Rise Against.

One of my favorite bands. Because well... It's hard to sum up in a few words. So time for rambling, whooo.

If I'm feeling angry at anything I like to listen to heavier music. No screamo, I hate the screaming songs and they'd probably just put me more on edge. But heavier songs, songs where the guitar is heavy, the bass is almost as loud as the guitar and the drums come thick and fast. I'd call it therapeutic but I'm not sure that it's qualified as a proper method of treatment. But it disperses my rage so I'm happy. I don't think, no wait that's a lie, there are other people around me that I've met who also don't like listening to light stuff when their angry. However when I'm melancholy don't let me listen to heavy stuff. I just get angry at whatever is making me sad. I keep saying I'm odd like that but I'd hedge bets on the fact that there are others that feel the same way as me. So that's why I like it when I'm angry, rage release and such. But there's more to it than that.

The lyrics have been somewhat liberally interpreted all over the internet. Trust me I've looked. But a general pattern is that most, if not all, of their lyrics are about issues that are relevant all over the world. Poverty, pollution, depression. The list goes on. And that's why I like Rise Against because unlike most raise awareness kind of things Rise Against actually do stuff. Because raising awareness is all well and good but if there is no action taken or example to follow then nothing happens. Rise Against are frequent donators to charities who make a difference.

Third, they've evolved past entirely screamo. Some of their old songs where entirely screamo and now they only have coarse yelling to emphasize words and lines. I do like a band who turns it's back on screamo but that's just me being petty.

Today I asked myself a question

It's a question that I have asked myself many many times but have never really got the right answer to. The question is this, "Why do you enjoy playing games so much?" I've come up with answers before but I never really was happy with them.

One answer is that the games are so much more interesting than life itself. But that's not entirely true. Some games are really boring. But that's not what I meant. I meant that it's not entirely the answer I'm looking for. Sure games are incredibly interesting, they're designed that way. If a game wasn't interesting it wouldn't be made or sold, with the exception of some political and racial movement supporting games and some incredibly bad decisions on some publishers parts. And every game is tailored to a particular market, which is why I think that Dead Space 2 is one of the better games out there and my friend Horowai thinks that it's horrible and scary and wouldn't play it. Mind you he is a wet blouse sometimes, that's not to insult him or anything like that, simply a statement that he scares incredibly easily. Perhaps I should have phrased it better, but I digress. It's a good answer and it can be considered true when you consider the parts but I don't think it is my answer.

Another is that it's a way for me to hide from the world. For me this is more relevant. So the answer is more true. However I don't hide from the world every day. In fact I frequently embrace it. I go to school and visit people when I have the time (and their address). I play sports, I socialize. But I do go home and play games for hours on end because it enables me to escape some of the more stressful parts of my life. Because I know that in a game what matters for the most part is the skill level of me, and a select few around me. There are no external factors like the weather, close friends feelings, employers feelings. The decisions I make affect my world and only my world so this spares others from any potentially poor decisions that I may make. It's a closed world where I can get things wrong as much as I want and I can start again. In real life we get one chance, there are no quick saves and quick loads, no checkpoints and no reset button.

And last of all. It's a bad habit. An addiction same as smoking or drugs. But it doesn't keep me up at night, I don't go to sleep wishing I was still playing. I don't get unbearable cravings to play. I do sometimes want to play games but they can wait, I don't fake sick to stay home and play games. It's not an addiction that I can tell. It's a hobby I enjoy and am able to frequently partake of.

So I don't have an answer. Not one I'm happy with anyway. The closest I've come is they're an escape for me. But that's not trues because I do face my problems when I'm good and ready. So maybe they are just a placeholder. Something for me to focus my attention on while I try and figure out a problem.

There we have it.

Today the world snuck up on me.

I wasn't really prepared for it. Before this gets really silly an explanation is in order. The girls soccer this year only has one team so unfortunately 7 or 8 girls miss out. One of them bought new boots for it and now doesn't get to use them. That's what got me. 50-100 dollars, maybe even more, down the drain because they weren't quote unquote good enough. And unfortunately this kind of thing does happen more often than not. And it makes me sad, however I cannot fix the world, because I am to lazy and to inexperienced to do so.

I wish I could change it, who doesn't (wait don't answer that). Everyone has an idea of what the world should look like, even if that view may or may not be culturally or racially biased. Mine happens to be a world where people can do what they feel like, within reason, without fear of reproach or the fear that you aren't good enough. But I have no idea how to get the world to that state. Plus once it's there what do you do? A world full of impulses is not a good thing. That is why unless someone who can see the entire picture and what's best for everyone, like every religion's savior figure, no single man or woman should take control of the world.

I'm a bit surprised at how enjoyable talking about this is. Obviously I don't enjoy the feeling of helplessness when I look at the state of the world. But to talk about it, to write down my thoughts and feelings about particular subjects is enjoyable, while I concede that it may not be a good thing to inflict my writing upon the world there is a simple solution to this. If you don't want to listen, don't read it. It's as simple as that.

