one of those non-Emmy-winning seasons that was actually good.
Also in the realm of TV, I rented the first disc of "Mad Men," which has been popular at work and gotten good reviews, and I have to say I was disappointed. I guess I'd hoped for something else in the execution, but I'm not sure what. My quest for a new TV show continues.
And I'll be running down to Virginia from Monday to Wednesday which will be stressful, hot, and irritating. I have to email my people down there and be like "Hi! Sorry I haven't spoken to you since December! I've been horribly depressed, my grandfather died, and I still don't know what I'm doing with my life! This makes me sort of reclusive. How are you, though, do you want some chairs?" I get to take the bus to Chicago at 5 am! Here's hoping that my rental car fares better this time.
Blah blah ANYWAY HERE IS SOME ART! It is largely "The Fall"-themed, because for all the movie's failings, it was beautiful to look at and the Bandit's costume has lodged itself in my head and I love it terribly. Also at the end there are some colors.
Except this is a different character and why doesn't she have any shoes?
( Are you trying to save my soul? )
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ij_ciceqi
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1:33p
ff7 wordfic: shiver: seph x zack: workfriendly: rough
http://ciceqi.insanejournal.com/363058.html Okay, so this is more of a retold/modernized fairytale than a fairytale done FF7-style; it's basically a remix of the Wutai war based on The Boy Who Didn't Know What Fear Was (or some variation on the title thereof). It's not Crisis Core compliant (almost nothing I write ever will be), and the m/m here is glossed pretty heavily, thus the "workfriendly." *coff* Yeah.
Shiver,
or The Boy Who Didn't Know What Fear Was for </a></b></a>hareguizer
Seph x Zack
Once upon a time, in a tiny little town in the middle of nowhere, there lived a family with only one son. They were a happy family, Gongagan born and bred, and while they weren't rich, they always had more than enough to get by. Around those parts the husband was known for his solid good sense, the wife for her patience and kindness, and when they finally brought a little boy into the world, they would have sworn their happiness was complete.
And in a way it was; their son grew up to be a fine lad with a ready smile for all the world, who always had a helping hand to lend, considerate and strong and loved by all. He had courage, too--enough courage to swim out to one of the knife-fang islands just off the coast on a dare, to poke a Kimara Bug nest to see what would happen, to rope a wild white chocobo because he'd heard it couldn't be done. On the day he brought his mother Flower Prong blossoms for her birthday "because they were pretty," the good woman nearly fainted outright.
"That boy is utterly fearless," she complained to the neighbors, full of worry as any mother would be over a boy that seemed to lack the sense the gods gave a pill-bug. At least they curled up to protect themselves when something knocked them over; her son just got back up again, dusted himself off, and kept smiling his indestructible smile.
By the time he grew to be twelve, he wasn't Zack Fair anymore; he was Zack Fearless, and truth be told, the name tickled him right down to his toes. "There's got to be plenty of things a man without fear can do in this world," he used to say, only his mother would remind him he wasn't a man yet, and his father would just shake his head and groan. The Fairs of Gongaga had roots right down into the earth, back to the time of the Ancients, only it was plain for anyone to see that Zack wouldn't be content to stay in their sleepy little town for long.
He was thirteen when he left Gongaga forever, with fifty gil in his pocket and a whistle on his lips. His parents knew they couldn't stop him, but when they'd asked him what he intended to make of himself, the answer he gave brought tears to his good mother's eyes and made his father turn pale as the grave. "I'm going to become a SOLDIER First Class," he said with a grin, "because if there's ever been a place for the fearless, it's there."
And so off he went, though he knew Midgar was a long way away. The way he figured it, he still had months to go before he turned fourteen, but if he started out now, he'd get there in time. He didn't mind work, and he didn't mind sleeping out in the open; it was all a grand adventure to him.
Hugging the coast, figuring that was the best way to find a ship that could take him across the ocean to the eastern continent, he spent his nights on the beach and the days on his feet, living by his wits as he circled steadily north. He did a little fishing, perfected the art of the sling, and if he missed home a little sometimes, it wasn't enough to turn his feet back the way he'd come.
One evening towards dusk, he was ambling down a pitted dirt road when he heard an odd commotion in the trees, closer to the beach than the rutted path. He'd heard gunfire before, but these shots came too rapidly to be hunters out for sport.
Now in those days, half the world was at war with the other half...or, to be more accurate, four fifths of the world was at war with a glorified island known as Wutai, and Wutai had been known to take offense at being thus singled out. Expecting the worst, Zack left the road and headed into the trees, not quite sure what good he'd be able to do, but willing enough to try.
It was all over before he got there, and he found seven men lying dead in a shady little clearing, soldiers in Shinra blue, with no sign anywhere of the Wutain squad that had found them. Sprawled at odd angles, mangled by gunfire, the dead soldiers looked pitiful and defenseless and a little sad. Shaking his head in sympathy, Zack left the cover of the trees and checked each man in turn, laying them straight when he found no pulse in any of them. The one with the most bars on his shoulder had a big, clunky wireless, and after a few minutes of fumbling with switches and dials, Zack managed to raise someone on the other end.
"Who the hell is this?" a tinny voice squawked over the speaker, and Zack coughed a little, not certain of the procedure or what to say.
"Uh, this is Zack. I found your guys out here; I think there's Wutain ships making a landing on the coast."
"What the--"
Zack blinked at the sudden burst of muffled noise that spat from the wireless, but then another voice came over the channel.
"How old are you, son?" the new voice asked, patient and kind.
"Going on fourteen, sir."
"Good enough. Can you stay there until a squad comes by--and keep the channel open? We'll track your position and pick up our boys if you'll stay put."
"Sure thing, sir. And I'll let you know if I see anything else."
"You do that, son. By the way...where are your parents?"
"Back in Gongaga," he said, turning in place to see if he could spot any motion in the trees, any sign of further trouble. "I left to join SOLDIER, sir."
"Now why doesn't that surprise me?"
Zack was still there when the troop transport pulled up on the road and a team of medics and soldiers came slinking quiet and purposeful through the trees. They found him waiting alone, still chatting with Major Zinsner about the joys of building wooden bridges across contested rivers while being pelted with Fire. The lieutenant in charge stared at him for a long moment, seeing nothing but a sturdy boy with spiky black hair and a sad, earnest smile, too damn young to be out here in what had temporarily become a war zone.
Once Zack figured out who was in charge, he made an attempt at a salute and handed over the wireless. "It's for you," he said.
When the transport left with the dead in the back, it took Zack as well, not back to Gongaga where the lieutenant insisted he belonged but all the way to Midgar, where the major knew he'd end up anyway.
