300 for 30: Day 27

(This was originally written on commission for a sci-fi magazine, however, they have requested that I double it in length. So I thought I'd preserve the original 584-word micro-fiction here as today's 300-for-30.)

What We Found on Europa

The first probe to land on Europa, one of Jupiter’s moons discovered by Galileo, managed only to land upon the ice and roll around for a few hours, its multi-million dollar drill too fragile to break through the layer, which was thicker than expected, and allow it to dive into the waters below. Though the scientists involved in the mission pointed out that this proved there at least was liquid water, which had only been conjectured before, the public did not consider the mission a success. The robot was abandoned to crackle in the freezing temperatures.

It took more than a century for a private conglomeration of businesses, hoping to find rare and useful metals to compensate for the increasing scarcity of materials on Earth, to scrape together the funds for another exploration of Jupiter’s moons. They were hoping to emulate India’s recent monopoly of the rich Martian mines. One of the fleet of radio-equipped robots landed upon Europa, and did make it through the ice layer to the ocean. It measured increasing warmth as it descended, suggesting heat escaping from the core. All was darkness, though, and the sea-rover soon ran out of power, with nothing to charge its solar panel.

A hundred and sixty-eight years later, Free Luna of Earth’s Satellite, in association with New Earth Mars, sent a variety of crafts, some with humans in stasis aboard and some not, out to near space in an effort to find places where human life – and the lives of what non-humans we had managed to transplant – could expand. Europa had liquid water, we knew, and was at least in our solar system. All attempts at Venus had failed horribly, so away from the sun was our goal. Perhaps we could harness the heat of the core to groom the moon, make it Earthlike enough for us.

I am the first human ever to dive in a submersible craft into the depths of Europa’s oceans. I was supposed to share this with a partner, but she suffered a heart attack coming out of suspended animation. The technology is sadly not yet perfect.

Let those listening in from New Earth Mars, the nearest substantial settlement (not counting the temporary encampments on some of the larger asteroids in the Belt), and those on Free Luna and Mother Terra herself once the news is spread, let them know that I have come face-to-face with life.

It looks much like a small squid or large cuttlefish, only slightly larger than my hand, but has three eyes, huge and lovely eyes. It must feed on the tiny crustaceans my scanner is picking up, which in turn must live on bacteria nourished by the chemicals spouting from deep sea vents like the ones our ancestors discovered at the bottom of their sea.

I don’t know if it’s intelligent, the way we are, or even the way a dolphin or a chimp or raven is. I don’t know if it registers me as life, even. But it is blinking colors at me, the bioluminescence that is the reason for its vision, and I am blinking colors back at it as best I can, using my pen light.

It is too far for me to go home again, and I will never see another human face. Yet I do not regret this, not any longer. For in this encounter, at the bottom of this chilled soup of an alien sea, I have found God.

300 for 30: Day 26

Poem #1: I Love You More Than Warcraft

I love you more than Warcraft, he said
And I've played that for seven years.
I love you more than fanfic, she said
And I've written that for seven years,
I love you more than xkcd, and more than LotR,
I love you more than looking up to see the shining stars.

I love you more than fantasy, she said,
I love you more than steampunk.
I love you more than tinkering on my computer, he said
And Asimov and Heinlein
To balance obsessions against adoration can sometimes be a fine line.

I love you more than Firefly, he said
I love you more than Minecraft.
I love you more than Doctor Who, she said
And favids and photoshops
I love you more than Deadpool, and more than Sherlock Holmes
I want us to join together and build a geeky home.

Your touch is greater than scientific dreams
Your kiss more glory than prizes
I fear no spoilers or Adaptation Decay
When I'm faced with such surprises
That the pleasures buoying me up so long
Have brought me here to you
Sleep to this lullaby we made
And I'll hold you all night through.


----------------------

Poem #2: What You Have Done

Be with me when I'm far away,
Every third thought is of us -
Never have I known such warmth.
Jubilation when I come to stay,
Adoration I've come to trust.
My shining light I carry now.
In sickness I found your hand in mine,
Now health shines on worst of days;
Wellness is loving and being loved,
Realizing when you find
Incadescence far away -
Go to it, make it yours.
Have I done enough to let you know
The worth you have for me?
Say what I may, while I still am
Overcoming darkness below,
Now I'm healing faster, since you have set me free.