However in the practical mind of those who object to live journals as my kind of blog is, this kind of blog is irrelevant. However to the more creative mind such as mine they are sometimes a necessity and if not a good companion to the mindset. It gives a place for the things that cannot be forced into lyric or fiction or drawing to be placed and recorded.

For the upteenth time today I wish I could play an instrument. But my mind wanders to freely to learn. Oh well.

And to end a disclaimer. The short story The Three Phases is not meant to represent truth. It may be partly based on truth but it does not represent my opinion of that part of my life. The assumptions that the story makes are not those that I have made. End of disclaimer. And co-incidentally end of blog.

The Three Phases

A Short Story by Jordan Gibbs

Phase 1: Pleasure

She was excited and I was terrified. I’m social enough usually, well by social I mean I talk to people and laugh at the appropriate moments. But this really wasn’t my thing. There were going to be huge amounts of people there, plus dancing. I can dance well enough, and that’s actually one of the defining features of me. People know me for my ability to dance. Usually that would instantly make me gay but having a girlfriend does tend to help defray these kinds of accusations. But anyway dancing in front of other people isn’t my thing. I don’t want to put myself out there like that.

I feel at home in formal clothing, wearing it in normal situations helps to set me apart from people. But I never wore it properly. I would roll up one of the shirt sleeves, stuff like that. But the down side of that is when people get dressed up for things like this ball, I look no different. Except for the fact I keep my shirt sleeves down. In fact the only time I ever get remarks on my clothing is when I wear something that isn’t formal. People have actually gasped when seeing me in board shorts before, which I wear all the time at my house.

And so in formal clothing, looking completely normal, I was waiting at my girlfriend’s house. I’d been there for a long time, a few hours at least. But this would be the first time that I would see her fully dressed up with make-up and all.

And there she was, dressed in a pale green dress that perfectly matched her eyes at that point. I’m reliably informed and can confirm that her eyes do change colour. For a moment she was all I could see. People talk about how they say something so beautiful that it takes their breath away, well I could breathe fine. But I couldn’t take my eyes from her, like I was drinking all too readily in the sight of her. She had put glitter around her eyes and it trailed toward her temples tapering to a point somewhere in front of them. It made them stand out; it drew your attention, because those eyes were full of light and happiness. She was happy because she got a night of fun and laughter with her friends and me. What a pity she’d picked me. I think looking back at it that I made her night better and worse. Better because I was there, living in different places made it difficult to spend time with each other and every second was a blessing. And worse because we were doing something that I hated, and had made it plainly known. I should have been more responsive, or at least pretend that I was interested.

But where was I. Ah yes how beautiful she looked. I have never seen anything more beautiful. But when you look at it objectively I’ve only lived for 17 years. Theoretically I still have another 53 or more years to see more beautiful things but so far… In a respect it was like putting me in board shorts. You just don’t expect it. Except with me and board shorts not much changes, I don’t mysteriously get more handsome because I’m wearing board shorts. Just like I preferred to spend my time in formal clothing she preferred to wear anything colourful, zany, a little bit odd, it matched her personality. If you know me well I don’t think full formal represents me. I’m just a little bit too silly for it. So when I saw the change from that zany colourful and slightly odd clothes to the beautiful dress. It was a bit shocking. But the silly little bashful smile reminded me that she was still the girl I remembered.

As she walked towards me I stepped forward and hugged her. “You look beautiful.” I whispered. Her smile grew a little wider as she whispered back, “Thanks.” And there was my mother making me feel more uncomfortable than what I already was. She wasn’t doing anything bad she was just being her, but that still didn’t stop me from being uncomfortable. But it was more out of apprehension rather than embarrassment. Mums are like that I think. They rarely every embarrass us but they do tend to look they’re going to at any moment. They lined us all up for photos because everybody loves photos of their kids dressed up. But I just looked like I normally did, not that other people would know that.

I had no jacket, that’s the one part of the formal attire I neither have nor think that I could pull off in public domains. So I never bought one and never thought to rent one for this event. A slight oversight on my part but then I would have complained at how uncomfortable it was. I hadn’t expected to enjoy it and I think that either way I would have somehow forced myself to find something to complain about. If you tell yourself something enough it becomes a truth.

We were going to be going to the Ball in a limo. And it was comfortable enough, as you expect a Limo to be. And it had drinks and a very loud sound system, something that the state of my ears attested to after the Limo ride. We got out halfway there to take a photo, as if I hadn’t had enough photos taken of me that night. I should really have made more out those moments. They were the easiest bit of the night.