Major Zinsner, Zack quickly learned, was head of the Corps of Engineers and was almost never in Midgar itself, but he was best friends with Sergeant Stiegler, a First Class SOLDIER whose sister had married Lieutenant Grange in the recruiting office, and Zack was in, three months early. "Hate to do it, son," Zinsner said, shaking his head, "but I'd hate to see you on the street or in the woods even worse. You just mind your manners, now, do your best, and you'll do fine."
When Lieutenant Grange asked him what his name was, he nearly said, "Zack Fearless," but he caught himself at the last moment.
Two years passed swiftly by, and it was a fine thing that Zack had no dislike of work, for work he did, from dawn until dusk. Mostly he trained, day in and day out, until he could shoot a rifle and clean it after, until he could jog for hours or march all day and set up camp at the end of it, until he could equip and unequip a materia and know what power it held without being told. Every day he expected the orders that would send them to Wutai, and every day it was another division's turn, the rotation grinding slowly on and taking the war with it. Sometimes he was sent out with the others on monster control, and it was nearly always Zack who landed the final blow, who got in closest and struck first.
Within six months of joining the military, he wasn't Zack Fair anymore; he was Zack Fearless again, and to tell the truth, that suited him right down to the soles of his boots. He was still determined to get into SOLDIER, and he figured there were worse ways to get noticed than that.
One day his sergeant came stomping up to him with an odd look in his eye and let him know that another sergeant--Stiegler, Major Zinsner's friend--wanted a word with him. Zack didn't wait to be told twice; he always liked talking with the SOLDIERs, and sometimes Zinsner sent messages through the grapevine to Zack. Wandering through the SOLDIER practice yard, he waved at the ones he knew, smiled at the ones he didn't, and caught up with Stiegler just as he was setting off a Bolt materia for a group of awed trainees.
"Whoa," Zack said, blinking away the spots from his eyes as the brilliant arcs of lightning faded. "Is that thing mastered?"
"Fuck me blind," Stiegler muttered, pulling a sour face. "Why can't the assholes upstairs send me a few more like this kid?
"Grab a sword, you little shit," he added, and Zack grinned, knowing that was Stiegler's way of saying he liked you. "Time to show me what you've got. That is, if you want to make SOLDIER."
Zack grabbed a sword. Just a few months later, he was officially a SOLDIER Third Class.
After that it was work and more work, training and more training, but Zack didn't mind that at all. He was following his dream, getting closer by the day, and before he knew it, he'd have it in his grasp. First Class. It was all going to be his.
The only problem was that he was beginning to feel like a fake.
He hadn't thought much of it when the other troopers talked about battle nerves or panicking under fire; when one of the guys from his old squad would get that wide-eyed, rabbitty look, Zack just stepped in before they could freeze or balk and jollied them past it with a few words of encouragement, picked up the slack if he needed to. People got scared, that was all; just because he didn't know the meaning of fear himself, that didn't make him clueless. Nearly anybody could get past being scared if you just gave them a hand at the right time.
He hadn't expected to see it in the SOLDIERs, too, and that put a squirmy feeling somewhere between sympathetic embarrassment and self-conscious shame in the pit of his stomach. Being fearless like him...he'd thought it was more common, but maybe there was just something wrong with him. He'd never felt it was something he should boast about; it wasn't like he could take credit for it, seeing as it came naturally to him. Now he was starting to wonder if he ought to hide it instead...only it was too late for that. He'd become Zack Fearless to the SOLDIERs too within three months of his promotion.
"Listen," Stiegler said to him one day, "got a job for you, if you're up for it."
"Sure thing," Zack said--it was what he always said--but it'd been a pretty listless week, and it'd given him far too long to think. He still flashed his trademark, carefree smile, but a little bit of sadness had started to creep in at the edges.
Sergeant Stiegler was stubborn, irritable, and foul-mouthed to the point of speaking his own dialect, maybe even his own language, but he was also a highly observant man. He knew what happened when guys like Zack got bored, and he knew just the thing to shake him up.
"Right. Well, the General's in town," he said with a shrug and watched Zack's eyes light up with curiosity. "He's fucking gone through another set of bodyguards, and he's making noises about how he doesn't need any more at the rate the bastards keep dying on him. Shinra's saying he'll fucking take the guards and like it, but he's got them bargained down to one. Now, I'll level with you, kid," Stiegler said, eyeing Zack soberly. "You go out there, and there's a good chance your ass is going to get shipped back in a bucket the first day. Yeah, I know I trained you," he added quickly, though Zack hadn't intended to interrupt, "but Sephiroth doesn't wait around for anybody, and he likes to be right out there in the thick of it, you get me? Bastard doesn't know the meaning of the word 'fear.'"
Zack blinked at that and hoped his face didn't give him away too plainly. Was there actually someone else out there like him?
"So, what d'you say? Think you're up to being the Demon General's shadow?"
"Sign me up," Zack said with a shrug, and Stiegler did.
On the morning he was supposed to meet with General Sephiroth for the first time, Zack found himself in possession of a brand new Fire materia, a staggering boost to his security clearance, and a shiny new sword to sling on his back. Pocketing the papers that held his official orders, he took himself up to a floor he'd never been to before, high above the offices and labs and ordinary file rooms. The only thing that confused him was that he was pretty sure Sephiroth's office was still a few floors up.
"General Sephiroth?" the floor's receptionist asked with raised brows. "He's in the conference room right now, but if you're...hmm, Fair is it? He said you should wait here, and he'll collect you after he's done."
'Here' was a nice enough place as waiting rooms went. Instead of uncomfortable plastic chairs there were long leather couches along the two unoccupied walls, and Zack took a seat right in the middle where he could watch the elevator and the receptionist alike. With Shinra secretaries it paid to be cautious. Flirting usually helped.
He looked up when the elevator doors opened again, and out stepped two men in good suits worn like a uniform, a uniform no one could mistake. The first Turk looked barely as old as Zack, his bright red hair pulled back in a long tail, the rest of it spiking every which way above a wicked smirk and sleepy eyes. The other was tall and broad-shouldered with a face that didn't look like the guy had ever cracked a smile in his life, and if he ever did, you wouldn't want to see it in the first place.
"Man," the redhead groaned, "that Tseng sure is cold. Putting us on babysitting duty...wait, who's the new guy?"
The redhead's name turned out to be Reno, and the other Turk was Rude, and after a few minutes of eyeing one another, Reno broke into a sly, wide grin.
"Well, I'm bored now. How 'bout some cards?"