300 for 30: Day 25

I closed my Fanstory.com account today, ending what has been a significant era in my development as a writer.

Fanstory.com is like fictionpress.com in that authors post their work for reviews, but you have to pay for a subscription, which gets you two guaranteed reviews per chapter, a newsletter, and free entry into their contests for which you can get cash prizes. It was the one spam email offer I ever took up, and for several years it served me well. I got better, more rounded and mature feedback from readers, and best of all, I met my fairy godmother there.

Sally Odgers was initially just another of my fans, but she critiqued with a steady combination of enthusiasm and a helpful eye for details, eventually putting her marks on all the Laconia novels. I started reading her work and realized she was a woman of vast talent, a real professional. Eventually I discovered that she has been working in the business for six decades as an author, editor, manuscript assessor, and workshop teacher. She has won the Australian World Fantasy Award, an achievement even mentioned on Wikipedia. And she loved my work. She volunteered to write me a letter of recommendation to anyone I wished while I was still trying to get published, and when she got a job contracting for Eternal Press she introduced me to the company, nudging them to take me on. She is now my regular editor. She might as well have waved a wand and told me that I would go to the ball.

I don’t regret my time subscribing to Fanstory. But after a hiatus where I was concentrating on getting the first three novels out, I came back to find the place changed. Perhaps it was me who had changed. All I knew is that I saw an endless circle of people patting each other on the back in order to receive pats in turn, a wheel of inflated yet insubstantial praise and excessive granting of stars per review, with ugly flames and comments for those who didn’t comply. It feels more like an author mill than a think tank of creativity. I am saddened, and I have said goodbye.

300 for 30: Day 24

“My period’s usually here by now each month,” Taylor elaborated as Nat took her hand and led her to one of the mattresses. Without seeming to be aware of it, she had an arm protectively over her stomach. “And I’ve never felt that particular kind of nausea before.”

“I thought you weren’t supposed to…” Ferdinand began.

Sally rolled her eyes. “Hush. If there ever was a time not to criticize, honestly. Congratulations, dear. I presume it is your fiancé’s.”

Taylor’s smile fluttered but shone. “You’re right, Ferdinand, I wasn’t supposed to. But there are circumstances you don’t know about. You were asking earlier how Derrick and I have this mind-link. It’s time to tell you that story.”

Ferdinand by this point had figured out that Rivki would accept his fingers in lieu of a pacifier. It hurt less than the neck, and right now the infant seemed to want more comfort than nourishment. “Go on,” he said, much more gently.

“When I was sixteen I started having visions. I was visited by a ghost named Tylianvornika, or ‘Ty’, myself from a previous life. The life was in a different universe. Fortunately I found out I wasn’t crazy, because my two best friends could see her too. They had lived lives in that universe as well. We faced an apocalypse together.”

Nat put his chin in his hand and nodded. “You need to sell the movie rights.”

Taylor gave a laugh. “Only you, Nat, could say that so sincerely and respectfully.”

“Forgive me if this sounds far-fetched,” Ferdinand said.

“Ferdy, you’re holding a vampire baby and listening to a story by a young lady who is periodically possessed by her lover, at which point her eyes glow orange,” Sally said.

“Point taken. Only my sister gets to call me that, though.”

“Duly noted.”

“Anyway, Derrick was there too. His name was Riquaniuvant, or ‘Riq’. I hadn’t met him yet in this life. I knew I would one day, though. Two years later, I did. I started working at his pet shop. But he didn’t remember me. Sometimes he’d look at me oddly, like he was recalling something from a dream, but he never said a thing.

"I had a little bedroom in the back part of the shop, the way people so often do in countries like Thailand. Derrick had a separate bedroom and bathroom, and we shared a kitchenette and living area. We had only been friends up to that point. One night, as I was trying to sleep, Ty came to me one last time. ‘He’s washing dishes,” she told me. ‘Go kiss him. Then, when he remembers and asks if you will, go to his room with him. One day it will save your life.’”

300 for 30: Day 23

A small window slid open and a pack of sticky rice, a plastic-wrapped haunch of roast chicken, and a banana dropped onto the floor inside their cell. Taylor dove for it.

"Don't choke, dear," Sally said.

