The Arbiter Chronicles

Hello all, I know it's been forever since I posted something, but here is the first piece of a story I've been working on. This is an ongoing story I've been mulling over and working on and have several segments already written! I'll be putting up snippets as I finish each one, but I definitely have at least three or four more pieces that will be going up throughout the next week or two. Welcome, to the beginning of the of The Arbiter Chronicles.

The tall, middle aged man raced down the alleyway, nearly tripping over a pair of trash cans as he looked back behind him. He caught a flash of movement from several forms loping behind him, easily keeping pace, not close enough to catch him, but not far enough away to allow time to think about where he was running. He tore out into the street, dodging around a car as he crossed the street, the driver swerving and laying on the horn. He barely noticed the driver's enraged diatribe as he tore down the street, the two figures cackling behind him. He reached out and grabbed the edge of a chain link fence as he flew into the Albany Yacht club parking lot, then raced down a set of docks. At the very end of the farthest docks, a dilapidated old cruiser sat waiting. The man pulled an enormous knife from his coat, hacking the two mooring lines apart as he reached the end. He started to climb over the edge of the boat, when suddenly, another figure rose up and delivered a brutal underhanded blow with a large aluminum bat. The older man flopped back off the boat and smashed to the dock, groaning in pain. He slowly rolled over and started to crawl away, shaking his head to clear it. The man with the bat hopped over the side of the boat, landing nimbly on the docks. He stepped forward until he was next to the man, and crouched down next to him, resting the tip of the bat on the small of the man's back.

"He Meynard?" He whispered caustically. "Sit down!" He growled, shoving the bat down mightily, knocking Meynard back to the docks and driving the breath from his chest again. He stood up and started to walk away as Meynard rolled over, gasping in pain. The thug walked several feet away, to where a small gathering of individuals stood watching. Slowly, Meynard clambered to his feet, fighting in breath after agonizing breath. The group of thugs slowly parted to allow a monstrously large man through. Even Meynard, who stood a few inches over six feet, barely came up to the man's shoulders.

"Hello Nelson." He rumbled out. "This pathetic little game of yours ends tonight. Where have you hidden the Michael Sword?" Nelson glared back at him, then wordlessly pulled a large revolver from a shoulder holster. He held it and his knife, sliding into a tired stance. Rafe glared at him coolly, then nodded in acquiescence.

"You want the blade Rafe?" Come take it." Rafe made a dismissive gesture to the others standing next to him, The thugs all raced at him, Nelson fired several shots, reducing three of the thugs to ash before the baseball bat swinging maniac closed on him, swinging wildly at him. Nelson ducked under the wild swing and slashed back, burying his dirk in the man's back. He pulled it out with a contemptuous grunt, and the man fell to the ground with a short shriek, crumbling to ash as he hit the ground. Two more were wiped out with a quick slash and shot from the revolver, when suddenly, a pair of bullets slammed into his chest, throwing him to the ground once again. He lay there, gasping, chocking, as Rafe walked up to him, tucking a pistol back into his waistband. He knelt down next to Murdock, who lay there, his life's blood seeping out onto the dock, limbs askew. He turned his head and looked up at his killer. "You'll never succeed Rafe. The council will kill you." He gasped out. Rafe smirked cruelly.

"Don't worry Nelson. The council won't have any idea until they are as doomed as you, especially now that I also have the Michael Sword." With that, Rafe reached out and pried the revolver from Nelson's grip. The gun shook for a second, then rippled, shifting form, lengthening and growing thinner, until a large dirk sat in his hand. Rafe's eyes opened wide, staring at the blade reverently. "So, the legends are true. The blade does take the form of its bearer's desire. He stood up and turned away, waving at his men. As they strode away, he pulled a cigar out of the breast pocket of his jacket. "Let's go boys. I've got a city to conquer." He gritted out as he lit the cigar, leaving Nelson's lifeless body sitting on the dock behind them.