Zack looked hard at Reno, considered everything he knew or had heard about the Turks, and shrugged with a smile. "I'm game...so long as we all get comfortable first."
When General Sephiroth came stalking out of the conference room an hour later, he found his new bodyguard sitting with a pair of Turks who'd thrown off their jackets and rolled up their sleeves, and who were eyeing Zack in frank consternation as he laid down another winning hand. Pulled their claws, Sephiroth was just surprised enough to think, amazed that anyone canny enough to worry about hidden aces could be diplomatic enough to keep things this friendly while countering the possibility. Reno actually laughed as he threw down his own cards, honest respect in his tone.
"Lucky bastard. I'm marking these things next time," he added just as the elevator opened again, and abruptly the room was full of Turks.
Rightly taking this as a cue, Zack looked around and stood as he noticed Sephiroth lurking by the receptionist's desk; saluting smartly, he wondered if he ought to smile as well, put the man at his ease. Sephiroth looked very cool and self-contained standing there, but somehow uncomfortable as well. What the hell. Smiling never hurt anyone.
If anything, Sephiroth looked more uncertain than before, just before the man's face closed up and his eyes went unreadable. "Fair," Sephiroth greeted him shortly. "Follow me."
And so down the elevator they went as the rest of the department heads came filing out, and the doors closed just swiftly enough that Zack caught a glimpse of Sephiroth's expression in the metal, anger and distaste locked swiftly away.
Zack had never met the general before, had never had the chance to study him so closely, though he'd seen Sephiroth on inspections now and then. The man was even more impressive in person, tall and powerful and deadly-calm, not given to the fidgets or random conversation. He also had a face Zack privately thought anyone would go to war for, in oh so many ways. It was a shame, though; as nice as he'd look doing it, Zack got the feeling Sephiroth didn't smile very often.
Sephiroth had said 'follow,' so Zack followed without question or complaint; it was what a bodyguard did, after all, or so he'd been told when they'd briefed him. He hadn't expected that their first stop would be at the stable Shinra kept on the Plate itself, right next to the motor pool, or that Sephiroth would stand waiting with an impatient frown as half the guys on stable duty took one look at him and scattered in a dozen different directions like a flock of startled sparrows. The man who finally came out to meet them led a saddled white hen by the bridle, and he appeared to be praying.
"You'll need something to ride," Sephiroth said shortly, his voice nearly uninflected. It was his eyes that held the challenge, and Zack had never backed down from a challenge.
"Yes, sir," he said with an easy grin, though he was reminded suddenly that Sephiroth hadn't wanted even one guard, hadn't wanted him. Orders were orders, and the ones in Zack's pocket meant that Sephiroth couldn't just leave him behind...but the man could break him, and by the time new orders got issued, the general could be back in Wutai again, alone and unburdened. With no one to watch his back.
Distracted by such gloomy thoughts--and the immediate determination to dig his heels in--he didn't pay too much attention to the chocobo. She stood utterly quiet as he got his foot in the stirrup, settled his hands on the saddle and vaulted up, swinging his leg over her back. It was only as he was tucking his other foot into the irons and gathering up the reins that she exploded into motion, moving so fast it was like someone lit a Haste under her tailfeathers.
One bound took her as far as a SOLDIER could leap flat-footed, and when she whirled in place with a shimmying buck, it reminded Zack a bit of that time he'd caught a ruby dragon by the tail. All at once she was airborne again, jumping straight up this time, and when a white chocobo decides she wants to jump, you didn't ask how high; you asked how low the ceilings were. The bounce when she touched down again was nearly enough to shake him from the saddle, but he hung on tight, grinning as she swapped end-for-end, lunged, pivoted, and shook herself all over as he laughed out loud for the sheer joy of it.
"So that's where you got to, gorgeous!" he exclaimed as she finally stilled with a huff and a dry rattle of wings. "And here I'd thought you'd just wandered back home."
Skadi eyed him as if he were being willfully stupid, but when he reached up to offer her a skritch, she didn't nip at his fingers, so he figured he must be forgiven.
Only Sephiroth was staring at him, and what had to be the entire stable crew and half the motor pool were standing behind the man--where it was safe--staring as well.
"You know this creature?" Sephiroth asked slowly, something unreadable in his eyes.
"Know her? She's the first chocobo I ever rode!"
Sephiroth eyed him a moment longer, but then he nodded, apparently resigned. "Make your preparations," he said. "We'll be shipping out tomorrow."
He wasn't sure that meant Sephiroth was reconciled to having him around or not, but he supposed he'd find out soon enough. They were going to be working together pretty closely, after all; they'd get used to each other eventually.
What he found out almost immediately was that Sephiroth wasn't like anyone else he'd ever met before, and considering what a mixed bunch the other SOLDIERs were, that was saying something.
Not that he was totally unpredictable; about half the usual responses were there. If you brought up something interesting, he got curious; if you wasted his time, he got impatient. But he never laughed, never joked, never relaxed even for a moment, and for all that he was the most brilliant commander Zack had ever had the pleasure of sneaking behind enemy lines with, sometimes he struck Zack as someone who only looked human but hadn't been filled up with all the right things.
"So where's the rest of it?" he asked one day, riding behind Sephiroth as they circled a deserted village to make their rendezvous with the main army.
"The rest of what?"
"You," he said, hoping the other man wouldn't take it the wrong way. "You don't have to keep everything bottled up, you know. I mean, it's okay to let loose once in a while."
"I don't know what you mean."
Zack chuckled ruefully, but he had to ask. "Do you really not, or do you just want me to shut up?"
The look Sephiroth shot him was frustrated, but there was something uncertain beneath the irritation that made Zack grin.
"That's what I meant. Don't hold back--tell me how you really feel!"
"I don't know what you want from me," Sephiroth snapped, but Zack could hear the whole truth in it and realized that Sephiroth really didn't, no more than he knew what it was like to be afraid.
"That," he said, "just that. You just be yourself, and we'll figure out the rest as we go."
What he'd found out almost as quickly was that Sephiroth had no concept of delegating when it didn't involve entire platoons.
"My job," he'd mumble as he stumbled out of their tent an hour before dawn to take over the task of saddling their chocobos, and "my job too" when it came time to nudge Sephiroth out of the way so he could finish the job of packing up said tent himself, and "Seph, put the shovel down now and nobody has to get hurt."
"Entrenchment tool," Sephiroth corrected him automatically, and Zack snorted, unimpressed. "I am accustomed to doing these things for myself."
"And I'm accustomed to having a drill sergeant yelling at me for not doing them quick enough," Zack countered, grinning a little as he held out his hand. "You're in my spot, Seph. Move."