When she was finished eating, which took no more than five minutes, Taylor crumpled up the plastic and put it in the corner of the bathroom, since there was no garbage bin. She flushed the banana peel down the toilet. “Don’t want it attracting flies,” she muttered.

Rivki started crying again. Ferdinand rocked him and rubbed his back. “Have you heard from Derrick?”

Taylor poked her head out the open doorway. “He’s out on the bail Dianne paid for him. He’ll be on a flight this afternoon his time.” Then she closed the door.

“So…anyone have an idea how we can pass the time?” Sally asked, attempting to comb her long brown hair with her fingers.

“We could play ‘Never Have I Ever’,” Nat suggested. Ferdinand glowered at him. “Okay, Supernatural Superserious votes no. Shall we tell jokes? Or stories? Or we could share personal confessions of a dark and serious and/or humorous nature?”

“I’m thinking of joining the Mormons,” Ferdinand said, even surprising himself.

Nat whipped his head around. “What?”

“Before you get into a theological argument, boys, I think Taylor’s just been sick,” Sally said.

“Oh God.” Nat rushed to the door and knocked. “Taylor, are you all right?”

“Could it be food poisoning?” Ferdinand asked.

“Probably not this soon after eating,” Nat replied.

Taylor was silent for a few seconds, which was a pause lengthy enough to make all of the vampires nervous. Then she began to, of all things, laugh. She opened the door and her eyes were filled with tears. Happy tears. “I’m not certain, but I think…I think I’m pregnant.”

300 for 30: Day 22

Story ideas I have yet to expand upon:

1. Waiting for the Snow, a Waiting for Godot pastiche featuring male Emperor Penguins huddled together during the Antarctic winter, each cradling a single egg on his feet, talking about the meaninglessness of life. I plan to use this as the premise of my script for my playwriting class next semester. The penguins would be played by four men in tuxedoes wearing orange bowties and baseball caps. Their mates, played by three women dressed the same way, would show up during the second act (one of the mates got eaten by a leopard seal).

2. My Life as an Octopus, a novel based on a prompt I responded to in a high school creative writing class. The idea is that Octavia is a genetically engineered octopus with human-level intelligence who has learned to communicate by typing on a waterproof keyboard. This is the biography of her strange and wonderful life. The thing that’s held me back thus far is that this would require a lot of research before I could get started.

3. Another idea requiring a lot of research, but would be ridiculously awesome, would be a crossover novel between Rudyard Kipling’s Kim and The Jungle Book. Kim would have some spy mission for the British Empire that required him to spend time hiding in the jungle, and Mowgli would provide him with assistance. Perhaps Kim could repay him by pulling strings to keep Mowgli’s forests and his wolf pack protected. I’d have to have a great grasp of Victorian-era British-occupied England, what dialects were spoken, the geography of the Sewanee, and several other things, but I might even be able to get this published, since Kipling’s characters are now public domain.

4. An anthology of short stories covering minor Laconia characters.

300 for 30: Day 21

I went on a hike today with my parents to a waterfall. I really didn’t want to go. It was the waxing period of another depressive episode; the rainforest was tropical, humid, and full of insects that wanted to drink the sweat from my face so I had to constantly wave them away with my hat; it was raining intermittently; there was nothing particularly interesting or exciting about yet another Southeast Asian waterfall; and there was mud everywhere. But had I not gone, not only would I face my parents’ disappointment on Father’s Day of all days, but my self-critical thoughts would have had a merry time reminding me how I’m trying to lose the weight the medication has made me put on.

The guidebook said that the walk was 400 meters. They had left off a digit; it was actually 1400 meters, up and down hills and across creeks and streams. I generally enjoy hiking, but not in such mugginess when I was feeling this lousy to begin with. I constantly waved my arms like propellers to keep the flies and other creatures from attacking.

The problem with walking in one direction, turning around, and then walking back, is that every step on the way there is another step you know you’ll have to take on the return journey. A long, cantankerous spiel was running through my head as I panted through my nose to keep from swallowing any bugs by accident, and my soul itched and creaked inside me.

Yet when we got to the waterfall, which I still found utterly uninteresting, I felt myself begin to heal. The rain fell in earnest but it didn’t bother me. I had pushed and pushed, and it had gotten harder and harder, but when the endorphins kicked in and I had worked through all the ill-temper, I was okay. Okay. I even made jokes on the walk back.