When we arrived at the venue there were a lot of people milling around outside the doors. I didn’t feel any different, although I did start acting like a puppy and following her around. She was familiar, these people weren’t. And I’m not exactly the person who likes change the most. I objected vehemently to a holiday to Australia because something my parents planned involved people I don’t know. I also hated the idea of moving, because I had my house figured. I knew the perfect places to sit in the sun. I knew the places that I loved to be and the places that you should avoid. Plus the ball was in another city. It just seemed like the icing on the proverbial cake. I didn’t know anybody, it was a social situation and I had no idea where I was.

The ball was themed carnival. So there were a lot of stripes and one of the Teachers was dressed as a clown. Apparently this was her favourite teacher. Quite honestly I could see why. I mean I’d never heard him speak or seen him in any other situation but somehow you can just tell. I didn’t imagine her favourite teacher to be the kind who had their hands clasped and was gravely greeting people, just no.

And we got searched as we came in. I’ll be honest I wasn’t exactly expecting it. But I suppose in a bigger place than I’m used to they have problems that I’m just not used to. That and I was not and am still not familiar with these kinds of events. Maybe it’s normal. Maybe it’s not. You’ll have to ask somebody who’s not me.

The photographers were just setting up and people were handing their coats to the coat room and having numbers written in vivid on them, no fancy tickets here. But the two rooms were full of people already. I wondered how we were all going to fit judging on what I’d seen outside. But I exaggerated and it turned out that we were fine. But surprisingly it was easy to find a table. Well one side of one. I wasn’t hungry; we’d already eaten at her house before we came. But there was food. Not much compared to the people and I was sure that it would be gone pretty much instantly. I was right.

We sat down for most of that night. When I look back at it I feel bad that I ruined her night. She never asked to dance but somehow I could tell she wanted to. I think she was happy enough, being with me but I know that I could have made her happier. I could have an effort to be happy and try and get into the spirit of things. But it wouldn’t have been real.

But as much as I hated being there I loved the fact that I was with her and I would have gone to many more of those dam things just to be with her. I don’t think she knew that. We kissed, and I lied about the photos. Kissing her was definitely the easiest part of my night. It felt right at the time. Like something incredibly familiar and comforting. I also held her hand for most of the night, further reinforcing the puppy phenomenon that I was talking about before.

Looking back at it I regret some of what I did. But it’s done. So as her mother took me to the hotel where my parents were staying I was smiling. Not because I was out of that place. That quite honestly didn’t occur to me. I was happy because I had got to spend the night with her. And I fell asleep happy. Happy because I knew I’d left something at her house and I knew that I’d have to go back for it.

Phase 2: Break

However in the end it wasn’t what he had hoped for but then again neither was it what she had thought it was. Two disappointments, very different from each other but still very much linked to each other. He doesn’t remember much of what she said. He’s still kind of stuck remembering the part where she said that she stopped being in love with him. She’s still regretting that she put him through all that in the first place.

For him life was different to look at but still operated much the same. He still went to school, still talked about games for most of the day, still barely scraped through in his classes. But something had changed inside him. He used to daydream about the next time he would see her, now he daydreamt about how one day she’d want him back. These didn’t last very long because while very imaginative he was also quite intelligent, which enabled him to find the flaws in what he imagined.

Of course there was the usual bit of sadness when two people break up. Without it you can’t consider the relationship in any way real. But he thought he felt it more than she did. Which was understandable, she ended it. And relationships are never an even split of affection. One person will always feel more strongly about the relationship than the other. That’s not to diminish the importance of the other person. But somebody will always want the other person more.

She said she wasn’t ready, he said he’d wait for her. He always was a bit of romantic like that. But with something that clichéd by Hollywood he should have guessed that it was something that would never really happen. He also should have guessed that what she said might not have been true.

This wasn’t to paint her as the villain. There’s nothing villainous about not liking somebody anymore. In fact it was more admirable the fact that she got out of the relationship when this happened. Cheating on somebody is a vile and reprehensible. It cannot and be condoned in any circumstance and those who engage in it are not worth time or effort. So in the end we must conclude that he should be thankful for small mercies. The pain he had felt was minor compared to what he would have if she had cheated on him.

She had let him down gently over the phone. He was grateful for the phone call. It was hard to communicate and out of the options he was gratified that she had taken the hardest one. And also that she didn’t leave him hanging until the next time they saw each other. But as grateful as he was it was still a hammer blow ever word she spoke. There was a sense of finality, as if she was delivering a notice of death, he was bitter at first but then he realised how much this had hurt her as well. He felt bad about what he had said. It hurt to talk but he knew that he had to say something. It didn’t matter what it was, well maybe it did a little.

After the call he was a little confused, as if he couldn’t quite believe what had just happened. He sought regularity even if it was only using a computer for a while. The computer had become an integral part of his life, both to take up time and to talk to people. But for that moment when he sat down he couldn’t remember what he had spent so long doing. So he climbed a tree. Don’t laugh at him; this was also an integral part of his life. He seemed to think better when he was above the ground. And that tree had become a place where it was incredibly easy to think, more so than most other places. There was a now easy rhythm to climbing that tree for him.