Sephiroth gave him the shovel. Zack chalked it up as a victory.
The SOLDIERs who joined them the very next day were all Firsts and Seconds, all of them dying to know what was taking Sephiroth so long, considering that he'd usually have cut a direct path from the ship to the camp, razing anything that had the misfortune to get in his way. Bets had been placed weeks ago over whether or not he'd be coming back alone, and "alone" was the odds-on favorite. Only then he'd started this incessant circling, ghosting past enemy outposts, stirring up random patrols, and after all that, well, he'd had them curious too. So they'd come to see for themselves who the general was putting through his paces and were more than a little surprised to find that the general's new shadow was an apparently-suicidal Third.
Zack didn't know about any of that. What he did know was that they finally had reinforcements, probably weren't that far from the rest of the army, and that from the way those guys were grinning their wolf-pack grins, he was probably going to have to prove himself to them, too.
"So," the biggest one said as gunfire erupted all around them. "Think you can take care of a few snipers?"
The guy was a behemoth of a man with bright gold eyes, his face as intimidating smiling as sober, but Zack smiled right back and said, "Like knocking down a set of pins."
He felt mighty prophetic when it turned out that there weren't two gunmen in the trees, or three, but nine, and he knocked them down one after the other. The SOLDIERs even welcomed him warmly when he came back, maybe not quite convinced he wouldn't get his fool head shot off and leave Sephiroth moody as hell again, but at least willing to wager on his life expectancy like they hadn't bothered to before...and a SOLDIER will bet on anything.
"Not bad, kid," Titus rumbled, still smiling that toothy smile. "Not much scares you, does it?"
"No," Zack said, trying not to deflate too visibly. "Not much."
Sephiroth's eyes sharpened on him fiercely, but if the man thought anything odd of Zack's wistful tone, he kept those thoughts to himself.
And so Zack came to the camp in Wutai, and though everyone indulged him at first like every day might be his last, he made it through the first week with nothing worse than better reason to avoid the mess tents than most, what with all the camp cooks trying to feed him his last meal morning, noon and night...and getting a bit too creative with the available ingredients. By the end of the second week, it didn't seem quite so surprising to see him come trooping back in on Sephiroth's heels, talking animatedly with a broad smile and broader gestures, oblivious to the way jaws dropped around them when Sephiroth nodded slowly in agreement.
By the end of the third week, after he'd destroyed an entire enemy brigade "because Sephiroth looked busy," he was Zack Fearless to Wutai, too. The entire continent. If he hadn't been sure about the name before, he was even less sure what to make of it now. Even he'd been called a monster a time or two for the glow in his eyes, but he was starting to think he might just be the only SOLDIER who actually was one. A monster, that was.
And then the rainy season started, and everything got sort of quiet and muddy for a while.
Wutai in the spring was the closest thing to the Promised Land you could find this side of the Lifestream, and when summer came and baked everything lazy, even the heat wasn't so bad...if you were a native, at least. Some of the men--the ones who'd come over bright-eyed and impressionable, mostly, and a lot could be forgiven if you were bright-eyed and impressionable--took the news that the rains were coming with some relief, hoping that meant the even lazier heat of autumn would finally break.
The heat did break, so in one sense they got their wish, but wishes were tricky things. Unless you were very specific, you tended to get exactly what you asked for and not necessarily what you wanted. The same troopers who'd been looking forward to the rain found themselves cursing it soon enough, because the rainy season in Wutai didn't mean a few polite showers here and there or even weeks of dreary drizzle. Instead it was a steady string of gales interspersed with hurricanes--and once or twice a waterspout that got confused about where exactly the waterline stopped and where the waterlogged land began--and through it all: rain, sheets and buckets of it, and the rain was cold.
Not even the locals really wanted to stir outside in all that, though a few of the more stubborn ones (or the ones with water affinities) took up their rifles and their raingear and sullenly set about to harass the Shinra forces with redoubled ire. Still, despite the irate natives--and the mold, the mud, the threat of foot rot in both man and bird, the virulent attack of the sniffles making its way through the ranks, and the mind-numbing boredom--the rainy season was the closest thing to a cease-fire there was. It gave the quartermasters time to arrange for resupply, gave the men time to write home, gave Zack time to teach Sephiroth how to play cards and how not to take the game too seriously. It also gave him a little too much time to think.
"Hey, Seph," he said one afternoon in the tent they shared, the steady drumming of rain on canvas underscoring his words. Because he had his eyes on his cards, which he'd been rearranging for the last three minutes without realizing, he missed the look Sephiroth threw him, half wry tolerance over the nickname and half relief that what was distracting Zack was finally going to be aired.
"Hn," was all Sephiroth said, but Zack thought it sounded rather encouraging nonetheless.
"Have you ever...um." No, that wasn't the way to go about it. He couldn't ask whether Sephiroth had ever been afraid of anything; what if the guy thought he was digging for weaknesses? Then there'd be one of those awkward silences while he babbled an explanation, and Sephiroth would have to go away and think about it, and even if it always turned out fine in the end, he'd have the rest of SOLDIER giving him wounded looks until Sephiroth worked out whatever it was he needed to work out.
And now Sephiroth was eyeing him, one brow arched, though he seemed almost amused. "If you have a wager down on my answering yes," Sephiroth said, "the answer is no."
Zack snickered, relaxing again. "Aw, c'mon. Would I bet on you? When you weren't standing right there to hear it?" he added when Sephiroth's other brow went up.
Sephiroth considered for a moment then nodded. "True. Ask your question, Zack. I don't guarantee an answer."
"Well...it's not really a...I mean, it's...er...it's complicated," he said at last, tense again and the littlest bit miserable. On the one hand, if Sephiroth turned out to be like him, then at least he wouldn't be alone. On the other hand, Sephiroth had enough to set him apart already without making it any worse.
"Zack."
"Yeah?"
"Ask."
Though Zack was perfectly willing to badger his commanding officer into eating, and sleeping, and had generally appointed himself Sephiroth's best-friend-in-training, he'd never yet disobeyed a direct order. So he thought about it a minute, squared his shoulders, and asked. After a fashion.
"Sergeant Stiegler says you don't know the meaning of fear."
"Stiegler?"
"To paraphrase," Zack allowed, and for a moment he almost thought Sephiroth would smile.
The man looked at him for a long, long moment, but in the end, all he said was, "Stiegler's wrong."
"Oh," Zack said, glancing back down at his cards again. He hadn't quite wanted to hope, but now he felt--
"Zack?"