Sometimes dealing with something difficult is like lancing a boil.

300 for 30: Day 20

My Objections to the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints

1. All “worthy” young men age 12 and up can have the priesthood power bestowed upon them. No female ever can. The arguments for this sound suspiciously similar to those once used to justify women not having the vote: women share in their fathers’ and husbands’ power, they have hidden influence on the men that runs deep, it is simply not their sphere, etc.

2. They made me fear and hate my romantic feelings towards women.

3. They made me fear and hate my budding sexuality towards everyone in general.

4. The Book of Mormon states that the Lamanite people, a supposed lost tribe of Israel, were cursed with dark skin because of their sinfulness. ‘Nuff said.

5. For several decades men of African descent were not permitted to be ordained with the priesthood. No explanation or apology was made after this policy was altered.

6. The church authorities commanded the masses to support and campaign for Proposition 8, overturning legal same-sex marriage in California.

7. The older I got, the more and more my female role models om in the Church started to resemble Stepford wives.

8. This quote: “Of course it’s important for a woman to be educated. You never know what might happen to your husband!”

9. This quote: “The Prophet has instructed women not to delay marriage and family for the sake of education.”
10. This quote: “Oh, don’t worry about your mother being a Buddhist. She’s sure to convert one day.”

11. Though polygamy is banned, a widower may be “eternally married” to multiple women if only one of them is alive. A widow must be “eternally married” to only one husband, living or dead.

12. I was taught to rely on a “still, small voice” in my mind to confirm that things were true. The voice was no stiller and no stronger than the voices that criticized me, that mocked me, that hurt me, that proved to be symptoms of my mental illness. I tugged on the thread and the whole thing unraveled.

300 for 30: Day 19

The women's temporary nonviolent psychiatric ward is secured by locked double doors. There is a common area with battered and stained furniture, a television with a pile of VHS tapes – I’d always wondered where they went after DVDs took over, I suppose this is it – scattered fashion magazines, coloring books, and crayons. The carpet is that multicolored, slightly nauseating variety popular in waiting rooms of all types.

There is a station for the nurses and techs, who are able to take a shortcut and cross over to the men’s side as well. They have a counter one can lean on when you irritably ask whether one’s medication is ready yet, or plead with them to be able to go out to the garden for fifteen minutes that afternoon, with escort.

Down the hall, which feels very long if one’s side effects cause drowsiness and very short if one is looking for places to pace, there are two meeting rooms, only one of which has clear windows to the outside and is of course usually locked, and everyone’s bedrooms that we each share with a roommate. The soundproofed, solid white isolation room with cameras is off to the side. It frightens me, too Arkham Asylum.

One of the fluorescent lights in the hall has a panel laid over it with a painting of blue sky and clouds. I’m embarrassed how much it helps.

The “sharps” closet contains personal items we can only use with supervision, like my iPod and Stacey’s crocheting (wooden hook, of course, metal would be banned outright for the duration), for a three-hour window each day. A tech has to open the closet and sign things out.

Sometimes I feel like I’m in kindergarten. Sometimes I feel like I’m in prison. Sometimes I feel like I’m at a sleepover that just goes on and on and on, where I’m not allowed to leave until Mom comes to get me, and she’s late.

300 for 30: Day 18

I'm going with something half-baked today, because I'm tired and starting to slide into another depression. Who knows, I might perk up in the process.

So you get a list! (And there was much rejoicing - insert dispirited 'yayyyyy'.)



Writing-Related Things I'm Doing At the Moment

1. This 300-for-30 which is going to morph into 750-for-Clarion on the 26th.
A. Some it, as you have seen, is miscellany like this.
B. Another portion is my Raw Ghosts of Thailand expansion, again obvious on this blog.
C. Though I'm in composting mode, letting Sweeping the Puddles Away mature in my brain before I make a serious attempt at it, I may take a few nibbles as part of the Write-A-Thon if I tire of A and B.

2. A "translation" of a Shakespeare play into modern English [I won't say which publicly; I signed a non-disclosure agreement], ghostwriting for a $200 payment. Due on the 25th. I'm glad it's not overlapping with the Write-A-Thon.

