Strong Tonic

duel masters

jeereemee — Sun, 08 Aug 2010 23:05:23 +0000

The air before Grand Summoner Marquin shimmered. The dusty lumps convulsed, growing and a line of armored raptors took shape. As one, they roared defiance at the east.

Three miles distant, Ragatel appeared unimpressed by his rival’s difficult maneuver. He gestured negligently. “I summon SWAT.”

The display reached Marquin as if he had been standing feet away. “You swat at me?” he scoffed. “Decorum requires at minimum a proper, flashy bluff. You’re unarmed! Not the least prepared to defend your most valuable territory.”

“Preparation—” there was a hiss of static and someone unseen claimed to be in position. “Was vital.”

portraiture

jeereemee — Wed, 28 Jul 2010 19:45:35 +0000

“You can trust me, can’t you?” He wiped the last of the charcoal and water from his face.

“Trust? First an assassin, now a thief catcher!” exclaimed the rat-faced man.

“Got something against law?” asked Talbot.

“No,” he growled. “Wait, yes!” The alleged strangler put a restraining hand on the small man’s shoulder. No one was innocent here, including the former secretary. Their employer walked past the two men to take in the crowd gathering outside the window.

“They’ve never seen such a large wanted portrait before, I’ll judge.”

“Congratulations, Talbot. Looks just like you.”

“I should be jailed shortly.”

heavy knowledge

jeereemee — Mon, 12 Jul 2010 02:53:29 +0000

It was large and made larger by the thick leather bands and mismatched buckles that tangled the ebony-wood cover. Little effort had been required to rig shoulder straps from the mess. Other loops secured pans and a bedroll while the remainder kept the pages themselves sheltered from sun and rain.

Even without extra gear, the book was absurdly heavy. This weight, despite Zane’s low center of gravity and surprising strength, posed an obvious hazard to mountain travel. It should have been less than surprising when the book drew him quietly backwards over the ledge, but somehow Zane still looked shocked.

yawning lets it out

jeereemee — Mon, 28 Jun 2010 05:53:31 +0000

“…Briefly, there is no magic in the world. Everything is comprised of souls like brick and mortar and, these days, most have embraced conformity as reliably firm objects. One might think, given the discarding and splashing about of souls in which Man so often indulges, that much fresh and acquiescent material should be present. Consider first the third soul, that of Man’s Body: well accustomed to being solid. Number two is merely a fleeting print or signature that rides one’s Blood. But! It does lend authority to the primary soul residing within Man’s liver. Rather, the Breath stemming from thereabouts…”

vile yawn

jeereemee — Sun, 27 Jun 2010 19:58:34 +0000

The bald man was not worried at all how rude he must have appeared when he leaned across his guest’s lap to yawn. This, to his mad delight, made the other man’s eyes water. An involuntarily in-drawn breath hissed between teeth and then there was no stopping it. He yawned, too.

Had his arms not been secured to the chair, he might have politely covered his mouth. Instead, he deliberately turned his face away. Half-blind from squinting, he found the strange host again very near and catching yawn in an upturned vial.

“Mine now,” he chuckled, corking the glass tube.

drowning

jeereemee — Wed, 19 May 2010 08:07:03 +0000

i’m ready to be married and have a bachelors degree complete and settling in to the comfortable rut. then, but not yet. on the way, however, there are so many steps. so many little fractions that, taken by themselves, seem so frivolous, so immaterial. it’s hard to want to do inconsequential things. i’m not supposed to do unnecessary things! but one can’t skip all the steps. so many small steps. somehow i feel like i’d rather be using my powers of Clever to overcome a step seemingly too big for my capabilities. i’m drowning in the sand of my hourglass.

vivimancer’s request

jeereemee — Wed, 14 Apr 2010 18:27:45 +0000

“because it’s forbidden,” he guessed. “too dangerous. turn my brain to pasta? risk my soul?”

“no. i simply do not know how to be a necromancer,” she explained. “if i wish to interact with the dead i turn left and say hello.”

“a joke? that’s new. so then, how is it you need me to tell you where they’re taking a corpse?”

for a long moment Pob watched his frowning reflection. in the mirror she rolled his eyes. “limitations,” her voice explained, stressing each syllable.

“right.”

“no matter your regret, you are compelled, mage. you will give his last rights.”

The tall man, the small man and the masked man

jeereemee — Tue, 13 Apr 2010 21:49:02 +0000

the girl pressed close against Gade’s back as they peeked into the hall after the tall man. the corpse was dropped onto a pile in the light of the elder whore’s doorway. The secretary squeezed out of his own bedroom, door bumping the bodies.

“trouble?” he whispered, still pulling the obnoxious black scarf over his face.

“where’s yours,” asked the rat-faced man.

“my what?” he asked, bumping his door shut. it bounced back directly, cracking loudly against his head. “yooow!”

an iron spike had buried itself in the door at head-height, the end vibrating thickly. someone in the room cursed.

oops i wrote one

jeereemee — Mon, 05 Apr 2010 05:29:12 +0000

i love thinking outside of the box. to most people, a healthy disrespect of restrictions should rightly follow. however, gleefully unintuitive, i find that boxes are beautiful things worth cherishing, decorating, and making forts out of.

a flitterfic (or drabble) is like some interesting passage in a book pulled out to share and highlight. it’s also somewhat an exercise in concise wording, springing a hook, and in so many ways sculpture. if you’re not compulsively editorial at heart this may not be your thing, and i totally understand. (i hate George Seurat paintings. we all have our threshold of OCD.)

through the second city

jeereemee — Tue, 26 Jan 2010 02:24:40 +0000

The elder was quick to push his spear down. “Look around: they growl like dogs when you raise that.”

“That… abomination–!”

“Tension’s been building for months. You’ll spark a riot!”

“Its left the city,” Branson conceded, spitting. “Let squatters fend for squatters.”

The man-shaped brass continued to clang down the ancient road resembling nothing so much as a living suit of armor. It walked through another thatch hut and the crowd staggered around the tumbling mess, keeping their tight ring. In front, the mob parted around another obstacle that soon stood blocking the statue’s path.

“Flower girl?” shouted Goss. “Move!”