Writing Update 1/17/15

Hey everyone. Sorry for the lack of regular updates here. Life has been a little hectic lately, what with my work schedule, starting to learn to sew, finding a show that both myself and Cyhyr (my delightful fiance) love, and a newer friend of mine teaching me how to fight for a boffing larp. For those of you who may not be sure what that is, see such movies as Role Models or The Knights of Badassdom. Also, yes, I know that this update is not what you were expecting, but this scene has been bouncing around in my head for several years now, and I have wanted to get it out on paper forever.

It was a cold, crisp night in Albany, New York.  Despite it being mid January, there were only a few inches of snow on the ground. The city was unnaturally quiet, not even the stiff howl of a breeze blowing.. Nathaniel Davis strode up the heavy marble stairs, his polished shoes gleaming in the welcoming light of the church. His footfalls left shallow prints in the snow, belying his large size. A tall man, he stood just over six foot, with broad shoulders, and moved with the carefully placed movements gained from a lifetime of experience. He wore a hand tailored, dark blue suit, with a blood red tie.

Nathaniel reached the top of the short staircase and pulled the heavy oak door open. Quickly stepping inside, Nathaniel pulled the door closed. It closed with a resounding boom that echoed eerily in the muted light of the cathedral. The pews were ringed with garlands of deep red and white carnations. A long red carpet stretched up to the alter, which sat under a ten foot tall depiction of the crucifixion. To each side, stained glass windows depicted the fourteen stages of the cross. He stepped forward, dipping his hand into the waiting bowl of holy water. He knelt and crossed himself, then walked down the aisle way.

He reached the alter, and stared up at the image before him. "You know. There was a time that I actually believed in you." He muttered, his voice smooth and rich. "I thought that you could help me, were there for me. I guess that was as much a lie as your own existence." He continued to stare up at the idol for  several minutes, until a voice rang out behind him.

"Was there something I can help you with young man?" The voice called to him. Nathaniel turned around to see a tall, slim, middle aged priest was walking towards him, rubbing his eyes tiredly. He smiled at the priest.

"Hello father." He said warmly. "I don't suppose that its possible for you to take my confession?" He asked. The priest nodded back at him.

"Of course I can child. If you would wait in the confessional, I'll be along momentarily. Nathaniel nodded to him and strode back to the confessionals. He stepped inside and sat down, ignoring the kneeler next to the chair. A moment later, Nathaniel heard the priest enter the other side and sit down.

"Bless me Father, for I have sinned. It has been thirty-two years since my last confession." Nathaniel began. He paused when he heard a strangled chocking sound from the other side of the confessional.

"My apologies child. I must have misheard you. I could have sworn that you said that it has been thirty-six years since your last confession." The priest stated weakly. Nathaniel smiled to himself ruefully.

"Yes father, that's correct. It's been thirty-six years." He replied. He heard the priest let out a deep breath, and pictured him rubbing his hands over his face.

"Well my child, if its been that long, then surely there are many sins you have to confess. For this session, why don't we just stick to mortal sins." The priest said quietly. Nathaniel took a moment, thinking back over the last several years. He smiled darkly to himself.

"Of course father. Just the mortal sins for tonight." He paused. "Well first father, I haven't once in the last several years kept a holy day." A grunt of acknowledgement from the priest. "I have been indifferent and born false witness." Another sigh from the priest's side. "I have also committed sacrilege." The priest drew in a long, slow breath.

"Those are all of your sins my son?" The priest asked slowly. Nathaniel shook his head.

"For now father. Though, I will be committing another one soon." Nathaniel informed the priest.

"You're going to be committing another sin soon?" The priest asked in shock.

"Yes father. I'll be committing another mortal sin tonight." There was a long pause, then the priest breathed out a question.

"What sin will you be committing?" He asked softly. There was a sudden splintering of wood as Nathaniel's hand smashed through the thin divider. He grabbed the priest by the front of his vestments and ripped him back through the wall.

"Murder father. I'll be committing murder." His face scrunched in fury. "And you know why father." The priest's hand went inside a pocket, then pulled out a silver medal.