3. Editing the first manuscript in my new long-term position, for $50. Low pay but great resume/work experience credit; the publisher is quite snazzy. This is due on the 22nd. I have not received the actual manuscript yet. If I don't get it by tomorrow I am requesting an extension, because I said I'd need a week to do it, and they had better GIVE me a week, by Eru! And they'll give me another one immediately afterwards that I must have done before August 1st, since they "had to fire one of their copyeditors".
* I must admit, I am curious about what the copyeditor did.

4. Waiting to hear back from Queryshark, of queryshark.blogspot.com , to see if she is interested at all in either posting my query for Seasons Four Open the Door on her blog and eviscerating it, or on, just maybe, requesting pages. In the meantime I am polishing the query until it screams, so that if 90 days pass with no reply I can resubmit a better one in September.

5. Waiting to hear back from various other agents for Seasons Four.

6. Promotion, promotion, promotion for Humans and Demons and Elves. I'm hoping to get the Facebook page fanbase to at least 300 before July 7th. I will have to take some time off my Embassy job on the big day to be available on live chat during my appointed hour, and draft up some contests/"press releases" to put on the Yahoo loop.

7. Waiting to hear back from The Memory Eater anthology about whether a story I submitted pleases the editor enough to be included. I would get a share of whatever the book makes. I adore the Ryan-North-edited Machine of Death anthology this is inspired by, and would love to be part of a similar project. I'm on equal footing with all the other submitters credential-wise, though, since the editor has explicitly stated s/he doesn't care about that. But their twitter does follow mine, which can't be a bad sign anyway.

8. Growing my Twitter community- largely consisting of trying to find interesting things to say on command, like a trained parrot.

9. Occasional fanfic, because I'm a writingslut like that.

10. And a partridge in a pear tree.

300 for 30: Day 17

Chapter 15: Saving Grace

Taylor and Nat eventually fell asleep platonically huddled together. Ferdinand woke up with an arm around Sally, then rolled away, embarrassed. Sally opened one eye. “I really don’t mind that much,” she murmured.

Before Ferdinand could say anything, Rivki started crying. So instead of trying to figure out the best way to respond Ferdinand scooped up the baby and helped him bite. It hurt less this time. Ferdinand must have been getting used to it.

“If he gestated for three years,” Taylor said sleepily, “how – how long is Rivki going to nurse? Your neck is going to be covered in little tooth marks.”

“Assuming they let us keep him,” Ferdinand replied, stroking Riki’s black hair.

Nat sat up, rubbing his eyes. “They gave him back because they couldn’t get him to eat otherwise, and they didn’t want him to die. I don’t know if there’s another social experiment happening without a vampire baby draining the adults, to isolate the independent variable and all that jazz.”

Taylor gave a weak laugh. “I feel like I’m in a Beckett play. Waiting for Derrick.”

“Mm. Or a really, really low-budget Doctor Who episode,” Nat said.

"How, exactly?" Ferdinand asked.

"In some of the Classic Who, they get captured, then they escape, then they run around for a while and find out things and see monsters, and then they get captured again. Just in time for the cliffhanger."

"Speaking of which, have you guys tried to bang the door down?"

Nat sighed. "Yeah. They can run an electric current through it. I'm not doing that again."

Sally stood and headed to the bathroom. “I’m getting some water. It’s not filling, but it’s better than nothing. I advise you gentlemen do as well. Hard meantimes ahead.”

The silence that followed was so uncomfortable that Ferdinand broke it before Sally’s return. “I hope Miriam meant for us to call the baby ‘Rivki’. It doesn’t sound Arabic to me.”

“What, are you thinking she was trying to say something else, and we misunderstood?” Nat asked.

“He’s a pretty ad hoc child anyway. Let it go,” Taylor said.

“Oh. My. Goodness.”

“What is it, Nat? I can’t look where you’re pointing; I have a baby latched onto a major artery. Never said that before.”

“Gecko. Large gecko.” Nat leaped to catch it on the far end of the wall. “If I get it, I’ll share.”

Taylor seemed more depressed than ever at how desperately pleased Nat was.

300 for 30: Day 16

Because of the explicit nature of today's writing, instead of putting it up here I am sending it in a private message to people I know are interested. Others may request it in the comments. It's all about balancing artistic freedom with keeping this blog PG-13 at the highest.

300 for 30: Day 15 (Halfway Through!)

Ferdinand's first thought upon emerging out of the darkness was that he might sustain some brain damage, given all this violent blacking out recently. At least he didn't drink much alcohol, and hadn't let himself get drunk since his turning, for fear of losing control and hurting someone.

