Ink War

lrwthelongwind: Gonna stream Kara no Kyoukai in about an hour. ~10 PM EST. Link to stream. Edited:...

lrwthelongwind — Tue, 15 Jan 2013 21:21:43 -0500

Gonna stream Kara no Kyoukai in about an hour. ~10 PM EST.

Link to stream.

Edited: I put the wrong time in the first time.

If you're wondering, the answer is currently no.

lrwthelongwind — Wed, 22 Aug 2012 02:24:46 -0400

So, yeah, I’m gonna be off to bed after this, but I’m just gonna post a bit regarding that one thing all about Catherine. At one point or another I completely rewrote it, she’s a very different person in this version than in the other. It’s still a mixed bag of depression.

This rewrite actually really pisses me off cause I copped out and broke one of my universal rules. Therefore, I’m likely to rewrite this yet again, cause I’m not gonna stand for breaking one of my own goddamn rules. There is always a better way… I’m mentally blocking myself from typing things here because I see the reasons how it could logically happen that way, but I don’t like them.

Still here is it. Don’t expect it to stay this way for long.

Edit: Looking at this, this is the second version that I wrote. I like the third better in some areas, but the end to this one was much more satisfying (to me - I’m sadistic [to my characters], what can I say?).

The commune room, a very bland room furnished in gaudy, lifeless, off red. The couch, broken and ragged, was a plaid pattern; all manners of stains dotted the fabric and Catherine shuddered to think of the sources. The armchair in which she sat was refurbished, if she could get away with calling it such, the right arm dangled off the side only connected via a thin layer of deep red fabric, the seat cushion was worn thin and springs slightly poked through the seat and into her thin thighs. By the armchair there was a nightstand; Mr. Sommen, though Catherine didn’t know him well, brought the item into the commune when his family first moved in; Mr. Sommen called the stand his ‘small gift for the greater good.’ In actuality they simply ran out of space in their private room, the donation was welcomed regardless.

The surface of the glass table in the room was scratched from years of abuse; the shoddy table legs, loose and chipped, could barely manage to keep it up. Wooden splints supported the legs up to keep the table from collapsing and as a rule it was strictly for decoration. Up on the wall, in the corner of the room, was a black intercom speaker; it had long worn out, it only allowed for blaring high pitched sounds and white noise.

The heater, the single most valuable asset to the community, was neatly polished and in pristine condition. Catherine knew well the importance of an effective heater. Motivon’s blustery winter nights often dropped below -40°C and seldom rose above -5°C.

Catherine shivered; the restless nights she’d spent without heat had vividly etched themselves into her mind. Her winter coat, thick and warm as it may be, could only stave away the offensive night chill for so long.

Fredrick and Jonathan Makiri roughhoused on the commune couch. Fredrick, the older brother, was nine years old, had curly blonde hair, hazel eyes, and an omnipresent ill-mannered temperament. His younger brother,Jonathan, was much his foil; he was a small eight year old with straight black hair and an angelic smile.

From the armchair, Catherine looked up from her book with an annoyed expression. She was not particularly engrossed in the reading material, but it gave her something to do rather than think about the meal she so desperately craved. Anything would do really, so long as it could satisfy her hunger for even a mere few minutes. The stomach pangs she felt recently were maddening and her movements at times were stiff with muscle ache. The nightly meal – assorted canned foods, greens, and a measly portion of bread, bolstered by whatever could be caught or found in or around the four-story apartment complex—could barely sustain her throughout the day.

Irritation painted her voice, “Can’t you boys just be quiet for once?”

Fredrick held his brother down, “Why don’t you just make us, huh? Oh, yeah, that’s right. You can’t do a bloody fucking thing, huh, you powerless bitch.”

Catherine rolled her eyes; dealing with Fredrick was never pleasant. Her father monotonously scolded her for her violence against the little devil. It was her honor to live up to the expectations of her father, as such her failures in this regard weighed heavily on her mind.