"Non Draco Sit Mihi Dux" He cried out, attempting to hit Nathaniel with the small medal. Nathaniel batted the medal away contemptuously.

"I'm not the dragon." He said. "I'm just the man who's here to destroy the bastard that killed my people. You and your Warriors of St. Michael hunt down everything that you consider to be 'unholy'. In your zeal, you killed several of the vampires of this city. Those were people under my protection, friends of mine. That right there, is a mistake you will never be making again." Nathaniel reached into his suit and produced a small handgun.
                                         
                                                                                              ***************

Nathaniel stepped out of the church, looking up and down the street. He started walking back off the way he came, pulling a cell phone from his pocket. He punched in a number, then waited briefly. After several rings, a voice picked up on the other end. "Is it done?" the voice asked coldly.

"Yes sir. The Warriors of St. Michael will trouble our city no more, and the esteemed father is also taken care of." Nathaniel responded. The voice on the other end hung up, and Nathaniel snapped the phone in two pieces, then tossed one down a storm drain. A few minutes later, the other half of the phone was tossed into a dumpster. Ten minutes after that, Nathaniel was in a car and leaving the city.

Writing prompt update for 1/1415

Hello everyone, sorry I took so long updating again, but here you all are with the next installment of the story I presented last time.

Damian and Nicole walked down the road, the warm sun shining down on them. As they walked, Nicole hummed tunelessly, bobbing her head cheerfully. After a time, Damian finally worked up the courage to attempt talking to her once again. "So, Nicole, You still haven't told me anything about yourself. You know, what you were before, what things you liked, or did, or, really anything." Nicole stopped her humming, and looked over at him. She smiled cheerfully over at him.

"Damian, we talked about this several times already. What happened before the wipeout was before. After the whole world died, my previous life was just that. Previous. Who I am now is what matters." She started walking a little faster, Her voice gained a slight edge to it. "My past is to be left in the past. I do not wish to discuss this again Damian."

A sudden sound in the brush to their right side caused them both to whirl to the side, searching for the source of the noise. It had been months since either of them had even seen another living thing. Damian pulled a large knife from its sheath on his hip. Nicole raised a hand to stay him from approaching the sound. The rustling got fiercer and fiercer, until suddenly, a dog popped out of the brush. Damian nearly fell over backwards in surprise, and Nicole let out a delighted shriek. The dog, a medium sized border collie, black with a white neck and chest, coming down to the fronts of its legs, and a coppery red right ear leaped up and started licking her face ferociously. She laughed, falling over as the dog hopped up on its hind paws and pushed up as close to as it could.

Damian slowly sat back up, sliding his knife back into its sheath and standing back up. "Great." He muttered. "What are the odds, eh?  Here we are, maybe the last two humans left on earth, and we manage to find what might be the last dog left on earth." Nicole looked back over at him, absentmindedly petting the dog.

"This little lady really wants to come with us Damian. What do you think?" She asked him. Damian looked down at her incredulously.

"What? Are you kidding? We barely have the ability to keep ourselves fed, and you want to take on another mouth to feed? No freaking way damnit." He glared down at the two of them in annoyance. She looked back up at him plaintively, and the dog cocked her head at him. After a moment, his face softened, and he threw his hands up in exasperated defeat. "Fine! Fine. We'll take the damn dog with us." He exclaimed in annoyance.

Writing Promt #2

Good afternoon everybody! Here I am, once again updating. Sorry I didn't get a post up on Friday, but here is today's post. Today's writing prompt comes from the Tumblr blog Writing Prompts That Don't Suck.  The challenge was to include three things: An unlabeled can of soup, a cigarette pack filled with skittles, and an unrequited crush. I was further challenged to use a second prompt at the same time, so the second one, which was the line "I'm just doing what the fortune cookie said to do. Who am I to stand in the way of fate?"