The scenery hadn’t changed in any way since the last time he had been there. The railway line that glinted in the moonlight still extended from some point just out of view on his left continuing to fade into the distance. The road still extended from somewhere on his right disappearing behind a line of trees. The only thing that really ever changed for him was what was in the field in front of him. There was no definable pattern of what was actually planted there. Just that it was cut in summer and replanted again. The trees in the distance were evergreens so they never seemed to change and there always seemed to be cows in the paddock over the railway line. If he had looked close enough he would have seen the most subtle of differences, a slight dip in the fence separating paddock and railway line, a skid mark in the grass next to the road. Just little things, stuff you would only notice if you were really looking for it. But he wasn’t. He just looked out and saw what he’d always seen.

He settled down into a grove that had been worn into the tree. He’d worn it there. So much time spent just sitting there that the tree itself seemed to have grown tolerant of his presence. He cried a little. Of course he didn’t tell anyone about that. It didn’t fit with the character. Crying made you weak and weak people got picked on. That was just how he saw it. He saw bottling his emotions as a way to avoid pain. At least that’s what he told himself. He was sad, sad that what he had cherished and wanted was gone from him. He was sad that his escape from old feelings was gone. He was sad that he had no excuse to just be around her.

He shifted his foot slightly and felt something stick to his head. It was a spider’s web. He jerked away and then looked back. The silvery threads glistened like the railway tracks did in the moonlight. He looked at them flap slightly in the slight breeze. And he felt sad for the spider. He felt stupid thinking about it later but in that moment he knew that the spider had lost something it had laboured long and hard to create. And that now it would have to spend an age trying to build it again when someone could blunder in and destroy it in an instant. At that moment he identified more with a spider than he did anything else in the world.

But later he would realise something. While he was completely justified feeling sad he shouldn’t. He should be happy that he had gotten to experience what he had, even if it was for just a small while. Missing what was no longer his would only prolong his suffering and not enable him to look back on what he had done with fond memories. So he tried to get over himself. Some days it works better than others.

Some days he is able to smile softly to himself as he remembers what was. The days they spent together with many other friends around them. The hours spent in each other’s arms, the feeling of comfort and peace that he felt while he was with her. The way that he felt that nothing could stop him, the way he felt invincible. There was a particular memory he was fond of. They were lying on his bed, just talking, about everything and nothing. But right then he felt like his whole world was right.

Other days he tries to forget. He laughs all too readily, forces a smile and talks all too much. Buries himself in anything he can, be it work or school or just reading a book.

Some days he forgets, he can live for the moment and just forget what he has tried to come to terms with.

And other days he thinks of little else. He tells himself endlessly that life was better then. That life will never be that happy for him again. He acts as if he waits long enough and looks sad enough then she will come back to him one day. But inside he knows that she never will and this makes him worse.

It depends on the day. So much about him depends on the day. Day to day he can change so radically. But through it all he wished so much for closure. A way to end the pain he still feels. He wanted her back some days. Some days he whispered her name. Some days he just wished he’d never met her. And some days he just wanted to stop thinking about her, just anything except her.

Phase 3: Rebound

But days like that don’t last for ever. The structure of his mind doesn’t work that way. So he moved on, for the most part. Some days he relapses but most days he looks to the future. He wonders what the future holds but for now he is content. But even the days that he spends in contentment cannot be expected to stay, so he finds another.

Some days he ponders what it looks like because the girl who had dumped him and the new girl were family, cousins. Because while not altogether that odd from a purely genetic view. If somebody is attracted to a girl then it is more than likely that he would like a different girl from the same family. It’s only societal rules that actually inhibit people from being attracted to someone from the same family. These rules, added to the feeling of displeasure that can seem to radiate from both parents and “the old crush”, make up the core of the inhibition. There are other more subtle reasons such as feelings of inadequacies and such. But for the most part the boy did not consider any subtleties. He merely considered it all at face value. 

For the boy this was important. Appearance contributes a lot to the success of education and success inside the workplace. So to have ones appearance jeopardised by a single rash act or decision is a fairly common fate. And obviously the boy did not want this fate to befall him. So he did something that is attributed to him, he thought. He was known for being intelligent, but wisdom and intelligence are very different things. He used his intelligence to try and find the wise path.

But for all the pampering of his intelligence it all seemed much vaunted in his opinion, for he could not find a solution that was both safe and advantageous. It was impossible to maintain his appearance and continue to pursue this girl. As he looks back at it sometimes he wonders why it took him so long to make his decision.

But as long as it took his decision to make it was nothing compared to the time it took him to actually build up any semblance of courage. He called it courage because he had a very real fear, the fear of losing a friend.