Sephiroth looked worried when Zack glanced up, and he might have explained it all then: how he'd never known what fear was and how he'd thought that would make him a hero, only how could you be a hero without courage, and what was courage in the absence of fear? But before he could spill his troubles into Sephiroth's lap, an explosion went off in the camp outside that shivered the ground under them, and they threw their cards aside to pick up their swords and go tearing out into the chaos of a surprise attack.
It was past midnight before they dragged back in again, soaked to the skin and tired to the bone. They'd lost a great number of their sentries, which explained how the Wutain troops had gotten close enough to attack in the first place, but what put the bleak, cold look on Sephiroth's face was the six SOLDIERs they'd lost as well, four Thirds and two Seconds, most of them men he'd known for years. Sephiroth never took casualties lightly, but to Zack's mind, Sephiroth regarded every single SOLDIER he served with as particularly his, and every SOLDIER he'd ever met felt exactly the same about their general. Losing even one of their own would have been ugly; six was much too much.
He wanted to help, but he didn't have a clue what to say. Standing uncertainly by the tent-flap, he watched helplessly as Sephiroth dropped in an exhausted heap onto his bedroll, staring at nothing, pupils expanding slowly in the gloom of the tent to black ovals on a field of still-brightly glowing green. He looked a little too tightly-controlled, Zack thought, uncomfortably rigid, as if the stiffness of his spine and the clench of his fists were the only things holding him together.
Crossing the tent didn't require thought, and he didn't second-guess himself as he dropped down to sit beside the man. Wrapping his arms around his bent knees, he bumped their shoulders together casually, then stayed there when Sephiroth didn't immediately shove him away. He looked back when Sephiroth turned his head to stare at him, eyes narrowed and wary, and under that almost desperate. He wasn't quite sure what stupid thing Sephiroth clearly half-expected him to do--spout platitudes? try to jolly him into a better mood?--but the sympathetic half-smile he offered made the other man relax with a shuddering sigh.
"Huh," he said after a while, reaching over to poke at Sephiroth's leg where it brushed against his own. "You're like a block of ice. Get out of those wet clothes and go to bed. We can see what still needs fixing in the morning."
"I doubt it will help," Sephiroth replied tiredly. "We've been soaking into my bedroll for the last hour."
"Then take mine," Zack offered, struggling to his feet to strip out of his own wet uniform. He could handle a bit of damp--Gongaga summers were humid enough that actual rain would have been overkill--and looking out for Sephiroth was sort of his job. As a friend, that was, not as a Shinra-appointed meat shield.
"Zack," Sephiroth said while Zack was dousing the lights, preparing to get what sleep he could, and he glanced over to find the other man watching him with eyes completely unguarded for once. Sephiroth didn't ask--maybe didn't know how to ask--but Zack read the uncertainty and need in his eyes just fine.
"Scoot over," he said as the tent went dark, and he had his own enhanced vision and the faint glow of Sephiroth's eyes to guide him as he slid in next to the other man, wrapped him up and held on tight. Which would have been more than enough for him, but it didn't take long for Sephiroth to thaw, first his icy skin and then his rigid tension, one arm slowly shifting to wrap around Zack's waist.
The first kiss was a surprise, but no one had ever accused Zack of being slow. He'd been hoping Sephiroth would warm to him, that he could crack that cold exterior once and for all, and however the next morning played out, this had to be a step in the right direction.
When he woke a little before dawn, he found Sephiroth up before him, buttoned neatly into the armor of the perfect general before Zack even lifted his head from the pillows. Zack took one look at that icy, unchanged composure and dropped his face back into the crook of his arm with a groan. Whatever he'd thought the night before, that was before he had to get up on three hours of sleep and face a Sephiroth who apparently wanted to forget that anything had ever happened.
And then a toe nudged him gently in the side.
"Am I saddling my own chocobo," Sephiroth asked, unexpectedly mild, "or do you still want the job?"
"I'm up," he said instantly, leaping to his feet in one move, and didn't stop grinning even when Sephiroth had to remind him to get dressed before bounding out of the tent.
They rode for hours that day and hours the next, slogging through mud and keeping a sharp lookout for the enemy, because while they'd tracked down a large number of Wutain soldiers the day of the attack, the enemy commander had disappeared like smoke, leaving even Sephiroth baffled. It was true that the Wutain army had the advantage of knowing the ground, but after so many years in the field, very little escaped the Demon General, however cleverly hidden.
Finding an entire abandoned temple nestled away in the trees just added insult to injury.
"We'll leave the birds here," Sephiroth said, already dismounting, "and circle around on foot. Call in our coordinates," he added as an afterthought, staring hard at the vine-crazed walls, the chill creeping back into his eyes. Zack did what he was told, patting Skadi reassuringly when she tossed him a look that questioned his sanity. If someone wanted to lay a trap, there was no doubt that this would be the perfect place for it, but if there was any chance that the officer who'd led the raid on their camp was inside, he knew Sephiroth wouldn't risk letting the man escape a second time. Trap or not, with or without reinforcements, they were going in.
It was dark inside the temple, its ancient halls grim and silent, and Zack found it hard to wrap his mind around the idea that this had ever been a place of worship. Not that he had much clue what the Wutain people considered sacred, but he did notice that snakes seemed to be mighty popular with the local stonemasons. At least the roof was still in pretty good shape; he didn't mind wandering into a trap when he already knew it was there, but doing it in the rain would try anyone's patience.
He expected it to be more difficult, but they found the Wutain officer--a colonel, if he had his colors straight--in the innermost sanctum of the temple, a great drafty hangar of a room big enough to park the Highwind in. There were steps leading up to a solemn-looking altar at the far end of the room, the walls to either side lined with empty plinths where statues or offerings might once have stood, but the wide expanse of floor was mostly empty, without so much as a bench or a pew. Zack vaguely remembered that people spent a lot of time kneeling at formal events in Wutai, but what mostly interested him was seeing that they had a clear area to fight in and nowhere for enemy reinforcements to hide.
Even as career officers went, this one was ancient, a lean, leathery old stick of a man with a close-cropped buzz of iron-grey hair, his sharp eyes regarding them steadily, without fear. Zack did think it was odd that the colonel was just waiting for them, stiff-spined and empty-handed, but he didn't realize how odd until he and Sephiroth started across the tiled floor and something went click under both of their heels at once.
Sephiroth could easily have leapt to safety; even in the ranks of the First Class, no one could match him for speed or strength. Which made it all the more surprising when Zack saw the man blur towards him, not away, felt the sudden grip of strong hands and found himself airborne, flung towards the now-grinning colonel--and past a line of tiles he dimly noticed looked newer than the rest--and away from the sudden explosion at his back.