Damian LaFayette stared down at the metal can, curious as to what was inside of it. He shook it rapidly, hoping to hear anything that would tell him what was inside. A sudden noise behind him made him spin in panic, the can raised high to bludgeon whatever was behind him. An athletic blonde in a leather jacket, t-shirt, jeans and well worn hiking boots stood behind him, glaring impatiently at him. "You know, standing there shaking a mystery soup can like that is a great way to get yourself eaten." She told him, the ghost of a smile flickering teasingly across her face. He smiled back at her, then tossed her the can before turning to search the rest of the cabinet. Everything else looked way to picked over to be of any worth, and he closed the cabinet in frustration.

"Nothing of any value anywhere in this god forsaken town." He growled angrily. "Dang it Nicole, doesn't anything faze you?" He asked with forced calm. She beamed back at him.

"Not really. I mean seriously, in a world like the one we live in now, why would anything?" She retorted calmly. She turned and started out of the kitchen, and he followed her, grabbing his own pack off of the table and leaving the empty house.

As he stepped out into the bright sun, Damian slid a pair of dark wrap around shades on and looked around. It still weirded him out at times, the utter quiet of the world. He looked around and saw Nicole standing about a dozen feet down the road. She stood waiting patiently for him, looking for all the world as though she was just getting ready for a mid afternoon walk. Strange to think that just a few months earlier they had never even met each other, had just been two normal people living normal lives. Well, he thought I was living a normal life. She still wont tell me what life she had been living.

****************

I know that this update is a particularly short one, but unfortunately I have to work early in the morning. I promise to finish the update tomorrow evening when I get home. Sorry everyone.

A New Venture. Again.

Hello once again readers. I know it has been almost a year since i started this blog, and stated that I would be writing regularly and updating here. As you can see, that didn't happen. My life was rather jam packed most of the year, and thoughts of writing sadly took the back burner for me, especially later in the year, what with working two jobs totaling nearly eighty hours a week of work until around September when I took a new job, allowing me to work at only one and dropping down to forty hours a week. Now though, with the new year, I'm starting my own little writing endeavor. Over the course of the year, I will be working to write more often, mostly through the medium of writing prompts. My goal will be to update Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. Sorry once again for the lack of updating all last year, and here is the first installment of my new writing expedition.

This writing piece comes from a writing prompt from writeworld . The prompt was titled:

"What's in the Package?"

"What's in the package?" The security guard asked the delivery man in a bored tone. The delivery man, a tall young gentleman with sharp features and peircing grey eyes stared cooley back at the guard. He wore a light blue windbreaker zipped up, the name Steve sewn onto the front lapel and a pair of loose fitting sweat pants. A dark baseball cap was pulled down over his medium length blond hair.

"Couldn't tell you. I'm just the courier. Going up to a..." He paused, looking down at a clipboard. "Mr. Janson, on the twenty-third floor." He looked back up at the guard, who looked back, bored and slightly disinterested.

"Leave it over there." The guard said, indicating a space down at the end of the lobby desk. He started to look back at the computer screens in front of him when the delivery man pointedly cleared his throat.

"Sorry sir, I'm under strict orders to put it in Mr. Janson's hands directly." He said calmly. The security guard looked up at him in annoyance. He picked up his telephone and had a quick conversation with someone on the other end. The conversation ended and the security guard looked back up at Steve.

"Alrighty then. Go on ahead." Steve turned and walked to the nearest elevator, pressing the call button gently with a knuckle. He waited patiently for the elevator, which arrived with a soft ding. He stepped into the elevator and again used his knuckle to hit the needed button. As the cart ascended, he stepped back, allowing other passengers entry, keeping his head down. He stepped out onto the twenty-third floor, He looked left and then right, examining his surroundings as he turned and looked to his left. Janson Architecture was written in ornate gold lettering on the glass door in front of him.

