Aug. 23rd, 2014 12:05 am
aliaspseudonym: (Default)
This is a memory. There is a woman who will be old, though she is not quite yet. She has serpent’s eyes. They do not look like serpent’s eyes, you understand -- they appear human, brown with specks of green -- but they are serpents eyes nonetheless. With her is a boy who will become something else altogether but now is only a boy. They are walking together down a winding path through a park. It is after the boy’s bedtime, but he does not mind. He likes how the darkness alters the familiar scenery, making it murky and strange. If he was on his own or even with one of his parents he might be frightened of things lurking in the deep shadow. He is not frightened now. It is raining, but only a little.

They stop for a while at the crest of a little hill. There is a break in the clouds and the woman who is not quite yet old looks up at the star-speckled night sky with fear in her serpent’s eyes.

“Do you see them too?” She asks. The boy does not understand.

“The stars?”

She shakes her head slowly, sadly, in the moonless darkness, but what she says is “Yes, Elliot, the stars. Aren’t they beautiful?”

The boy nods. The rain stops. Restless, ill-defined shapes shift in the deeper shadows.

There is a thud and then a crack. Hailey is pinned to the far wall, impaled on a long metal spike through her chest, gurgling, her eyes glazing over. The trapdoor is open and there is a man in the basement in a coat the same shade as his eyes, the same shade as Hailey’s eyes. He is carefully rewinding a large mechanical crossbow.

“Elliot Crane,” He says, “You stand accused of conspiring with a heretic and misusing an organization artifact. If you do not resist, I will not harm you.” His expression and stance are alert but completely neutral. It would be better, Elliot thinks, if it was a nasty sneer or a self-assured grin. Malice or arrogance could be construed as weakness.

“Stand up against the wall and keep your hands where I can see them,” the intruder instructs. Elliot remains seated and stares him down. There’s something about this young man’s eyes and the way he talks that’s familiar, only not really. He is certain he’s never seen a person like this before, but something ancestral, something behind his eyes is stirring with recognition, is flooding him with a cold, overpowering fury, crowding out the terror paralyzing him. He stands and takes a step toward the greycoat, who raises the crossbow.

“If you are not compliant it is unlikely that you will survive this encounter. This is your last warning, I -- wait, what are you doing? Stop!”

The runes etched into the walls are beginning to burn dimly with a soft green light. Elliot can feel someone else’s eyes behind his, looking through him. Someone else’s voice speaks through his mouth, speaks a language he understands but does not recognize, a fierce language of hissing and growling.


The greycoat pulls the trigger but the crossbow has jammed; it jerks in his hands as the firing mechanism strains and snaps. The metal bolt clatters onto the ground, followed by the broken weapon itself. “What did you do?” he demands, his voice still calm but much more urgent than before.


The walls of the room are changing, growing translucent. Beyond there is a rocky chasm and beyond that rise enormous mountains carved of bare, rugged reddish-grey rock against a deep indigo sky. The greycoat lunges toward Elliot but Elliot yells something even he does not understand and there is a rush of wind; a sound like the beating of titanic wings. The intruder flys backward, carried by the gale -- he is flung through the fading walls as if they were not there, he tumbles into the abyss, screaming --

Something abstract gives way with a perceptible snap. Elliot screams and stumbles backward, clutching his head. The runes on the walls, which are opaque and solid once again, flare brightly and go dark. The greycoat has returned from the abyss which may or may not have really existed and is lying on the ground near the trap door; he rises smoothly to his feet with a calm but strained expression and begins walking slowly forward.

“I don’t know what you just did, but you’re coming with me and we’re going to find--”

He breaks off abruptly because a pair of hands have grabbed his head from behind and twisted violently, cleanly snapping his spine near the skull and sending him back to the floor in a twitching heap. Hailey is standing behind him, clutching the metal spike still lodged in her chest. Elliot sees this dimly, through a haze of strange swimming colours as he stands, clutching his head and swaying from side to side.

“Elliot? Can you hear me?”

“Y-yeah, I think so. U-um ...”

“Sit down and don’t make any sudden movements or, like, think too hard about what just happened,” she advises, moving toward him a little unsteadily but more smoothly than one would normally expect from someone impaled on a metal spike.

Elliot sits, still clutching his head, trying to ignore the strange lights and colours flickering at the edges of his vision. “Ugh ... wait, you’re worried about me? You have a fucking harpoon in your chest.”