 It’s been seen often enough. After a gentleman confess’ his affections, which the lady in question probably will have already guessed at, the relationship either continues as if nothing had happened. This of course is the more desirable of the negative outcomes. The positive outcome is that lady says yes but it is already well established that this is not really interesting unless some scandal ensues. The other negative outcome is that the lady begins to alienate the man, until neither can call the other friend. This is the fear that the boy very keenly felt. He wanted to take his relationship further. But at the same token he also didn’t want to lose someone who he considered a very dear friend.

He also had to take into account the fact that they had only some interests that overlapped. Now as a general rule this is never a bad thing. But you also must strike a balance between having too much in common and having to little. So as he found it hard to make general conversation without others around he began to think that inside this hypothetical relationship they leaned maybe a little to having to little in common. But he persevered because he believed that it was the right thing to do. Whether he actually believed this or was simply showing his stubborn streak is unknown at this time. He doesn’t consider this so even he doesn’t have an answer.

In the end it was chance that removed him from this impasse, a quick word on his way home. She said no, as he had very well been warned, so that softened the blow to some degree. Nor was it entirely painless however. He went away smiling so we can only guess that he was happy. Perhaps he was happy because he no longer had to deal with his affection, it was unwanted as it seemed. Perhaps he went away smiling because he wanted to be alone before he let out his sadness and maybe he went away smiling because the smile was simply stuck on his face while he tried to work out what he’d done, where his carefully laid plans had gone.

And now? Well now he deals with something that is close to entirely new, not liking anyone. It’s not entirely new because everybody didn’t like people as kids. It’s new to him because for most of his teenage life, when these kinds of things are expected of him, he had a crush or a girlfriend. And I’m sorry to say he had a crush for a lot longer than he did girlfriend. Although this does afford him a degree of freedom, he can flirt with whoever he chooses, with the logical exceptions of those in relationships. Although sometimes he even ignores those boundaries. He also show favouritism to some people, but that’s just because he appreciates their company not through any want of a relationship.

To most people’s eyes he free from any constraint beyond societal expectations. But he feels more bound than ever.

My creative writing.

It's not as finsihed as I would like it to be. But to take it any further would stepo outside if the chapter one contraints. So her ya are.

The name of the Wolf

The heavy rain beat against the bard’s heavy leather coat as if it was a drum. A consistent drone, like a swarm of bees, which rang in her ears. It was close to sundown and the dying light coupled with the curtain of rain the distant road was slowly fading from her view. She started to wonder if her decision to keep going was a wise one. The last town she had been through hadn’t exactly a ripe spot for her to ply her trade but there had been an Inn, which at least promised hot food and a relatively warm bed. The inhabitants of the town would probably have been left in abject horror after a single jaunty folk song.

She lifted her gaze from the cobbled road in front of her feet and her eyes happened across a speck of light. Her gait slowed and her head turned in slow arcs. There was no reason to consider that this light meant anything except safety, a farm or a town, somewhere to lay her head. But experience is a bitter teacher and past follies had tempered the bard’s caution. However she kept to the road afraid that, if she left it, she might never find it again. She kept her steps soft and pulled her hood off and long black hair came free and more importantly the incessant drumming vanished.

This was the worst kind of weather for observation, the thick rain dulled the eyes and the patter of the droplets breaking on the cobbled road muted all sound. The bard strained against the deficiencies, unable to discern anything amongst the dreary dusk except for the muted light. As she slowly made her way forward the light began to split up, like smaller sections just breaking away, but slowly ever so slowly. She stopped and so did the chunk of light. Smiling to herself she picked up the pace, these where either the most industrious bandits ever, or a town where she could rest.

The town had a gate, made of wood. From the relative size of the gate to the walls it must have been supposed to be imposing but the impression was rather lost on the bard. When someone has seen gates made of two solid pieces of bedrock the size of houses wood rather loses its intimidation factor. There was an Iron Gate set into the wall to the left of the gate. The bard approached it and considered it for a moment. You can’t knock on an iron gate, can you? While she internalised this dilemma a slot in the door behind the Iron Gate opened. The eyes in the gap considered her for a moment then the slot snapped shut. She raised an eyebrow for a moment then lowered it hurriedly as the door was opened. The man was old; she could tell that much but the heavy raincoat obscured most of him. A heavy cowl would have hidden his face completely if he wasn’t holding a lantern next to his face.

“Bit late for a lass like ‘ureself to be wanderin’ round ain it?”

The bard’s eyebrow went up again. “On the contrary I enjoy a nice night-time stroll, it’s not as if I had a choice in the matter is it?”

The man smiled. “Keep ya knickers from bunchin’ lass, was only askin’, now what business do ya have in the small but bustlin’ town of Ablehaven?”