The lobby was a new age, softly painted multi-colored room of sky blue, black green. An absolutely garish display of colors. He thought to himself as he looked around. Several expensive yet thoroughly uncomfortable looking white leather chairs were pressed against the same wall as the main door, pictures of various penthouses and city skyline pictures hung around the walls.A large glass desk sat straight ahead of him, a young, attractive brunette sat at the desk typing something on a computer.  To the left sat an open door, leading to a meeting room, and to the right sat a pair of ornate wooden doors with a gold plaque, advertising the office of one David Janson. Steve allowed himself a small smile as he walked up to the desk.  The brunette smiled up at him as he approached.

"Good afternoon sir. Did you have an appointment?" She chirped at him. He shook his head at her.

"No miss, I do not. I just have this package to deliver to him.." He held up the package, showing it to her. She reached out for it.

"Very well sir, I can have it given to him when he has a free moment." Steve stepped back.

"Very sorry miss, but I'm not allowed to leave it with anybody else, company policy." The brunette looked up at him, her bright expression souring just a little. She pushed her chair back and stood up.

"I'll be right back sir." She told him before walking over to the office. "Mr. Janson?" she softly asked as she opened the right side door. She stepped inside and closed the door, and Steve leaped into motion, grabbing a letter opener off of the reception desk and slicing open the package. He reached inside and pulled out a pistol, then a silencer. The package hit the ground as he strode towards the door, screwing the silencer onto the barrel as he approached. He held his hand behind his back as the door opened and the receptionist came back out. "You can go right on in sir." She told him. He nodded in thanks. Then he pulled the gun out and calmly shot her in the chest. Her eyes went wide as she stared him in shock, not comprehending what had just happened. She sank slowly to her knees, still staring at him in confusion as she collapsed. Steve stepped towards the door, then walked in.

Inside the room, a tall, thin man in his late thirties was standing up and coming around. "What the hell was that noise? He paused as he saw the still smoking gun. "Oh God." He stumbled back, eyes widening in horror. "Who the hell are you?" He demanded in fear. Steve stepped into the room.

"Who I am isn't the important question. Its who I'm here on behalf of that is the important question." He raised the pistol again and shot Janson three times in the chest. Janson collapsed over backwards, crashing to the ground. Steve stepped forward, leaning down over Janson. "Mr. Janson, the Malone family says that you and they are now even." Steve reached out and squeezed Janson's shoulder reassuringly, seemingly oblivious to the fact that it did nothing to reassure the dying man.

The assassin walked out of the office, and back to the lobby. He stepped over the receptionist's body, and picked up the empty box. he pulled of the windbreaker, sweatpants, baseball cap and pistol back into it, revealing a slightly rumpled dark suit. Picking up the package he started forward, then stopped with a sudden pause. Rolling his eyes in exasperation, he reached up and pulled off the relatively convincing wig he had been wearing to reveal short cropped black hair, and tossed the wig into the package. He calmly strode back out of the lobby and out of the building.

                                                                  ****************

Two police detectives stood watching the security footage of the suited man walking out of the building, head down and avoiding the security cameras. "See? there he goes." The first said to the other. The second looked up at his partner, and nodded. Yeah, there he goes all right. But who the hell was he?" He asked. "And more importantly, what was in that package?"

Hey guys! I have to be honest, this little clip I have for you here isn't what I had intended on writing, but it popped into my head and forced me to write it. I'm not really even sure where the idea came from, I had been thinking about the story that I wanted to write out today and post up for you all, and then this guy popped into my head, and just took over every thought previously held.

Without further ado, here you all are.

**********

The boy raced through the forest, the bloody stump of his right arm cradled to his chest. He was a scrawny youth of maybe fifteen, only five and a half feet tall. His shoulder length, curly black hair was pulled back and tied in a loose ponytail. He wore a pair of stained tan slacks and the filthy remains of what had once been a nice dress shirt, though the right sleeve had been ripped off and tied around his wrist where his hand had been cut off. He heard the shouts behind him as he crashed through the thick brush, howls of open fury driving him on. Though his muscles burned from his frenzied charge, and his lungs screamed agony at him, he dared not pause even for a moment. To do so would only invite certain death. The others were closing in on him, and he could only imagine what they would do if they caught him. If only I could find my way back to the ship. He thought desperately, I could sail away from them, and be safe, even if for only a little while. Up ahead he saw an opening in the treeline, and he surged on, pushing every ounce of energy he could into his frantic escape. The voices and loud shrieks behind him slowed and died out as he exploded from the wood.