“Normally,” Hailey says, ignoring the quip, “black magic doesn’t affect ... people like him and me. Most supernatural effects either fizzle immediately or simply act as if we weren’t there. Some kinds of power draw on ... unconventional sources, and are able to affect us briefly, but casting such a spell attracts the attention of the power that provides our protection. The backlash is usually instantly fatal. I don’t know what you did, but it incapacitated our guest here just long enough for me to get out of his line of sight and neutralize him, and you seem to still be alive. If I’m going to get out of here I need you to continue to be alive, so hold still for a moment.”

The entry wound on her chest is not bleeding, exactly, but there is blood and small amounts of it are oozing out around the edges. She touches it with two fingers and quickly traces a circle with a strange emblem inside on Elliot’s scaled chest. The strange lights and colours in his head fade dramatically and he sits up a little, shuddering. “What did you just do?”

“It’s a sacred mark. It is a claim by me, as a cleric of a certain power, that you did not act against that power’s interests and do not deserve its wrath.
aliaspseudonym: (Default)
My name is Ceriise and I’m a cyborg alien freak that lives in a grey box on top of a sunscorched pile of grey boxes in the middle of the most beautiful city in the world, or so I’m told. I’ve spent my entire life so far maintaining the hypercord of a space elevator I’ll probably never ride. They say the view on the way up is amazing, but you can’t see my house because there aren’t any windows on that side. They don’t want the tourists to see boxtown, it might ruin the illusion of perfection.

I’m a sylphid. I have it on good authority that that means I’m a evil witch that doesn’t eat, reads people’s thoughts and steal their private information from their cellchips and gives lop children cancer by touching or possibly just looking at them. Sensitive electronic instruments become radioactive or burst into flames in my presence. I’m also definitely female, although some people switch to claiming I’m neuter when I agree with that. I’m probably addicted to moondust and if I’m not maybe I should be because otherwise how will the lops keep my alien demon powers in line?

I was named after Ceriise Fireeyes, the fucking Flame of ___, liberator of Aurora, martyr hero of the Alliance, founder of the Gorgons. They try really hard to gloss over that last part in history class because the Gorgons are supposed to be pirates and terrorists now. There’s a big glossy poster of her rolled up in my closet because I can’t fucking stand to look at it. What am I even supposed to feel about somebody who blew herself up two hundred years ago to help the slightly less xenophobic lop faction take over the galaxy? Who “liberated” the home planet she’d never seen before only to have it stripped for resources to build her fleet of death machines? Should I be proud of my name, proud of the orange-red eyes and hair that strange lops stare at and sometimes demand an explanation for? Some idiot at the elevator planethub screamed and ran because they thought I was a banshee once, and I got in trouble for it. The banshees were like seven feet tall and couldn’t take off most of their power armour because it was wielded to them, but no, their most distinctive feature was definitely red hair.

Chapter 1

Jun. 2nd, 2013 11:10 am
aliaspseudonym: (Default)
This is the first part of a story about fairies and other things.

A girl was walking in the rain, about halfway between school and the train station that would take her home. She wore a dull orange raincoat with the hood pulled tight around her head and walked slowly, dawdling occasionally to watch streams of water drain into the sewer grates. She didn’t mind the rain, not when it was warm and relatively light. She liked the sounds of water and the way the world looked when everything was wet.

Her name was Autumn. She was going to miss her train home, but that was okay; there would be another train in ten minutes or so. She was probably going to fail an essay in intro to philosophy, which was due at midnight and which she hadn’t started -- that was less okay, but she’d still pass the class, probably. Her boyfriend of four months had finally broken up -- by text message -- after avoiding her for two weeks; that was definitely not okay but there wasn’t a whole lot she could do without it besides cry, which she had already done earlier that afternoon and seemed redundant when it was raining anyway.

He had been following her for several minutes already by the time she saw him. He could smell her wistful loneliness, her lack of purpose or direction. He was still sizing her up when she turned, dark eyes raking across him. There was strength in that gaze, almost enough to rip through his glamours and charms like so many cobwebs. But not quite, not here in the rain between places. He stepped forward.

He was average height with a slightly rounded figure and wore a knee-length raincoat of a deep and vivid blue-green which hung open, showing an odd, patchwork vest of shades of brown. His pants and shirt were deep green, his hair was brownish, and the whole lot of him was soaking wet. His smile was radiant and there was a slow, fluid, confident sway to his walk. The word ‘beautiful’ rose unbidden in Autumn’s head. She was not used to applying the word to boys and men, but it seemed more appropriate than the alternatives for this odd person.

He said, “Hello,” and she replied,

“Hello. Why don't you put your hood up?”

He shrugged. “I like water.”