The memory of him almost losing control and hurting someone hit him at the same instant he heard Nat's voice, soft and ragged at the edges. Ferdinand opened one eye the tiniest bit, trying to preserve the illusion of remaining out of it while still wide enough to catch a glimpse of Nat. The older vampire was curled in a fetal position with his head sideways in Taylor's lap. She cupped his cheek with her left hand and stroked his mussed, sweat-streaked red hair with the other. "I don't think I'll be able to," Nat was saying.

"Oh, Nat. Once he comes into his senses he'll be glad you stopped him," Taylor replied.

Nat clutched her knee. "That's not what I'm worried about. I haven't always been the person you know. I'm so old now. I did things when I was young..."

"That was then. You saved me. Focus on that."

"I've gotta say it like tearing off a band-aid. Otherwise I'll never get it out." He spoke even more quietly, barely above a whisper. "I went to Vietnam during the war the US had with it. My choice. I was already turned by then. I thought I'd be able to kill and eat people without guilt if it was for my country."

"Didn't work out that way, I'm guessing."

Reaching up, Nat gently put a finger over Taylor's lips. "Thank you, but please let me finish. One day while I was there, more or less doing okay, though there were issues and all, I stumbled on some American soldiers. I usually kept clear of them. They were - they were...hurting...a little girl. I did something I should not have done. Very bad. Beyond the pale."

Taylor said nothing, but kissed the top of his head, letting him gather his thoughts.

"I buried it pretty deep, that memory. Tried to make up for it in so many ways. Desperate situations make people desperate. I get that. But Ferdinand...he's been my friend all these years. What I did...what I..." He put his hands over his face. "Pushing him against the wall like that - it made me remember what I did to those men, when I was angry and lost, lonely and vengeful. It felt way too good. God, it was so good - and I wanted more from my friend, more than he would ever want to give me. Like I wanted to repeat the most horrible thing I've ever done."

"Oh, Nat." Taylor sounded a little teary herself, though not at all disgusted or frightened. It reminded Ferdinand of how Selene used to be, when they had to face his weaknesses.

"I know how he feels. I know he wasn't just fighting because of his craving to bite you. He found out just before we were trapped that I'm attracted to him, and have been for a long time. I sensed the hunter in him, for you, but he could feel the hunter in me, for him. Assuming we get out of here, that means I must never see him again."

300 for 30: Day 14

The bathroom door stayed shut for a long time. Sally fell asleep, as did Rivki. Ferdinand placed the infant in a corner so that no one would accidentally roll over and crush him. As he came near Taylor, despite the barrier between them, he realized it wasn’t just her embarrassment and desire for privacy keeping her in there. Taylor must have blown her nose too hard, because he could smell it bleeding.

He knew the correct thing to do would be to scoot away, as far as possible given the circumstances, and recite poetry until certain…urges…passed. Right. Really, though, couldn’t she at least give him a little taste of it? He wouldn’t bite her. He had self-control. He could – well, if she just – maybe – so thirsty – everything going brown and fuzzy…

He felt strong hands yank him backwards, and before he could voice his objections and declare how he was fine, didn’t need intervention, Nat’s mouth closed over his in a bruising, aggressive kiss. Ferdinand tried to hit him and to tear down the door keeping him from that beautiful scent, but Nat pressed him against the wall with his entire weight, pinning him despite his struggles, and squeezed his hands around Ferdinand’s throat. “Don’t frighten her even more,” Nat growled, low so Taylor wouldn’t hear. “Stay there and calm down.”

“Get off m-“

When Nat not only sealed his lips over Ferdinand’s again but also thrust his tongue in his mouth, Ferdinand clamped down with his fangs. It must have hurt but Nat made no sound, holding fast and choking Ferdinand tighter and tighter. It takes ten minutes to make a vampire black out from air loss, usually, but Ferdinand was already weak from hunger, exhaustion, and head injury, so it was probably more like five minutes before he fainted.

300 for 30: Day 13

When Taylor started crying, Nat crept over to the other side of the cell and put his arms around her. “Hey, kiddo, it’s going to be okay. If I have to choke those two to unconsciousness and then knock myself out on the sink to keep you safe, I’ll do it. My self-restraint is pretty good. I went to med school a bunch of different times after I became a vampire, to get all those different degrees. I can handle being around blood. And the baby can’t even crawl to you.”