However, for the last month she’d placated herself with simply turning a blind eye to his taunting. A few weeks ago he’d broken two of the commune windows in a mad fit of rage, then in a lucid state of mind attempted to pass the blame onto Catherine; though he’d not escaped scot-free, she received a harsh punishment. Now with her patience and restraint toward his antics long spread thin from constant wear and tear; she believed now seemed the perfect time to serve to him his comeuppance.

She made a face; he’d just instigated the very last confrontation she’d suffer to stand. She folded the corner of the page she was on and put the book down on the nightstand to the right of the armchair.

She stood and motioned him to do the same, “Alright, you little bastard, you asked for it.”

The moment Fredrick complied, Catherine rushed him.

He brought his arm up to defend himself to no avail, Catherine moved to the right, grabbed it with her left hand and yanked it forward; she then followed up with a punch to the side of his ribcage.

Fredrick recoiled in pain.

Catherine moved behind him and kicked his knees in and forced his left arm up against his back.

“Hmm… I suppose I can make you do whatever I want, huh?” Catherine’s whispered into Fredrick’s ear.

A moment later, the worn intercom in the ceiling corner crackled to life, “En—er co—ng—yone—ge—ut!”

From the far stairwell, Viktor Makiri, the usually stoic blue-eyed blonde haired leader of the commune and father to Fredrick and Jonathan, came running down the corridor shouting, “Enforcers are coming! Get out, get the fuck out now!”

The corridor seemed to suddenly erupt in activity as Victor ran the length of the corridor to spread the message.

Without a second thought, Catherine released Fredrick and pulled him to his feet, “Get to your mother now!” She commanded.

Quickly she turned and bolted for her family’s cramped private room.

Her father, a slim black haired man with a slight build from working in construction, and her mother, a petite brunette with calloused fingers, were hurriedly dressing. Their bodies were sweaty and their faces flushed; the sheets on the bed were strewn about and the air held a strange, lingering pungent quality.

“Catherine, get the coats out of the closet!”

Catherine ignored the smell and moved across the room to the closet.

She turned and tossed the two larger ones on the bed and quickly put her own coat on.

Her father hurriedly put on his coat and yelled to her, “Give me the pack in there!”

When she turned back she noticed the pack on the floor of the closet. She pulled the pack out and handed it to her father. He strapped it to his back and in a fluid motion guided back through the door.

The lights flickered for a moment before the power cut out. Without heat, the nightly winter chill easily penetrated the new darkness. From the west, sirens slowly permeated the chilled air; the sound grew louder with every moment that passed.

Catherine could feel a hard lump forming in her throat.

“They cut the power already?” Her father exclaimed while he slung the pack off his back, he shoved it to her mother, “Shit, get a maglite out.” He paused for a second and squeezed his forehead together, “We’re falling behind, so we’re gonna go with plan B: Out the fire escape.”

Catherine and her father quickly move toward the window; her father bumped into the table on his way and it fell with a magnificent crash.

Catherine made to open the window to no avail. The window wiggled from side to side, but would not budge upward.

“It’s jammed!” She called.

The maglite lit up, the light shined on the window, the slide was blocked with rust. Dread coursed through Catherine’s body, the ever growing sound of sirens and the icy, pitch black darkness relentlessly assailed her senses. The grip on the window now hurt to physically touch, but she bared the pain and tried again.

Her father cursed once more then growled, “We don’t have time for this, get clear of the window!”

From behind her Catherine heard a stomping sound and then a snap; she turned around to see her father pick up a leg of the table. Catherine ducked to the side quickly and her father smashed the leg through the window.

Instantly the temperature dropped, Catherine shivered suddenly and violently in reaction. Her hands that stung from the biting cold no longer felt held feeling; she could no longer feel her face. The sounds of the sirens intensified three fold and echoed through the corridor. Her father tested the icy railing of the fire escape and Marianna brushed some glass off the window pane.

“Your turn,Catherine!” Her mother called.

Sudden warmth coursed through Catherine as she pulled herself through the window; she fell onto the glass laden floor of the fire escape, she heard a tearing noise as she climbed back to her feet; her father didn’t allow her the luxury of identifying the source, rather he forcefully tugged her down the stairs after him. Only two flights of stairs and they’d be in the back alley to the east of the building. Once they were on the second story her father swiftly kicked the ladder down to the street level.