The bard flourished her hands, “I’m a bard, what other business could I possibly have? I come to entertain and educate in all things real and perhaps imaginary.”

“And filch a few tings on the way out of town I’ve no doubt.”

The bard gave one small sharp laugh, “Two reasons why I’m not going to do that. One I’m not that kind of bard, two what could this `small but bustlin town` possibly hold that I might want to `filch` as you so indelicately put it?”

The man nodded his head to the side, “I suppose ure alright lass. Just give me ya name and I’ll unlock the door for ye.”

“I’m Arianna Shadow-Hand, a lady of the golden tongue guild.”

His pen scratched at the crumpled and dirty paper and Arianna swung her hood back up. The gate creaked open and Arianna stepped inside the gate into a small room. There was a table with the remains of a dinner and a half drunk pint of ale. A wooden chair was pushed back from the table, left that way from when the gatekeeper had gone to check the gate. She headed for the door on the other side of the room, the one that would take her to the main street.

“You know I think you’d look better as a blonde I do.”

Arianna looked back at the gate keeper. “I am a blonde, but blonde isn’t exactly a colour of mourning is it.”

The man drew in a breath to speak again but Arianna was already gone, the door not even had time to slouch back down onto its hinges. She stalked up the street, her previous jovial mood gone. He had no right, no right at all. She muttered obscenities under her breath, curses so foul that they had already earned her the ire of the few that she had passed.

The street curved slightly and when you add to that the abandoned market stalls it became quite an effort to thread one’s way up the street. But Arianna swung in and out of the stalls with a natural rhythm and grace. Just like growing up in Cyra. It’s been a long time though, nearly ten years now. It was still raining and for a moment Arianna looked up into the sky wondering if the rain was ever going to stop. The clouds obscured the night sky, no moon or stars to light any traveller’s way. Her eyes came back to the street in front of her particularly to the bright lights and sounds of revelry coming from an Inn. Arianna did not feel like singing for her keep tonight, she would probably spoil the songs. But she had to eat and she didn’t have much of a fall back planned, most of the gold she had made in the last town was in the pocket of that town’s tanner. Arianna shrugged the coat tighter around her; it wasn’t a purchase she regretted. So she sighed to herself and made her way to the Inn. “Sometimes I hate my job.”

The door opened easily and a wave of heat assaulted her face but she was used to it. Any Innkeeper will prefer it to be too warm rather than to cold. You could always just open a window or the door. There was no music but there it probably wouldn’t have mattered, the talking was so loud that any music would have had to be amplified at least three times before it would even be heard let alone appreciated. She made for the bartender showing the same kind of grace as when she was walking up the street. Threading her way between tables and waitresses she arrived at the bar.

“I would have offered my services but it appears your clientele are rather occupied.”

The bartender let loose a deep base laugh, “Indeed they do, I was planning on locking up early but they seem to be a little boisterous I suppose.”

Arianna and the bartender both ducked as a glass came flying towards them. “So is this the normal behaviour for this `small but bustling’ town`?”

“I see you met Old Iron-fist. Only job the poor blighter can hold down. And that’s only because of his suspicious nature. But in answer to your question, no, this isn’t normal. I think it’s some kind of bridal party.”

Arianna nodded, “A man’s getting married so he wants one more night of revelry. It’s common enough.”

The bartender picked up a mug and wiped it out, “So does seeing drunken men trash a bar make you happy? I swear when you came in here you could have soured all my stock with that scowl.”

True enough the girl’s smile had come back and was brighter than it had been. “Drunken men have their musical taste impaired and small amounts of cleavage can almost double my income. And I thought tonight was going to be a bad night.”

The bartender laughed again, “If you can get them to stop destroying the place then I’ll give you a room and a meal, I might even pay you if you keep ‘em entertained long enough.”

Arianna emptied someone else’s mug and winked, “I always hold their attention.” With that she was off to the middle of the room.

Three hours later the men had all linked arms and were swaying in time to a sad melody. It had been a profitable time; the men were so drunk that they didn’t even remember whether or not they’d tipped the bard and Arianna was less than forthcoming with information on whether they had or hadn’t. The song finished and most of them clapped, a few wiped tears from their eyes.