When he hit the ground and rolled to his feet, he whipped back around to stare incredulously behind him at Sephiroth's still form, battered and charred and crumpled to one side of the crater where the floor used to be.
"Amazing," the Wutain colonel laughed, his accent thick but understandable. "And I thought your presence would make my work more difficult. Welcome, friend," he added with a slow, unpleasant smile. "I'm very sorry to have to kill you after the favor you've done me, but I'm afraid I'll have to make certain of you both."
Zack wasn't used to instinct pulling him two ways at once. One part of him was yelling that he should attack, stop the old guy before he could make good on his threat; the other half of him suggested that throwing Sephiroth over one shoulder and sprinting for the door was equally reasonable as plans made on the fly went, and that he could always come back later to kill the guy. It wasn't like the colonel was even a SOLDIER; without surprise on his side, there was really no comparison.
Only Zack also wasn't used to wondering what color materia the other side might be carrying, as became abundantly clear when the entire floor was suddenly awash with water. And not just a little water; there was practically an ocean of it, and he realized all at once why the colonel had chosen this particular room to lay his trap. It was probably the only place in the temple large enough to contain the gigantic snake the guy had summoned.
Hissing like an entire train yard blowing their stacks at once, the sea serpent flexed its coils and bared its needle-sharp fangs, each one as long as his arm. Zack stared up at it with his fists on his hips, one brow arching as the lap of waves washed over the tops of his boots, and felt the vaguest tickle of a plan beginning to take form.
"That's cheating," he declared, eyeing first the snake and then the old man in affronted disappointment.
"Cheating?" the colonel repeated, momentarily nonplused. He'd been expecting the boy to beg for his life, possibly cower, heroics if they'd recruited this one for his brawn and not his brain. He hadn't expected the boy to...to take offense. If anything, he ought to feel honored; not every Shinra dog had the distinction of being destroyed by Leviathan.
"Oh, come on. In all this water? In the middle of the rainy season?" Zack scoffed, folding his arms across his chest. "Please. You could be the worst guy in Wutai with materia and look like a god using a water summon. Now if you'd used Ifrit, on the other hand...."
"Ifrit?" the colonel demanded, incredulous. "Ifrit is nothing compared to Leviathan!"
Zack snorted, clearly unconvinced. "Ever tried summoning that oversized lizard of yours in the middle of the desert?"
Even Leviathan had stopped hissing, its head reared far back as it stared down at Zack with a faintly puzzled expression.
"Look," Zack said while the colonel was still sputtering over the 'lizard,' "I'll make a bet with you. I don't have any summons on me myself, but I'll bet you I can beat you and your snake with the least of Sephiroth's materia. Not even mastered--SOLDIER's honor."
"SOLDIERs have no honor," the old man grumbled, but that was reflex and Zack decided not to take offense. "One materia."
"You got it," Zack said with a grin, edging slow and easy towards the cool, impossibly long sweep of Sephiroth's sword. It was weird to see Masamune lying discarded on the floor, but he kept his eyes on her to keep from glancing at Sephiroth, knowing he couldn't keep his cocky expression in place if he had to see his friend broken and unconscious. Or maybe not unconscious. Maybe just listening from the steady, controlled sound of his breath, wet and gravelly but still there. Mentally apologizing for touching without asking, he knelt down and placed one hand on Masamune's hilt, finding her warm though Sephiroth's gloved hands were usually cool. Looking up, he met the colonel's eyes and asked, "Ready?"
The old man smirked, contemptuous and sure. "Certainly."
Zack knew every single one of Sephiroth's materia, how close they were to being mastered and which ones he was carrying on any given day, though that intel was generally a matter of national security. He'd even helped master a few of them himself, equipping whatever Sephiroth handed him without complaint (although the rest of the camp had petitioned strenuously against letting him have the Transform materia ever again). The mastered Ultima materia in Masamune's top slot was tempting, very tempting, but a bet was a bet.
As it happened, the least of the materia Sephiroth was carrying at the moment was Fullcure.
He vaguely saw the blur as Sephiroth passed him, snatched his hand clear just in time as the man scooped up his sword on the way. Less than a heartbeat later, a cracked materia was falling to the floor in neatly-sectioned halves, the old man staring in disbelief as he hung in Sephiroth's fist, throat already crushed, the frail bones of his neck giving way a moment later with a snap.
Zack didn't quite know what to say. War was war, but this felt a little too personal, and he had sort of tricked the old guy, though he'd never specifically said he planned on using a summon materia. But it was either that or risk Sephiroth's life on his being able to take out a grizzled veteran and an irate snake god, and he hadn't been willing to bet on those odds. He was pretty sure even the other SOLDIERs would agree with him.
"That was quick thinking," Sephiroth said as he let the dead man fall, his voice too flat still, but Zack could tell it wasn't aimed at him. "You did an excellent job of keeping your head."
"Yeah," Zack said morosely, any pride he might have felt vanishing instantly, though the relief was still the same. Sephiroth was fine, after all; did the how really matter? "Thanks."
Sephiroth turned on him with a jerk, brows creased in confusion, but before the man could interrogate his subordinate, the doorway was suddenly full of SOLDIERs who had to be ordered to "Halt! Hold your positions, now!"
There weren't any more explosions in the temple that day, but Zack got the feeling he'd only deferred his own, more private explosion until Sephiroth got him alone for questioning.
It was midnight again before they crawled back into the tent they'd been sharing since they landed in Wutai, and while Zack had been looking forward to returning when they set out that morning, now he wasn't so sure. He'd never had to explain himself to anyone before, and Sephiroth wasn't just anyone; he had no idea where to begin.
Sephiroth didn't say anything at first, casually peeling out of his wet coat and then tugging off his boots, one after another. The sword harness went next, but then he gave Zack a long, considering look before lowering himself down to sit on his own bunk with more grace than Zack could have managed at the moment. "Sit," he said, more an order than an invitation, and it was sheer stubbornness that made Zack go over to flop down beside him, picking sheepishly at the laces of his own boots.
It was quiet between them for so long that he almost let himself hope that Sephiroth would let the matter go entirely, though he knew better. What surprised him most was the question Sephiroth settled on in the end, as if he knew very well what was bothering Zack and merely wanted to have it out in the open at last.
"Why did you ask me if I'd ever been afraid?"
Which wasn't what he'd asked, but it was what he'd been going to ask before he thought better of it. Scrubbing a hand through his still-damp hair, he eyed Sephiroth sidelong and said, "You know my nickname, right?"
"Zack Fearless."