She nodded slowly. They were walking side-by-side toward the train station, now. “I’m Autumn.”

“You can call me Viridian,” he said. “I thought you looked lonely.”

“Yeah,” she said, and, staring into the rain ahead of them, she told him about her now ex-boyfriend, about his laughter and smile and his kind of funny-looking nose and how nice her hand felt in his, about how he’d slowly lost interest in her, drifted away. She told him about school, about her frustration with her written assignments, about the overall lack of direction that was slowly undermining her life. She wasn’t sure why she told him any of this--she was a habitually silent person and rarely discussed her own life even with close friends. Something about the rain, and the walk, and the warmth of his presence beside her, made the talking easy. It felt good, like the rain was washing her worries away even as she spoke them. Occasionally he would nod and say something sympathetic and encourage her to continue.

She realized, once she was finished, that she had spoken for at least ten minutes and that they must surely have passed the station by now. She looked around to try to get her bearings. The rain was coming down as a sort of dense, slowly descending mist, now, and she could hardly see anything.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “We’re almost there.”

“Almost where?”

He stopped and turned to her, eyes twinkling. “Where are you going?”

“I don’t know. I mean... the train station, but we’ve passed that already, I should go back...”

“We are on the threshold,” he said. “From here we can step backward or forward.” He touched her hand and she felt a rush of strange euphoria, like the mist around her had leaked into her head. “Will you come with me?” She didn’t really understand, but had a indistinct feeling that she was supposed to say ‘yes’ and follow him. But, on a deeper level, she knew that she didn’t particularly want to. She brushed his hand away and said,

“I’m hungry, I really need to get home and start on supper. I should head back before I miss the next bus.” He looked disappointed and a little hurt, but he shrugged and the fog in her head dissipated.

“Alright,” he said, “We can step backwards for now. Um... would you accept a gift, and perhaps consider accompanying me on a later date?” He fished something out of the pocket of his raincoat and held it out to her.

It was a bracelet made of green and red coloured wire, woven together intricately to form a network of tiny vines and flowers. Even under the overcast sky, it sparkled and gleamed beautifully. Her eyes widened. “Did you make that? It’s very nice.” Autumn herself made and sold small things like this sometimes, usually made from clay, but this was far more elaborate than anything she’d made. She traced the wires with one finger and shivered a little. There was something unsettling about that pattern.

“Yes,” he said, looking extremely pleased with himself. “Took almost a week, very tricky to, um,” he stopped himself. “Do you want to try it on?”

“Can I really just have it? Don’t you want something in exchange?”

He frowned. “Only a promise that you’ll come through the door with me at least once.”

Autumn stood still, staring at the bracelet and listening to the rain. It was difficult to think in this in-between place, but she was distinctly aware of a right choice and a wrong choice.

She made the wrong choice. “Agreed. I’ll take it.”

His eyes widened and he fidgeted nervously with the bracelet as if suddenly having second thoughts. “You’re sure?” She nodded and extended her arm. He fastened it soundlessly around her wrist.

The rain stopped; she was at the station. She stopped for a moment and looked around--for a moment, she’d been certain there was somebody following her, but of course there was nobody nearby.

She took the train home and made herself supper, and it wasn’t until she finally sat down to write her essay that she noticed the strange and beautiful bracelet around her wrist. She had no idea where she’d gotten it and couldn’t seem to figure out how it unfastened. After a few minutes of toying with it she shrugged and gave up. It was very pretty, and very comfortable for something made of little wires, and she was sure she’d remember where it came from soon enough.


Mar. 8th, 2013 12:41 pm
aliaspseudonym: (Default)
Alright. I was born about century ago, far away from here, but I spent the first half listening to a tree grow. Trees have a language of sorts, very slow and very quiet, easily drowned out. You have to let yourself slow down, to listen without thinking. I can't do it anymore. I've filled my head with the fast, flickering thoughts of creatures with heartbeats, and there's no going back. I tried once. I settled into the ground beneath a pine sapling and slowed my thoughts. Three days passed and I didn't hear anything and it felt like an eternity. I had to give up. It was hard to keep from crying, then. I worry, sometimes, that I'm losing even the memories of the things the tree and I talked about. The fast thoughts jostle and crowd out the slow ones.

One day men came with their logging equipment and chopped down my tree. I almost cried and I wanted to tear them to shreds or swallow them whole or something but my tree said something like, it's alright. I've been a tree for a while and now I'm going to be something else. That's alright. Don't hurt the heartbeat-creatures.