“Right you sorry lot, I think it’s time you went off to bed. I won’t envy you in the morning.” She added under her breath. The crowd dispersed, wandering away in little groups. Arianna sat down on the stage that they’d made out of a few tables. A quick glance at the clock mounted rather precariously on the wall behind the bar told her that it was close to three in the morning. She looked around at the chaos that had been caused, “I think that went well, or rather as well as it possibly could have gone.” She spotted pieces of the Lute she’d been leant and sighed, “There goes some of my pay.” Humming contently to herself she placed the coins into her various coins purses, it doesn’t do to keep all your coins in one place. A pair of eyes watched her from under a table close to the fire and Arianna slowly became aware of them. Just glimpses as she deposited a few coins at a time. When she was sure someone or indeed something was there she crouched down. It was a girl, only just out of her toddler years, couldn’t have been older than six. The girl started in fear when she saw Arianna’s face but Arianna just smiled. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to hurt you. Come on out.” The girl shook her head slightly. The bard stroked her shin in mock concern then pulled out some tetra leaves. Tetra leaves were common enough but the sugary taste made them a favourite of children. The girl slowly crawled out and snatched the tetra leaves. Arianna smiled to herself and sat down by the fire. She stoked it and felt the questing fingers just as she expected. “Come and sit beside me and I’ll give you some more tetra.” The fingers stopped then slowly withdrew as the child considered the pros and cons of sitting by the strange woman who gave her sweets.

Eventually sweetness won and the child came and sat beside Arianna. Arianna made a show of reluctance as she handed over another leaf.

“I’m not sure you should be here at this time of night, should you?”

The voice was high pitched with an innocent tone. “I was cold and mama wouldn’t let me sleep with her.”

“So you came to sit by the fire, with all the big scary men around?”

The innocence was gone in her reply, “Well maybe I wasn’t cold, maybe I was scared of the monsters and mama wouldn’t let me sleep with her.”

Arianna found a piece of bread and bit off a corner. “Nightmares huh?”

“Yes.” Her voice was small, insignificant and barely audible over the crackle of the flames.

“What’s your name?”

“Olivia. Olivia Grey-Mane.”

Arianna smiled, “Well `Olivia, Olivia Grey-Mane`, how about I tell you a story and when you feel tired you go back to bed, deal?”

Olivia looked first at Arianna, then the fire, then at the pocket where Arianna had first produced the tetra leaves. She then nodded and held out a hand, “Deal.”

They solemnly shook and then Arianna crossed her legs while Olivia curled up into a ball. Olivia’s thumb on her right hand went into her mouth. Arianna’s eyes clouded over for a moment as she tried to think of a tale that was age appropriate. Ragnar the Red and the Sanguine Rose were out, blood, guts, gore and the story of a prostitute were all well and good amongst the more intoxicated older folk. The Haunted House was not something to help a small girl get over her night terrors and neither was Silent Hill. The Sands of Time was far too brutal for a six year old. Suddenly Arianna clicked her fingers, the first chapter of the Song of the Storm-Born. It was perfect, a happy life, some adventure but no `adult themes`.

“Olivia, have you ever heard of a man named Fenrir Storm-Born?”

“I sure have he was the one who went into the nether and destroyed the Ica- Icathh- Icaant…”

“…Icathian Anchor darling. So you know what he did, but just saying that kind of takes away from the story of the whole thing. The story is full of drama, excitement, tragedy and swashbuckling. Now before I start are you comfortable.”

Olivia nodded and Arianna started to speak.

“Once there was a city called the Citadel and…

… this city was the centre of the world. Everything went here, be it people or things. The reason this city was the centre of the world was because this city was where the church to the six divines was. But while this city was important to everyone at the time, it’s not yet important to us. Instead we focus on a city thirty miles to the west, on the fringes of the Tenebrae plains. This city was the third grave colony, and it was surrounded by walls as tall as four houses. But these walls weren’t to keep the villagers safe, they were meant to keep the villagers inside. The walls were built because the people in the Citadel were afraid of the people here, because they could be hurt forever but they would never cry, they would never stop to consider their wounds even for an instant. So the Citadel grouped them all the together, gave them the name Undying and sent far away from the Citadel’s golden walls.

Now the walls around the third Grave Colony were made of hollowed out bedrock and they were home to the Deathwatch. The Deathwatch was the third Colonies police force and prison guards. They kept the peace but they were very strict about who came in and out of the city. But when you considered everything about their job they did more good than harm. There were those who thought that the Undying were abominations and should be destroyed and the Deathwatch’s over-zealous…”

“Wait, do you know what over-zealous means?”

Olivia nodded and took her thumb out of mouth, “It’s when you pursue or serve something without regard for anyone else’s feelings or wellbeing.”

Arianna’s eyebrow was raised by this, “You are a smart little cookie aren’t you?”

Olivia smiled, “My daddy says I’m smarter than most people he meets in his bar.”

“So you’re fine with me adding in complicated words? Because it’s very annoying having to replace the complicated words with simple ones.”

“I don’t mind, if I don’t know a word I’ll just ask.”

“So where were we? Seriously I’ve completely forgotten.”

“The over-zealous men and them wanting to hunt the Undying.”

Arianna took another breath and the story continued.

“… And the Deathwatch’s overzealous approach to screening visitors was screening out the zealots but it was also not allowing many people to see the family and friends that had become undying.