Catherine’s father gripped both sides of the ladder with his hands and feet and slid down the ladder to the alley; Catherine, with numb and unsure hands, followed suit. Her landing was harder than expected and she fell to her back. After a second she blinked and rolled over to give her mother room to slide down and herself the chance to get up.

The snow covered alley was narrow and long, one end lead to the street and the other the wooden fence of a neighboring building. Here and there large dumpsters choked of large parts of the alleyway.

The sirens were almost upon them now and a voice could be heard amid them. A man’s voice, deep and enthusiastic: “Citizens! The glorious state mercifully offers a grand opportunity for all under its dominion to partake!”

Catherine’s mother took her hand and they sprinted in the direction opposite the man’s voice.

A rally of aggravated protest surged forward from around the front of the building.

The man continued with a torrid pace, “Honor your family and ensure peace to the nation as a whole! The contribution of each and every citizen is vital to the stability of our glorious establish—” The man paused mid-sentence.

He lost his compassionate tone and a rather sadistic inflection took its place, “Ah. Why, yes, I did forget, didn’t I? How silly of me.” His tone became heavy and dark, “Traitors shall be given due process.”

Just as they reached the neighboring fence, sounds like vicious hellfire broke out in quick succession, the worst of it echoed directly down the alley. It was only a moment until a group of enforcers entered the other end of the alleyway. The shouted and moved quickly down the narrow corridor.

Catherine’s heart sank as the enforcers moved closer. Her parents, panicked yet filled with purpose, worked together to lift her up to the top of the fence.

“When you’re over, run! Don’t worry about us, just—” The sound of hellfire echoed from the alley again.

“Nickoli!” Her mother screamed.

Catherine lay stunned on top of her father in the blushing snow. Her mother encased Catherine and her father in a protective hug.

Her mother strewn out protectively over her and her father, Catherine watched helplessly as the enforcers closed the remaining distance.

“We dragged her along! She had nothing to do with this!” Her mother bawled, with her hand like a vice grip keeping Catherine under her.

There were three enforcers upon them now; two males and one female.

The first male enforcer, the man who shot Nickoli, was a tall stout man with beady, piercing, brown eyes. He had closely trimmed brown hair and an upturned lip evidence of a sadistic smile. The other male was a well-groomed, mustachioed, blonde with a pointy nose and dimpled chin. The female enforcer was a tanned woman with only a few black strands of hairs out of place from under a green beret she had a brown pack strapped to her back. They all wore the same attire: armored green and gold fatigues, plated heavily in the torso and lighter plated padding for the legs and arms; their shoulders bared insignias, one for rank and another for unit. The man with the pointed nose seemed to be the highest ranked.

Each enforcer carried a machine gun.

The man with the pointed nose snorted, “Really now, is that right?” he took a step forward, “And what makes you think I give a damn; the children of traitors are inherently traitors themselves, after all.” The enforcer nodded to the woman, “Isn’t that right, Dockins?”

Snow fell lightly onto Nickoli’s head and he groaned lightly.

The man with the pointed nose gave Dockins no time to answer, “Well, well, look who’s up. Glad you decided to make the party, would have been a real shame without ya.” He shifted his gun over his shoulder. “Tell you what, lady, We’ll have pity on ya, just this once, for all the good times we’ve shared.”He shifted his feet, “We’ll take your girl, she gets to live, and you two get the due process of the law. Sound about fair?”

Her mother nodded and whispered, “Catherine, you must live.”

“Good decision, lady. I think we can all take a lesson from this: the powers that be will always triumph over the lawless. Something like that anyway.” He placed the barrel to the back of her mother’s head. “Now then.”

She heard no audible sound, but, as a sticky crimson liquid stained dotted her face and soaked the shoulder of her coat, Catherine could feel the tight embrace of her mother go limp. Beady eyed Dockins’ contorted wickedly into a malicious grin. The wide-eyed countenance of the female enforcer spoke of disgust.