He knew immediately upon exiting the forest that his luck had run out. Ahead of him was only the edge of a cliff, a straight seventy foot drop into the treacherous sea below. If he didn't hit the rocks on the way down, he'd most likely be dashed upon them by the crashing waves. He stood at the edge, staring down for several seconds before he realized that he was no longer being followed, and turned back to see what why not, cradling his bloody arm with his left hand. Dimly, he noted the the bleeding had finally been staunched by the remains of the sleeve he had tied around the end of his wrist.

The others stood at the edge of the forest, silent, watching. Each of them was a fearsome sight to behold, clad in animal furs and skins, with wicked looking weapons and harsh trophies of a life in the dark forest adorning each boy, anyone in their right mind would be frightened looking at the group. The injured boy knew from experience that there leader was even more terrifying then any of the assembled gathering before him though. Clearly they were waiting for something, though what, he wasn't sure of. Suddenly, he realized with a start that someone was missing. Him. That's what they were all waiting for. None of them wanted to be the one to attempt to steal his death from their leader.

With a sudden quiet rustling of brush, a young man emerged from the forest, directly in the center of the motley group. He strode out into the open, clearly unconcerned, anticipating what was to come. He stopped a half dozen paces from the injured boy and stood completely still. He appeared to be about sixteen or seventeen, tall and lithe, wearing a jerkin and breeches of dyed green leather. On his left hip hung a short sword, and a small dagger rested on his left. An angelic smile crossed his face, giving him the appearance of a close friend, someone who could be trusted. Nothing could be farther from the truth the injured boy knew. That smile was the same one that appeared right before some of the cruelest acts he had ever witnessed happened. Silence reigned in the open area, the two boys staring at each other, the others watching them from the treeline.

After what seemed like an eternity, the leather clad boy spoke, his voice disarmingly sweet. "James. What do you think your doing? Did you think that you could really get away with what you tried?" The smile and placating voice made the injured boy desperately want to trust the youth in front of him.

"I saw what you did. I couldn't just stand by and watch you hurt people over and over." He bit out. "You're a monster, however much nobody else wants to see it. You've kidnapped, murdered, lied and cheated to keep your perfect little world here, and I can't just sit back and watch it continue! I had to do something, even if it came to this!" James yelled back at him. The leather clad youth stepped forward, face darkening into a scowl that was truly terrifying.

"You really think that any of them would believe such things about me?" He roared. "I rescued them, and you, from certain doom! If I hadn't come and taken each and every one of you, you would all be dead!" He howled in fury. "And then you thank me like this? Betraying me?Us? You're the real monster here! I wont let you threaten my family James. If you don't stand with me, then you stand against me. I'll kill you!" He took a step forward, pulling his sword out with a lightning quick motion.  With that, he started forward, raising the sword up high. James stepped back quickly to the edge of the cliff face.

"I won't let you have the satisfaction. Someday I will stop you. I promise you this." With that, he stepped back out into the void and plummeted out of sight. All of the boys, including the sword wielding one rushed forward to the cliff edge, looking over, trying to spot the boy who had leaped off. Though they watched for several minutes, they saw no sign of him, alive or dead.

**********

With a strangled cry, James launched himself up in his bed. It took him several second to realize where he was, safe in his own bed, and not standing atop that cliff face once more. That had been more then thirty years ago, and still the nightmares of that moment haunted him. He spun to the side and lowered his feet off the bed to rest against the rough wood floor. Though rough to the touch, and cool, the feel of the wood was reassuring, a constant, solid reminder that he was still alive. Idly, he ran his left hand over the metal cap on his left, a grim reminder of the past, and of the future he was trying to save. Suddenly, the door burst open, and a small portly fellow hurried in carrying a lantern. "Captain? Captain, you alright?" He called out, looking at James. 