“You’re so sweet,” Taylor choked, burying her face in his chest. “I’m…I’m not sure you’ll be able…and what if one of you…”

Sally patted Taylor on the back. “I doubt a little scent is going to overcome our feelings of humanity.”
“How kind of you to lie; Sally. Dianne – Ferdinand’s daughter – told me that Ferdinand couldn’t even be in the same room with her and her mom during their heavy days. Selene had to resort to…you know…those kinds of…of birth control.”

“If worse comes to the worst, I solemnly swear that I’ll make sure you get changed rather than outright killed,” Ferdinand said, shifting Rivki to the other side to get a better view of Taylor. “Unless you strongly object to that, of course. Selene did. She thought the werewolf-and-vampire combination would be dangerous for everyone else. And I respected that.”

“I need to go to the bathroom,” Taylor whispered, untangling herself from Nat. She rushed away. They could hear her unsuccessfully fighting sobs.

Nat turned towards his comrades in woe. His face was grim. “We have to stay optimistic for her sake, but how thirsty are each of you? I could drink about a gallon.”

“With Rivki feeding on me? I’m dizzy already,” Sally replied.

Ferdinand thought for a while, burping Rivki and rocking him. “I’m going to try prayer again. It helped a little earlier.”

300 for 30: Day 12

I spent ages on the new TV Tropes page for Laconia today. I'm hoping that counts, 'cause I'm beat.

http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/LegendsOfLaconia

300 for 30: Day 11

“He’s a very quiet baby and sleeps well – the lack of nappies is nice too - but there’s a reason I weaned my sons when their teeth started coming in,” Sally replied, passing Rivki to Ferdinand. Rivki gurgled, pleased, and latched onto his jugular with the speed and determination of a leech.

“Cute kid if you’re into the Gothic style,” Derrick-in-Taylor said. “It looks like Dianne won’t be coming, guys. She’s spending her plane ticket money on my bail.”

“What’d you do?” Nat asked, rubbing his temples.

“There weren’t any flights to Thailand - or even to places that would connect to Thailand - today, and I’m not very patient, and you know how I can control animals, and have you ever heard of Snakes on a Plane and thought to yourself that the terrorists lacked imagination?”

The glow faded from Taylor’s irises as she snapped, using her own unadulterated voice, “I love you, but sometimes you just make me so mad, Riquaniuvant.”

Nat posed the obvious question. “Can’t you – I mean, Derrick - bust yourself – uh, himself - out with those same powers?”

“Oh, right, he’d do that, and they’d call in the National Guard, and he’d use his powers against them, and they’d call in the Marines, and he’d use his powers against them, and meanwhile any shred of secrecy about the existence of magic, and with it the safety of Elves, demons, vampires, werewolves, seers – that goes down the tubes.” Taylor hugged herself tighter and jerked her head from side to side, as if trying to shake off reality. “No, love, you don’t understand. I trust these three under normal circumstances, no matter how hungry they get, but my period is due. It could start today, tomorrow, and then – yes I know what you’d like to do if something happened, but that wouldn’t fix it, would it? Idiot. Stupid romantic idiot.”

300 for 30: Day 10

“Well, spit-spot, up you get.” Glancing at Ferdinand and seeing he was decent, if scabbed and still disoriented, Nat hauled him to his feet and opened the bathroom door.

The room outside had steel door bolted from the outside, and a little locked hatch Ferdinand presumed was to pass in food for Taylor. A camera in the ceiling had a spiky cage around it to prevent them tampering. Taylor wore a mold-crusted towel wrapped around her and she was rocking back and forth on one of the twin mattresses lying on the floor. At least the lights were dim, and the stale air not as chilly as the other cells they’d experienced in this place. Sally had bundled Rivki in the second towel – a third was lying crumpled on mattress number two – and was perched in the edge of Taylor’s mattress, feeding Rivki blood from her neck. She kept clenching and unclenching her free hand. “There you are, Ferdinand. You look awful.”

“You look pretty uncomfortable yourself,” Ferdinand replied quietly, slumping onto the unoccupied excuse for a bed.

“Taylor, what’s wrong?” Nat realized what he’d just said, gave a bitter laugh, and then added, “I mean, besides the obvious?”