Stunned and enraged as she was, Catherine felt empathy for the woman among the monsters.

“Hammel,” The man with the pointed nose said, “Why don’t you retrieve her now?”

For a moment she hesitated, “Yes, sir.”

Hammel rolled the headless corpse off of Catherine and pulled her to feet, Hammel quickly handcuffed Catherine attempted to coax her back down the alley.

Catherine refused to move.

Dockins began to curb stomp Nickoli as he saw fit; he took pleasure in the incoherent groans he could elicit during this slow torture.

Behind Dockins and the mustachioed man, Hammel knelt down to Catherine’s level, “You really don’t want to see this, kid.” She tried unsuccessfully to wipe the blood from Catherine’s face, “Now, let’s go.”

***

“State your name, age, and identification number, then move to the next designated area.” The portly, brown haired enforcer said from behind the supply counter.

Catherine had been informed that they, the collective group of prisoners, would be given their apportioned weekly supplies, when her turn came up she gulped and did as those before her, “Catherine Johnson, age thirteen, ID- 621-595-23-3084.”

“Good, make this last you a week.” The enforcer handed her a small sack filled with two pairs of clothes, a small sliver of soap, and a belt. She quickly took the bundle and followed after the person before her: James Shifren, age fifteen, ID-377-351-42-8192.

Catherine was designated in D block, housing unit 1437.

She stared in amazement at the size of the block; the facility was seven stories tall, with five large towers, four at each corner with teams of snipers visible and one tower in the middle. There was a green and gold banner displaying the letter ‘D’ hanging from the middle tower.

While she was stopped an enforcer came up behind her and struck her with the butt of his rifle, “Keep moving.” he spat.

She fell to the ground and made a face.

“On your feet.” The enforcer yanked her up at the elbow and shoved her forward again.

This time she managed to stay on her feet and hurried forward to D block.

Don't mind me... Just posting something, last message still holds true.

lrwthelongwind — Wed, 22 Aug 2012 01:58:43 -0400

So, I’m not sure who all I’ve shown this to, if anyone, (Though I’ve most likely shown Onee-san, if anyone.) But this is just something from a while ago… And no… I’m not sure about the quality of the piece, no it isn’t finished. Take it as simply something that has yet to be polished or something.

So, without further ado, here it is.

From atop a simple podium in an overtaken studio, he could see the makings of his troops. Among their faces, both young and old, he saw no one who had not been wrong in horrid fashion by their oppressive, power hungry, state.Richardcould sense quite vividly their growing tensions; they knew the time was drawing near and the very thought set their more base instincts aflame. There would be blood.

Richardgrasped the podium tightly enough to leave indents for each finger, his eyes narrowed and burned with intensity. He could feel the slipping of his rational mind to his barbarous desires. He inhaled deeply and steeled himself; this was only the beginning. Before long his hands would emanate the scent of blood and become used to the motions of drawing the life from his victims, his ears would soon become deaf to their screams of terror and pleas for forgiveness; never would he be allowed to falter, lest his façade be uncovered.

His lips pressed into a hard line and he set his jaw.

He exhaled and signaled for silence; he heard the sound of the main camera going live. it focused upon his countenance and he could only wonder if his face was contorted in the throes of agony. No, he was certain his mask held strong. He was the image of his stoic father: tall, thin, and clean-shaven with long, feathery, silver hair.

“It is in these dark moments,” He began his voice slowly gaining momentum, “These times of violence and hatred, that our true mettle shall be gauged. In a few short hours our campaign shall commence and the arrogant Senate shall face a force the likes of which it has never seen.”

There was a stirring within the troops, a pulsating lust for action, and againRichardbraced himself against his feral instincts.

With a final, heavy tone he finished, “We go to war.”

***

His radio patched through, he could hear Gaudery issuing commands and telling troops their place in the coming assault. After a few minutes Gaudery addressed him, “We’ll be ready as soon as you’re in position, my lord. I’ll make my way over to your group now.”

It would be a few minutes until Gaudery would make his appearance, despite the fast movement of his race, there would always be soldiers vying for a moment of his time.