There had initially been great concern as to whether being an Undying was a disease and if people spent too much time there then those people would in turn become Undying. But after some research it was determined that becoming an Undying was not something that could be made to happen or stopped from happening. Sometimes it happened and sometimes it didn’t. So people where free to visit but the Undying where not allowed out of their city. Eventually the screening started to happen as sometimes the people who visited came to maim, to try and make the Undying’s existence a nightmare. Because the Undying couldn’t die the people who came often cut muscles so that the Undying could no longer move. It was this brutal behaviour that led to the screening.

The Deathwatch lived in the hollowed out walls around the Grave Colony. It was a Spartan life, little heating, uncomfortable beds and few personal comforts, but it was hot food, coin in the pocket and a respectable job for many of the citadel’s middle class citizens. The jobs were made open to everyone but the lower class citizens often weren’t disciplined enough for it and the higher class citizens considered it beneath them. So as in all great story two of these kinds of people, one a noble and one a peasant were bunked together. The Peasants name was Idrik Bronze-Bone and he was dedicated but resented the nobles of the Citadel. To the nobleman’s credit he didn’t dislike Idrik just because he was a Peasant. Fenrir Storm-Born disliked Idrik because of Idrik’s resentment towards him. Fenrir had never met Idrik before his tour on the wall but Idrik acted as if Fenrir had been his worst enemy for all of his life. Our story, truly begins one night after an argument about Idrik’s missing whetstone.

I used to be an adventurer like you, then I took a sprig to the knee.

I thought the title was funny enough. Despite it being based on a really horrible meme. I'm having a really off week. Bungled my Calc test(achieved but I think I could have done better), got really frustrated with my creative writing standard, I ended up with five or six drafts none of which I'm happy with. Wrenched my knee today, bruised my wrist as well. Previously dislocated finger has started acting up again. I'm being taken off Ritalin, the one thing that's actually keeping my up to date with school. In league I can't seem to get a decent team in solo cue. When I cue with my friends I let them down. I lose my temper really easily these days.

Some nights I stay up cashing in my bad luck,

Some nights I call it a draw.

Some nights I wish my lips could build a castle,

Some nights I wish they'd just fall off.

Today had some redeeming features. I got to play soccer. Even when I loose I just love the thrill of it. My cooking got complimented today. I still don't know what to call it, I'm sure it has a name somewhere. It was a bread base cover'd in kumara(I don't care if I spealt it wrong) or potato. Or maybe a mixture of the two. The you cover that in a mixture of egg, melted butter, whatever seasonings you want, and bacon bits. Add cheese if desired. I was just hungry but it turned out really well. And I got a good laugh out of league game where my Dominion score was 1337. Leet in other words. That garnered a chuckle. 

I look at the two paragraphs and they're the same length but I did explain the good things in more detail. 

I miss talking to you Rachel. I know I often said things that you didn't like or tried to talk about stuff you didn't care about but you always seemed to make an effort. Plus I don't have many people to actually talk to that I trust these days. 

Not as heartfelt as I would have like but being a romantic only means you appreciate this kind of thing, not are good at it. I mean the heartfelt thing not that I'm trying to be romantic. We can now add that to the list of bad things, undue slips of the tongue resulting in an unintended result. I need to sleep now. Goodnight.

Affection rather than Attraction.

I have discovered that I don't think I like anyone. I believe that I have affection for people. Certain females that I would do things for or act more friendly around. So "a soft spot" if you will. I don't want it to sound like I'm a player so I don't actively pursue relationships with these people. To do so would be irresponsible. The actions I may take can be interepted to pursuing a relationship but I don't see it that way. I'm not ruling out a relationship with any of these girls but I'm not trying to pull that. This is slightly irresponsible but for now I care not. Perhaps that will change but for now I'm content to favor who I wish regardless of anyone's perception.

I don't intend to be rude but sometimes it just slips out. And if I take the time to think often the opportunity is past. So whatever ill-conceived sentence slips out and I hate myself for it.

Every moment is precious,
Every second squandered a crime,
Something something something,
Something something.
(It's been driving me mad trying to think about that, any suggestion are welcome, just post them to my wall or stick them on my face or whatever)

I like not wearing a shirt. Don't ask me why. Because the answer changes every time. Or do ask me, just ask me multiple times, rule of averages you see.

"And that's how I started world war three."

Hmm, rules and roles and all things right. What are the rules when they are continually broken, what is your role when it's not what you want it to be, and what are all things right, when so often they are considered left.

Oh pictures. I'll get right on that, because while trying to make Tania look stoned I instead got some decent pictures. (If I do say so myself)

Am I lying to myself?

Some days I want her more than others.
Some days I want her back more than others.
Some days I wish that it didn't hurt this much.
Some days I wish that she wasn't so good natured.
Some days I wish I'd never met her.
Some days I wouldn't trade it for the world.
Some days I stop caring.
Some days I care to much.
Some days I get over myself.
Some days I don't.

Am I lying to myself when I say this?