Enter pathetic rant

Ever get the feeling the people you like don't really like you?

Like, when you're just hanging around, working on something, and no one's online, and you're just, you know, singing along to an MP3, and thinking warm thoughts about people you know and like, and wonder how they are and what's new with them, and then, you look around at ljs, and everyone you'd like to talk to is posting chat transcripts?

Like. You know. You're happy they're having fun, or sad that they're feeling sad, but you kinda realize that no one actually likes you all that much?

Oh sure, they like you, yeah, they do. Yep. Absolutely. They just don't really want to talk to you right now. Yeah, okay, that's cool. No problem. I mean. Sure. It's not a requirement. I don't really need to demand attention, cause, that's like, super annoying and rude and totally....yeah. Just. As I said.

Ever get the feeling that if you jumped, they'd actually all be pretty relieved?

This is probably a sign. Of what, I'm not sure.

Origins 11, beginning

I'm not done. No no. In fact, I'm just writing vingettes. But it's getting there. I'm not sure where this part ends. I figure I'll just know it when it's done.

The beginning:

Pansy looked up. The owls were flying down from the rafters, hidden far above, over the lie of the blazing blue sky over their heads, its positively joyous clouds scudding happily from one end of the Great Hall to the other, disappearing in a misted, dusty grey that sifted into black. Pansy hated that ceiling. She had hated it from the first moment she saw it. Once when she was small she and her best friend Miranda Marsden had been taken to a planetarium. It was mid-summer, she was staying with the Marsdens for a week in their small cottage in the north, and the planetarium was a cool respite from a particularly scathing heat wave. Muggles didn't have much going for them, it was generally agreed, but their air conditioning was hard to beat on a hot day when confronted with two seven year old girls screaming together, balanced on a teeter-totter, just to hear the harmonic of their voices at such high pitches. They went inside the planetarium and were told, "Now. Look up and be quiet." They looked up.

It was as though the sky had opened up in front of them, the sky on a dark night with no buildings, no light, no fires burning, nothing at all. Pure darkness, with the bright sky not even casting a glow down into the auditorium with its reclined seats below. And then then scene shifted backwards, as though she were somehow out of time and place altogether, as if she did not have a mandated relationship with the sky. It fell backwards, away from planets, stars, comets, clouds of dust and ice, zooming back and back and back until the galaxy sat in front of her, pristine and perfect like a snowflake. She watched the milky way swirling above her, a great, rotating spider moving so slowly, sparkling. And then they fell back inside it again. They oohed and aahed along with the other children in the sticky seats around them, transfixed by the show of light, sometimes entirely realistic, other times taking them to places they couldn't even imagine. And while Miranda pointed and gasped as the scenes shifted and changed, Pansy sat still, terrified, as the teenager sitting next to her shoved his hand up her skirt. When the show was over and the lights came up, she saw that the ceiling was just an ordinary one after all, it was all lights and shadow and trickery. The teenagers filed out first. The reclined seats were a dull brownish orange, not even the colour of grass you would lie on to watch the sky. Ever since Pansy had hated false ceilings; even more so if there were pretty.

Enter Jan

"Marsha Marsha MARSHA!"

Fic Tease

I posted some more of the beginning of Origins 11 at Veela Inc. You can see it here. Poor Pansy. Oh, It's kind of echoing something from belong, this part in particular:

Harry stroked Draco's arm, noting that his movements in the night, even this deliberate touch, had ceased to awaken him. The first time he had spent the night, Harry suspected that Draco hadn't slept at all. The first several nights, he had jumped awake every time Harry shifted, rolled over, coughed. If Harry cried out in his sleep (which he did with some regularity; partly a result of the images he still received from Voldemort, and partly from his private ghosts which still haunted him), Draco was awake before his shout ended, gripping him protectively, always unsure if some beast had crawled in through the window, a Death Eater was rapping at the door, or if he had himself done something to elicit that strangled scream. Draco would wrap his arms around him, press his lips against his neck, still half asleep. Sometimes he would whisper words that made varying degrees of sense ("Where?" "Don't go." "I'm sorry." "Shhhh.") Harry traced his fingers along the bony ridge of Draco's forearm from his wrist to his elbow, and slid his palm slowly back down to his hand, which was pressed limply against Harry's chest. I suppose he's getting used to it, Harry thought. The idea pleased him. Even in sleep, Draco knew his touch, and did not fear it.

Heh. And then we get Pansy's point of view. Poor Pansy. I rather like her.

For Stacey, and all cat lovers

blue: 2 cats on my arm
IvyDamned: 2 cats!!
IvyDamned: lol
IvyDamned: are they still fighting?
blue: no
IvyDamned: that's good
blue: now they're bathing each other
IvyDamned: aw
IvyDamned: happy cats
IvyDamned: loving each other
blue: yep
blue: loooooove
blue: and baths
IvyDamned: that's what I want in life.
IvyDamned: love and baths.