Richard had given some thought to this infiltration, in so much as any course of aggressive action could be planned; his thoughts lingered on his armaments, he carried a pistol and a few extra clips for it. The pistol was an old .45 caliber, slightly browned from oxidation and the slide had moments of hesitation when loading bullets into the chamber. He contemplated the weight in his hand – the weight of a tool for killing should be heavy, and yet this discrete and powerful weapon could only weigh a few pounds.

Richardslid a round into the chamber and pocketed the pistol.

Gaudery arrived and they made their way into their transport.

***

It was just beforenoonwhen the group reached their destination. The transport made good time and held firmly its cover as a diplomat vehicle. Surely,Richardand his company were diplomats, but the party to which they represented was death.

At noon, the senate floor would be in the heat of fierce debate for the next three hours.

“It’s about to get loud up there.” Said Gaudery, make the final adjustments to his sub-machinegun from inside the comfort of the transport. The rest of the group, sansRichard, made similar quick adjustments.Richardcould easily discern that these motions were to relieve nervous tension as much as to make sure the weapon were in working order.Richardcontented himself to watching the clock. His men would disable the automobile depot, contain the Senators in the Floor, and then reverse the lockdown. His group would then waltz into the complex directly with few issues.

It came like the thunder in Laven, huge and powerful.

Richardfelt the recoil of the blast in the vehicle depot from across the complex.

The sirens blazed and the complex came alive with activity.

After a few minutes the radio buzzed, “We’re lifting the lockdown now.”

Gaudery confirmed the action and ran a hand through his hair, “I can only wonder why this is going so well to plan.”

Richardignored him and they made their way out of the transport.

The once glimmering and pristine Senate complex was stained a deep red. A fire blazed at the backside of the complex; a blue ember, white hot, and seething with destructive power. Disemboweled and mutilated corpses littered the grounds, the grotesque sight was only empowered by his senses; the sweet scent of blood filled the air, it lingered in his nose, tormenting him with its voluptuous aroma.

He set his jaw; such death should not be celebrated.

With a pointed glance to the main entrance, the towering doors to the multistory building still, in all this chaos, seemed massive and unafraid,Richard–as calmly as he could manage—climbed the steps to the double-doors.

They were through just in time; the main military force seemed to miraculously materialize en masse. They brought with them heavy artillery and a plethora of troops. From the upper floors, they could hear the reports of suppressive fire begin.

The operation had officially begun, with conservative use of ammunition and the amount that could be scavenged from the bodies of the complex guards and the fire that still raged at the back of structure,Richardestimated them to have a solid half-hour.

The lockdown was reinstated and his group hurried down corridor after corridor to the main floor. Soon they found themselves at the main wall of the Senate floor. The breaching party was sitting on standby behind a quickly craft barricade, and upon seeingRichard’s group began planting directional charges.

When all was ready the breaching party motioned to stand clear and make use of the barricade.Richard’s party did as instructed. The blast sounded and a section of the wall tore open like a wet piece of paper.

The breaching party moved in on the spot and the sounds of gunfire resounded, from this proximityRichardcould plainly hear the scared screaming of the Senators and the pained grunts of shot and dying men. He pulled his pistol and moved into the now opened Senate chamber.

So... Been a while I know...

lrwthelongwind — Wed, 22 Aug 2012 01:47:00 -0400

Well, I have a couple tasks that need to be dealt with tomorrow. First, I need to start applying for jobs - Doesn’t matter what kind for the most part. Second, I need to put some thoughts to … Monitor? I guess. Unless I hand write it, which wouldn’t be too bad I guess.

Anyway, look forward to… Something… in the next couple days.

@Onee-san: If you’d like you could pester me about keeping on this, you know, in case I slack off…

Photo

lrwthelongwind — Sun, 19 Aug 2012 17:03:44 -0400

This is nice from a design point of view. Hmm… Thinking...

lrwthelongwind — Thu, 09 Aug 2012 21:16:00 -0400

This is nice from a design point of view. Hmm… Thinking thoughts.

it's been four months since you put anything on here...