"I've told you not to call me that a thousand times Bill." Wearily, James rubbed his eyes, the bright light a sudden shock to him in his still sleep addled state. "You're my oldest friend, just call me James." 

"Of course Captain. Whatever you say." Came the concerned reply. James gave up, for the thousandth time.

"Yes Bill, I'm alright. Just a bad dream. I'll be trying to get back to sleep now, you should do the same." With that, James turned back onto the bed and laid back down. Muttering a calm goodnight, Bill retreated, taking his lamp with him. James lay on his back for several minutes, trying unsuccessfully to put the dream out of his head. "I will stop you." He said quietly into the darkness. "If it's the last thing I do, I will stop you and the pain you bring to the world Peter Pan."

**********

So, I don't know about any of you, but I really enjoyed that little endeavor. If any of you enjoyed reading it as much as I did writing it, let me know and I'll continue it at some point. For now though, I must bid thee all farewell and adieu.

-Ronoxym.

Hello to all of you! I am Ronoxym, and its a true pleasure to be starting this blog of my very own. If you are indeed reading this, you probably picked up the link from someone far more popular then I, and thank you for joining me here! After having read my friends for so long, and having her and several others around me inspired so greatly to actually get into writing lately, I am now here for your reading pleasure!

So, my good friend LycoRogue has been working with me on a collaboration that has been bouncing around in my head for some time, and about two or three weeks ago, we talked so much about it that it finally got me to get up off of my butt and finally get down to it and start writing it. Long story short, this story had been meant to be about three to five pages, just a brief little slice of life scene that I was going to bang out and send over to her for our mutual enjoyment...

It is currently sixteen pages long! Sixteen! This stupid thing was supposed to be a quick little afternoon jaunt into the mind of my character and hers in one brief interaction. Now, it has turned into us having a google doc going where we are commenting back and forth, over and over, mulling this thing out, editing, re-editing, correcting each other, on and on and on! (I also suspect that, if Lyco is anything as much like me as my lovely fiance jokes, then she also is raging back at me occasionally, though in her case, its probably because I haven't been active on the forum as of late.)

 So this collaboration that we have going? Best part about it? It's barely halfway done at this point, even if it only goes to the point that I had planned on it going to. To be perfectly honest, it probably will go far beyond what I had originally intended, and I'm starting to get a little frightened by it now. Basically, what's going on in this story is that both Lyco and I have characters on an Alternate Universe based X-Men text based role-playing forum. My character left the Xavier institute right before it was attacked, and he spent two years working with the group that attacked it (though he didn't know about that until he came back). After he came back, my character found that Lyco's hates him, blaming him for what happened. Because of this, he convinces her to read his mind (she's a telepathic individual, among other things.) The story starts with him convincing her to do so, and of what ensues afterwards. At page thirteen in this little slice of life endeavor, we finally worked the story up to her actually starting to look into his mind, and now we are into the nitty-gritty of what happens when she does that. 

We are both extremely excited about this whole thing, and neither of us can really wait to see where it goes. I say that we can't wait to "see where it goes" because we are both character driven writers, our writing styles are similar in that we have our characters appear before us (in our minds obviously) and they tell us our story, not like my wonderful fiance, who sits and writes with a methodical purpose, telling her characters where to go and what to do, and if they wont do it, then she finds a way around them (very George R.R. Martin of her I say). To me its rather impressive to see her do that, because there is no way I could ever do it. ADHD just doesn't allow someone to sit there and work a methodical schedule type thing. My work style is much more free form, with the story revealing itself to me, sometimes even as I am putting it to the written page. All of that being said, a new story has been forming in my head for a while, which I will be giving all of you readers an opening section of in the next couple of days. 

To the few of you that are reading this, this has been most enjoyable, and I hope to see you again soon when I give you all the first scene!

-Rono