So I didn't, but I followed my tree and things happened incredibly quickly for a little while. It got turned into planks and the biggest part of it was made into a big, ornate cabinet and it was proud to be that. It ended up in a big house not too far from here and I watched it there for a while. I watched the heartbeat-creatures flickering around it a little too but I was so used to thinking slow, they were still too fast for me to follow.

I listened to my tree for another twenty years or so, maybe less, in that house. I slowly got better at keeping track of the other creatures. There was a boy who lived there for a while who sat still a lot and had a slow, quietness about his thoughts. I liked him best. Once he crawled right inside my tree and fell asleep and I tried to say hello to him in his dreams, but I appeared as a tree and trees can't talk to heartbeat-creatures, of course. He climbed me and played in my branches.

Eventually there was a fire and my tree burned to ashes along with some of the house, and that time I did cry, and my tears stained the ashes and the whole house and made strange things happen, like sometimes you could see my tree or the fire in reflections, and for a few years I haunted the spot and howled. The next owners made up some story about someone's lover being tragically murdered while waiting for him to pick her up and haunting the place forever, but really it was just me crying because my tree was gone.

After that I went halfway across the continent so that place couldn't remind me of my tree any more and I learned to speak to creatures with heartbeats and to walk the way they do, and a whole bunch of stuff happened that I'd really rather not talk about right now, but eventually the grief sort of faded and I made my way back here. And then ...


Jan. 24th, 2012 11:02 am
aliaspseudonym: (Default)
I have mentioned a few times (albeit mostly on tumblr) being an alien, but it's occurred to me that 'alien' does call to mind images of things like spaceships and laser guns and little green or grey guys with big heads, and a lot of that is misleading. When i say 'alien' i just mean 'i'm not from around here.' So here is a story. Please note that this story is not meant to reflect actual facts so much as feelings of bigness and coldness and farness and emptiness; it's true in essence even if not strictly factual, because it describes me.

imagine a big round piece of rock and ice.

imagine it hurtling through deep space, light-years from everything.

imagine clinging to it, wrapping around it like the merest wisp of smoke, watching the stars go by. cold, but the cold is part of you, & alone, but that aloneness, singularity is at the core of you.

that's me.

then there's something bright from a very great distance

a little planet around a little star but

covered in tiny flames. warm & bright & so many

so i took very careful aim and,

i jumped.

fast and far as i could, skimming through nothing at the speed of thought

it took a long time & i started to miss my cold rock a bit but, eventually

i landed.

I wrapped myself around the whole blazing blue-green planet & for an instant i could feel see hear know every twitch every hair every blade of grass --

was too much, spread too thin, i had to jump again to the big, cold, empty rock in orbit -- it was comforting, reminded me of home.

i looked down & watched the little flames walk around on little legs & do things & say things but

none of it meant anything to me, & for the first time i felt not just alone but

lonely. &

i wanted to know what it meant.

i picked a big empty place & i made one last jump

i compressed myself down, down to almost nothing, down to to the size of a single cell. _became_ a single cell.

Later, i felt cramped and crowded and wasn't sure how to relate to anyone around me. I kept to myself and soaked up information about the physical world as quickly as i could, particularly information related to space and the stars. I avoided most social interactions because they felt uncomfortable and i didn't understand what the point was. Eventually, though (starting in late high school and continuing through university), i came to realize that the people around me were by far the most interesting things to study. Hence, i'm studying literature and biology to learn about people on a physical and mental level.

i guess that's about it?
aliaspseudonym: (Default)
starting something new!  i don't think i can keep up with Cremation and do schoolwork at the same time, so i've decided to put that on hold for a few weeks and work on something i'm pretty sure i CAN do and keep up with my schoolwork! 

essentially i'm am planning this as a series of losely connected, lighthearted little stories about a bunch of very odd people, most of whom graduated from the Academy for Bright Children, or the ABC (which is very loosely based on my own experience at Westmount Charter, which actually was called ABC charter back when it was just a primary school)

The first story centers around eccentric prodigy Glen Chatreuse and random bystander Rose Winter, and their quest to rescue Glen's computer (and best friend) from an organisation (simply called F4) which is SUSPICIOUSLY similar to the SCP Foundation.  And maybe discover a few interesting new things about the computer in question along the way. :P

You can read the first chapter here! http://www.furaffinity.net/view/6244505/
aliaspseudonym: (Default)
I've decided to just post the first chapter, hopefully see what at least a few people think, then keep going on a weekly-at-minimum schedule here. >.> We'll see how that goes.  What we have so far is a bit over 3000 words, so hopefully not too daunting.

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