Mon, 16 Jul 2012 15:43:40 -0400

Hmm… Indeed it has been. I just haven’t put new stuff up.

update?

lrwthelongwind — Mon, 16 Jul 2012 12:56:00 -0400

Regarding what, Onee-san?

Work In Progress (Background Piece.)

lrwthelongwind — Mon, 12 Mar 2012 23:44:24 -0400

Catherine’s mother hurried her into the kitchen cabinet under the leaking sink.

Her mother swallowed the hard lump in her throat and uttered a quick and panicked command, “Stay here.”

The cabinet door shut and she heard hurried footsteps toward the living quarter.

The cabinet was black as pitch and every few seconds freezing sulfur water would drip onto her shoulder.

A shout resounded from the commune hall, “By order of the State, open your door!”

She could hear her father’s heavy practiced steps toward the apartment entrance.

Something started to crawl on her right hand and with her left she confirmed it was a rat. She decided to catch it, her mother would no doubt praise her for the addition to the nightly meal.

Catherine could not distinguish what her father and the state enforcer were speaking about, but she could discern the pompousness attitude held by the enforcer.

The rat shuffled in her hand and made an attempt to bite her fingers, she restrained its head by placing some force on the creature’s throat. The creature squirmed heavily in her hand and she could almost giggle at the sensation she felt on her palm.

When the rat ceased its squirming she released her grip on its throat. She was already feeling the pangs of hunger, but kept herself occupied; the rat would have to be skinned and cleaned.

From the door the enforcer grew impatient, “You think you can fool the State! We know everything!” She heard something slam to the ground three pair of hefty footsteps march in. “We will take this place apart until we find her, citizen, and once we do, you’ll be ‘volunteering’ to work with R&D.”

Her eyes widened as realization dawned upon her: just as they had taken her brother, they meant to take her. She disregarded the rat and crawled deeper into the darkness of the cabinet. She could hear the enforcers upturning their small living room. She could hear her mother pleading and the sudden sounds of a struggle. She huddled in the corner of the cabinet with her hands wrapped around her knees, the rat’s blood smeared and felt sticky between her fingers and her knees.

“You penniless cunt!” The pompous enforcer seethed.

Her mother screamed and a second later she heard the glass table in the living room shatter.

Catherine heard a scoff, “Thinking you could touch me; you fuckers had better know your place.” She heard her mother groan in pain and the man laugh, “You want some more, eh? You’re a glutton for punishment it seems.”

Footsteps began toward the kitchen.

“What the hell’s that smell?” The enforcer, a female, in the kitchen asked with plain disgust.

“Who knows, Hammel, we are in the slums after all.” The pompous man stated; she could still hear her mother groaning; she couldn’t tell where her father was.

“Curtiz has a point, there is no telling.” Came another male voice.

Catherine gulped and closed her eyes, and the enforcer opened the cabinet and light flooded in. she stilled her breathing and prayed to her patron god.

“Found her!” The enforcer, Hammel, called out. The female enforcer stooped down into the cabinet, she was a tanned woman in the standard padded enforcer jumpsuit with only a few black strands of hair out of place from her navy blue beret.

“We can do this the easy way or the hard way little girl, but you are coming with us.” Hammel said calmly.

Catherine immediately screamed and began an attempt to fend off the enforcers offending hand. She hammered into the enforcer’s outstretched padded arm to no avail. Hammel took hold of Catherine’s forearm with great strength.

Catherine could feel that she was being dragged away from her corner and grabbed at anything she could latch herself onto.

She heard the unidentified enforcer yell, “Hammel, get clear, get clear!”

Hammel released her vice-like grasp and pulled her hand back, “Do it.”

There was a mighty impact and the cabinet wall faltered with a horrid crack, splinters peppered her arms and face and she cried out in terror.

The wall took another hit and the cabinet corner faltered completely.

Through the broken and splintered wood the enforcer stomped the weakened and crushed wood into the cabinet with his boot. He quickly retracted his foot and pointed his rifle in at her.