"Right. It's, um...well, it's sort of the truth. Even as a kid, I was never afraid of anything--literally. I know other people feel it sometimes, but I don't know what it's like myself, and even if I ever did get scared, I wouldn't know it to recognize it. So it's like...."
Sephiroth said nothing, but the look he gave Zack was listening, encouraging, so he went on, feeling mortification creep over him.
"All my life, people have made a huge deal over how brave they say I am, but it all feels fake. It doesn't take guts to do something that doesn't scare you, just luck or skill or both. And I guess I've got that, but so do all these guys. There's nothing special about me; I've just got something wrong in my head."
"Because you don't know what fear is."
"Yeah."
Sephiroth said nothing for a long moment, eyeing him like a puzzle that needed solving, and Zack, having seen that look before, buttoned his lip and let the man stare. He knew lots of people thought that Sephiroth had something wrong in his head too, but he'd decided that was bullshit. It was just that the rest of the world wasn't bright enough to learn to see things through Sephiroth's eyes.
"I see," Sephiroth said at last, no censure in his tone, no condemnation. "Then I'll have to send you back to Midgar."
Wait. What?
"I can't run the risk that you'll neglect to see a danger to your own person," Sephiroth said evenly, "though you've proven yourself adept at neutralizing threats to others. I'm sorry."
"What?" Zack demanded, something cold and unpleasant weighing down the pit of his stomach. His face felt cold, bloodless, though his heart was racing inside his chest; of all the outcomes he'd half imagined, he'd never thought it would come to this. "You're...you're sending me back?"
"Don't be ridiculous," Sephiroth said with a snort, eyeing him intently. "After all, you've just learned what fear feels like...haven't you?"
Zack stared, feeling like he'd been dipped in ice but like he was thawing, slowly, from the inside out. "That? That's what fear feels like?"
"Yes," Sephiroth said, looking more certain--and, oddly, more pleased--by the moment.
Zack thought about that for a long moment, then blew out an explosive sigh. "Fuck, Seph. If that's what fear feels like, then you've been scaring the shit out of me since the day I met you."
For a moment it looked like Sephiroth would lose the faint smile that had been tugging at the corners of his mouth. Then Zack was leaning close, grinning widely but punctuating every other word with a poke at Sephiroth's chest. "Okay, new rules, boss. That thing you do where you take on every monster in the area without waiting for backup? No."
Sephiroth arched a brow, cautiously relaxing as well. "No?"
"No," Zack said firmly, poking him again for good measure. "Ditto that thing you do where it's you against the entire Wutain continent. You're allowed one brigade at a time, and you have to leave something for the rest of us to do. We get bored if we don't get in on the fun, and the last thing you want is a pack of bored SOLDIERs running around."
"Too true," Sephiroth murmured, reaching over to settle his hand at Zack's hip and urge him even closer.
"And no leaving me behind," Zack added as he let himself be pulled to straddle Sephiroth's lap, "for any reason. Ever. Under any circumstance."
"Board meetings?"
"I'm tough," Zack promised. "I can take it."
"That's very brave of you," Sephiroth said without a hint of mockery, and that forced Zack to think. Was he brave after all? It helped to know that he might not be afraid for himself but that he could still be afraid for others. It evened things out somehow, made him feel human again.
"Maybe," he said, lacing his fingers together behind Sephiroth's neck, wrists resting on the man's broad shoulders. "Guess I've got enough courage for this, at least."
And he kissed the Demon General right there in his tent, with half the Shinra army bunking down and pacing sentry just outside, kissed him long and slow and breathless and then grinned as he was rolled over and pinned. "Still not scared of you," he teased, and Sephiroth smiled.
"Good."
And then Sephiroth taught him how to shiver as well, and that was even better still.
end
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bluepard
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7:43a
Dreamed of deceased older sister.
Send hugs plz.
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powercorrupts
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12:56a
My thoughts regarding The Dark Knight in full detail
I came.
current music: Dark Knight - Why So Serious
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maderr
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12:34a
The Dark Knight
Everything I wanted it to be and more. So much more. Best fucking Batman movie ever. Yes, please, and thank you.
I go to bed now.
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(2 comments | comment on this) Friday, July 18th, 2008
peppermintberry
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11:01p
( On 'Turn Left' )
Also, a literal sign of the times: I noticed a sign at school touting an upcoming blood drive. The incentive they used to get people to come and donate: Free gas.
current mood:  geeky
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codenamepancake
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9:59p
Things & Things & Things!
First, various animals made for various friends. Left to right: a cartoon platypus, a frog, a hairy-nosed wombat (scientifically proven by Vanessa to be the cutest kind), and Sailor Moon Penguin.
   
Also, mizwatsonmade a bust of Gront (from Trip-Trapped); you can scroll down in this post to see some pictures. It's really cool to see what other people can do with Sculpey.
Lastly, Sasha from Book V of Lost Gods by maderr
Sasha prepares to battle against a fearsome Sent. Careful Sasha, don't get burninated!
current music: Stars--In Our Bedroom After The War
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kayay
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5:33p
Emo Excuses Don't Make for Good Business
![[info]](http://p-stat.livejournal.com/img/community.gif) artists_beware is the closest English speaking community I could find to an artist support group. Their purpose is to warn about bad clients and artists, but also to recommend the good ones. Unfortunately, the majority of posts deal with furry art. Furry isn't necessarily bad by default, but it'd be nice to see more non furry artists and situations discussed. Furry or not*, they do deal with some situations all artists -- drawn, written, sculpted, etc -- and clients may deal with. This is one, and it involves a bad artist.
In March 2006 the poster, henceforth known as Client, paid $35 for a commission in two payments from someone called Ashryn, also known as the Artist. However, since then the Client had sent references and emails every "couple of months" but not received the commission. The client tried to catch Ashryn on AIM but "she's not on it much... and if she is, it's not long enough to get a response in." There has been no email response though the Artist has been active on Deviant Art and her own Livejournal.
What caught my attention in this post were the comments. Allegedly, the Artist often takes on more than she can handle. She will take money and, rather than refund it, complain that it's not enough for the time it takes to complete the project**. She also appears to own multiple people commisions that are 2 years overdue, citing issues like moving, a computer breaking, email changes, etc.
Then came the excuses a friend of Ashryn posted in the comments. TO sum it up, Friend said the Artist has had "a huge run-in with multiple cases of bad luck and relocation in her real life [...] But NO ONE here has ANY right to know what is going on in her life." One person took it upon themselves to argue that one's personal life shouldn't matter in a business transaction.