“Get out of there now!” The enforcer threatened with his hand on the trigger.

Catherine couldn’t breathe, terror ran through her, but she knew one thing for sure: She didn’t want to die. In a hurried manner and with shaky movements she attempted to do as ordered. One she was out far enough the other enforcers Curtiz and Hammel pulled her out with violent efficiency.

For a moment she could see the damage done to her apartment, and worse off, the conditions of her parents. Her mother laid a beaten and bloodied moaning pile on the floor with shards of glass stuck in her face and large chunks of solid glass digging into her side. Her face was already starting to swell where the enforcer had stomped on her.

Her father was unconscious by the door, hands cuffed to his feet and a broken nose.

Catherine didn’t know what to do, the enforcer kept the gun upon her and Hammel began cuffing her hands and feet. The restraints were heavy and cold on her skin. The metal dug into her ankles and wrists.

Once the cuffs were on her Hammel and Curtiz went to uncuff and grab her father, the enforcer with the gun ordered her to begin walking out of the complex. The chain around her feet made this a difficult task and when it seemed Catherine was taking too long the man would strike her with the butt of the weapon and threaten that she’d best hurry up and that his trigger finger was itching.

She made her way down the hall to the stairwell and forbidden from grabbing the walls or the railing on the staircase; all the while, the enforcer still threatened her about her pace.

She made her way outside of the complex, tired and starting to bruise from the enforcer’s beatings. There was a troop transport waiting outside and a group of shackled prisoners being herded like sheep into the transport by ten more enforcers.

The enforcer behind her holding the gun shoved her violently into the line. They had conscripted her. Her life was no longer her own.

***

“State your name, age, and identification number, then move to your designated housing area.” The portly, brown haired enforcer said from behind the supply counter.

Catherine was designated in D block, housing unit 1437.

While she was stopped an enforcer came up behind her and struck her with the butt of his rifle, “Keep moving.” he spat.

She fell to the ground and made a face.

“On your feet.” The enforcer yanked her up at the elbow and shoved her forward again.

This time she managed to stay on her feet and hurried forward to D block.

***

Catherine’s housing unit was a one bedroom apartment with seven cots, no bathroom, and no windows. The only space she was allotted for personal items was a small footlocker under her cot. The fluorescent lighting in the room assailed her eyes and made her feel sick; Though she considered that she hadn’t eaten in two days and she’d been hit more times than she could account for. The cuts and bruises on her legs were a dark purple and swollen.

There was only one cot left open when she entered, the spot closest to the door. She took it and wrapped her hands around her knees again. It was of no comfort and her arms and legs ached because of the pose, but she held it anyway.

There was silence in the housing unit.

Finally, after a great while, James Shifren, the muscled, blonde haired, blue eyed boy from earlier made his way toward the door.

He turned around to face them all and stated, “You’ve all been conscripted; I’ve been here for two years, and I am this group’s leader. We will fight and we will try to stay alive together. You will not get through this unscathed, you will be beaten and you will feel it. You will be required to participate in every activity, even after a beating; if you do not participate in an activity you will be beaten. If you fail in an activity you will go hungry and will be beaten. Failure is not an option, giving up is not an option. If you give up you will die. The training will begin tomorrow. Now, let’s go get tonight’s rations.”

Personal Update

lrwthelongwind — Sat, 10 Dec 2011 18:45:00 -0500

For once, it’s very nice to be wrong. I’ve been feeling some dread about quite a few things regarding the Ink War recently, but I believe that I’m starting to figure it out, if only just.

Simply, characters must be played straight. I shall endeavor to employ a back-to-basic stance and reinforce my previous efforts, for though misguided, they were heading in the correct general direction.

I dunno what the hell this is...

lrwthelongwind — Wed, 16 Nov 2011 00:13:00 -0500

“No, no, no, what I ask of you, Young Master Wayne, is that with this task, you treat it as a religious man does his vice. Identify it, be vigilent, and, above all, avoid it.” Caeus took a drag of his cigar and continued with a leisurely pace. “Like a holy man, should the poor soul come wandering to you, you shall lead him on his way. For just like the holy men, we too shall always have need of sinners. Through the wayward souls, we may learn much about worldly affairs.”

In other news, I have a headache… :/

I hope that the music I’m listening to soothes it soon… Then I’ll hope on the mojo train, I’m not gonna play Saint’s Row: The Third until I get some writing done…

Gah…

Page Update

lrwthelongwind — Fri, 11 Nov 2011 19:47:47 -0500

Well everyone, I guess at this point, all one of you. (I’m discounting one of my friends here cause she probably won’t really care all that much.)

So, anyway, I’m currently on break from writing (to look up more classes for next term and to eat and to plan) and I just wanted to say that I’m finally, maybe, coherently writing.

The point:

Page 2/800.

All journeys have to begin with a single step, so here is mine I suppose.

It should go up rather fast one the actual meat of the story can be chewed on. But that might not be for a little while, setting up takes time unfortunately. :/

But I have some hope that things will work out.

First Page Update

lrwthelongwind — Mon, 07 Nov 2011 19:01:26 -0500

Alright, storyboarding is at hand I’m trying to make everything line up in a believable fashion. We’ll see how well it goes I guess. The real issue is how I want to approach telling the story, by that I mean just how connected the narration style is to the characters and how worldly the narration should be.

My hope is that it can be completely both, but I think that’ll be a hard process. I already know, even now, and even from a long time ago I knew that I’d have to change the focus characters many times. Honestly, a disjointed story is not necessarily a bad one. If the pieces have to take a while to line up, then that might just be better than forcing them to fit. I’d much rather a smooth, long, and winding road with beautiful scenery than a short, bumpy, and straight road going through the worse part of a city.

Anyway, storyboarding is in process now. I kinda realize now that all my work on the story for the last five years was just weaving the laws of the universe and creating the overall scenario.

Well, this was my first page update I guess.

So I guess this puts me at page 0 of 800 in terms of the beginning to the actual written story.

I’m not sure what I might do with the parts that I already had written before this, I kinda want to go in order and get the troublesome parts out of the way…

So, my non-existent followers, I bid you a short farewell. Until Tomorrow or the next day.

Ganbatte, ne.

lrwthelongwind — Sun, 06 Nov 2011 23:44:55 -0500

I’m gonna try to post on here at least once every one or two days with a page update. You know, me on my way to 800 and all. I’ll post my first page update hopefully tomorrow. (Though I have no followers right now. lol)

I will likely have to storyboard a lot more, but that kinda comes with the territory, I guess.

Issues.

lrwthelongwind — Sun, 06 Nov 2011 22:09:51 -0500

Well, my initial thoughts of posting excerpts got kinda screwed up.

Instead, I’ll just add a few specific tags to posts containing excerpts.

I’ll probably make more posts talking about how to search through excerpt posts later, but I’m thinking I’ll add InkwarPreview as a tag for now.

Welcome.

lrwthelongwind — Sun, 06 Nov 2011 19:12:16 -0500

This is sort of a just in case post, but whatever. If I ever need to use this blog it’ll mean great things, methinks. I suppose I should get to work. Otherwise this will never be of use to me.

I hope that everything works out and I can be proud of this… I suppose only time (and effort and depression and complaining) will tell.

Haa… Lets get this going.

My Goal.

lrwthelongwind — Sun, 06 Nov 2011 00:00:00 -0400

Essentially, My plan is pretty simple and I’ll try not to go into hardcore author mode (Not a promise).

I want to write an 800 page story (I absolutely refuse to call it a book until it is such) that is interesting and full of thought, but yet is still easy to follow. However, with any luck, the story should have a huge amount of realism.

I’ll also say now that I’m going to write this according to a list of universal rules I decided on about the entire series.

I want this to be a massive undertaking, and I’ll post some snippets every so often (I’ll make a separate page for that), I’d very much like for people to read them and give me some thoughts.

Critiques are always helpful and are very much so appreciated.

It’s kinda sad that so many people might only ever see this if I finish the story and publish. And don’t get me wrong that’s a big if. ;)