If the e-mails were annoying her then she should have simply replied and communicated with the customer, to be blunt if a commissioner did that to an artist, we'd never hear the end of it from the artist, commissioners should be given the exact same respect as artists would like. We don't like it when commissioners get pissy because they're annoyed for whatever reason, why should a commissioner accept "you're being annoying by asking" as a reason for not being informed as to what it going on when they've been waiting years? An artist sure as hell shouldn't have to accept it when waiting on payment.
[...] To be perfectly blunt, no I don't know what "Ashryn is going through" but I bet it's no different than anyone elses problems and issues. We all have times when life just doesn't go right. The difference between a professional and a bad artist with a rotten reputation is how the artist handles it. [...]
To be honest, you've come into the community to defend your friend and waffled at the OP about how "hard she has it" without any evidence, openly admitted she ignores "annoying" emails which is an unprofessional behaviour [...]
[...] PERSONAL =/= PROFESSIONAL, keep them separate. Nobody gives a damn about claims that "so and so is having a hard time right now", we're talking about the professional behaviour to date, therefore your comments have no bearing on the discussion in hand. [..] I'm not trivialising it, I'm saying it's irrelvant in business terms because personal lives have bugger all to do with business.
Unavoidable bad things happen in real life, but if one's life is in a state of constant turmoil and angst, one ought to be more conservative when accepting commisions. Moreover, taking on new work before the old are completed is a bad idea. People may forgive you once or twice, but it does not put an artist in a good light to constantly be behind or back out of agreements. Do you forgive your plumber for botching a job and leaving leaky pipes because he just broke up with his girlfriend and tell him, "No worries, you don't have to fix it"? Do you excuse your accountant for messing up your tax return because her cat died that weekend and tell her, "Well, I'll just pay the IRS fee now"? You may tell them you understand, but I doubt you'd let them get away with it without them setting things right.
* For all the jokes about the furry fandom, sometimes they seem the most vocal and united -- in a weird and sometimes scary way -- artist groups online. Then again, I suppose every group has it's subsets, the various fanfic 'shippers, the fandoms, etc. I'm probably over analyzing things again.
** While I do complain like a broken record about the low rates artist often are expect to accept, once you say yes you should get it done. However, this also has nothing to do with copyright. Whether someone pays you $10 or $10000, if there is no contract that states otherwise the person does not own the copyright. He may be able to resell the original artwork, but he can't reproduce it and sell it for his own profit. In other words, the "I paid you well so I own it" argument is lacks any foundation. The people who insist otherwise typically rely upon overemotional ranting and the ignorance of others. Ask them to provide facts -- it's simple enough to write to a couple respected professional or editors or call a volunteer lawyer for the arts -- and they flounder.
current mood:  thoughtful
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kayay
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12:36p
100% Organically Grown Goats
A friend showed me these photos of goats in Morocco. The following silliness spilled out of me on the fly:
When I was a boy growing up on the goat groves of Morocco, I used to stroll between the trees, the sunlight only occasionally broken into dappled patterns by the sparse foliage. Every day we walked those dusty fields beneath that harsh sun, checking the branches heavily laden with their bounty and waiting for the day when the harvest was ready.
I remember the day there was a storm with raging winds and blinding rain, and the goats fell early. We nearly lost the whole crop that year.
This year, though, has been good. The goats are fat, and their coats glossy, and soon it'll be time to pluck them from the branches and send them to market.
I've actually got a lot of things to write about, religion, honesty and ignorance, truth, justice, blah blah blah, but I'm just so sleepy... so very shleepy...
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mullenkamp
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11:12a
Okay so I feel COMPLETELY NAKED without my glasses. Particularly the bit where I'm driving without them, and going "AH CRAP I DON'T HAVE MY GLASSES ON" every couple minutes. It really doesn't help that the contacts don't correct my vision as perfectly as my glasses, so I look at things in the distance and notice that I can't see as well as I usually can with my glasses. And sitting here at my computer, the monitor's light is catching on the rim of the contact, so I keep seeing this little arc of light just at the edge of my field of vision and think "Crap, they're slipping off!"
So far, am not big on contacts. But it's less annoying than wearing, say, Dorian's boots all day, or black pleather in the Baltimore summer, so I think I can manage for the duration of the con. Assuming that the scheduled "get used to them gradually" time goes okay, and during the next little check-in (day before leaving for the con, actually), everything seems to be normal.
But, you know. I don't like my eyes. Or the rest of my face. I kind of liked having glasses to hide it behind.
On the other hand, I can do like Klavier did in that fic of mine, and hide behind sunglasses. In fact, I just tried on the pair I bought for him, and was pleased at how much more they resemble the shades he's wearing during the "Guitar's Serenade" performance than I thought they did. :D Hence the icon. I sort of want to do a mini-photoshoot now - but the jacket's still only cut out, not sewn together. (And Klavier/Ema are low priority for Otakon - must finish Hokuto and Nokoru due to necessity for skit - so his jacket's going to be there for a bit.) Still, could grab the shirt and earring and pendant and wig... :D
...I should probably post the next chapter of said fic now, actually. I didn't really think about the fact that my "good stopping place" for chapter nine was sort of a massive cliffhanger. I mean, I was posting it in comment-sized chunks originally, and I know how it ends, so... yeah. -_-
Oh yeah. Randomly, speaking of resembling Klavier, people keep commenting on the Gavin brothers' hair, and how strange it is, and they must use styling products... But see what mine looked like the other day when I woke up?
Edit: Oh heck - as far as resembling Klavier goes...
 GAVINNERS ALL UP IN DA HOUZ, JA~
( three more pics of Herr Prosecutor modelling his shades )
...I really hope we get these done in time for Otakon. XD
Dang, and now that the contacts aren't the thing I'm wearing that's most annoying my eyes (that would be the wig - stupid bangs, covering my face and all), it's about time I took them out. Supposed to wear them four hours or less today and tomorrow, then up to six hours the couple of days after that, then eight a couple days after that... and since I finally managed to get them both in about 10 (Edit again: Actually, that was when I got them by myself the second time, after having successfully gotten them in and out once with the tech/receptionist sitting there coaching me... and that's not bad, since my appointment was at 9:30, and she said usually it takes 20-30 minutes for people to get them in the first time), well... it's almost 1 now. Maybe I'll manage to get them out by 2. -_- Granted, once I figured out the trick to it, I did it on the next try when I did it the first time, but before that? Having no luck at all.
...Yeah, so apparently the muse!Klavier thinks that his band should sound a lot like Muse. Except happier. I guess in a weird way, that's appropriate. (Hence the title for that fic, for the record.)
current mood:  weird
current music: Muse - Starlight
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Surprise, surprise.
tired