“I…” A sad orange glow lit up Taylor’s eyes, like a Jack-o-Lantern after the trick-or-treaters have gone home. Her voice took on a layered quality that Ferdinand recognized from the telepathic conference earlier. “It’s my fault. I was stupid.”

“Stop possessing Taylor, Derrick,” Nat said, lying down beside Ferdinand and looking hurt when Ferdinand scooted away. “It clearly strains her. She gets a doozy of a fever.”

“Sorry. She asked me to. She wanted to switch places a little, get some privacy. Cause, um, I got arrested.”

Sally muttered, “It just keeps getting better and better.”

“I can take Rivki,” Ferdinand told her, holding out his arms.

300 for 30: Day 9

I feel so without words at the moment. Each one slides out sluggishly, like chilled syrup out a tilted bottle.

I got up early to talk to my love this morning - his night - and we were both sleepy and I realized I hadn't said anything in a while and he said goodbye. I felt guilty for not talking better, for not paying enough attention. I still do, a little, but I know he forgives me. He's good at that. It's frustrating to try to communicate with him without touching; our relationship is tremendously tactile. Hands in hands, arms around, me scratching his beard (or scruff, depending on where he is in his shave cycle, which is irregular and intermittent) and him kicking like a puppy. Our mutual friends find it both hilarious and slightly nauseating from a sweetness overdose. It's been nearly six months together and I'm pretty sure we're still in the dizzy giddiness.

I don't know the name for what he smells like, but it's clean and simple and comforting, the way a creamy bar of new Dove soap is. He washes with whatever's handy, so it must be an intrinsic part of him rather than layered-on. He's skinny and lithe but strong, wiry as they say, and with big hands on the end of thin arms. I got us secret decoder rings made of stainless steel, because in many ways we're both children together, dancing in a field. When I told him about the rings on Facebook chat he typed out, "Ooooo...." Still waiting for them to come in the mail, and then for me to be able to go to him.

I introduced him to one of my best friends on campus, and she's become one of his best friends too, and we often eat or lie staring up at the clouds as a trio. I've been "adopted" by other couples in a similar fashion, especially my best friend in the world and her fiance, and I'm glad to be able to do this for her. After something I said to her once, this friend my love and I have taken into our non-jealous triangle - a platonic solid, as it were - calls us Team TARDIS. She's the Doctor and we're Amy and Rory (why, geekiness is one of our bonds, how could you tell?).

I miss both of them very much. I miss my best friend in the world too, but that's a lower-lying ache because of our separation from ages twelve to fourteen, so we have learned to live away from each other and still stay close in soul. Words were enough for Rumi and Shams, for he saw Shams everywhere he looked.

Ah, but I need to touch him. It would chase these clouds away sooner, rather than having to wait for the wind.

300 for 30: Day 8

Depression is being incredibly bored. Depression is being overwhelmed. Depression is gray in your heart and mouth and underneath your eyelids. Depression is tiptoing on a tightrope over a lake of cold, dark water, a weak spotlight barely showing you the way. Depression is when you can't think of a single external thing that you want, other than for the depression to go away, or maybe, maybe one of the very few people who you can cry with as they hold you, who will forgive your dullness and helplessness.

Depression is temporary. Depression is recurrent. Depression is a gnawing on your spirit. Depression is when your bones itch and freeze. Depression is a dull roar that goes on and on. Depression tastes like silver, copper, stainless steel, an old popsicle stick you realize you've been chewing to no purpose, a chilly spoon you mouth at when the food is all gone. Depression is most foods tasting like sawdust and cardboard. Depression is a choke in your throat and a rattle in your walk. Depression is temporary. Depression is listening to yourself blink and getting annoyed so shutting your eyes instead. Depression is bouncing the leg, rocking the body, clicking the teeth, all to drown out the silence. Depression is a dryness. Depression is a weakness. Depression is a loss.

Depression is having trouble getting to sleep. Depression is having trouble getting up. Depression is nightmares. Depression is preferring nightmares to being awake, for fear and depression are not the same thing and sometimes it's nice to have a change. Depression is the minor key of the inner soundtrack. Depression is words being reluctant and sticky. Depression is like having tight clamps on your hands. Depression is a disease. Depression is a chemical imbalance. Depression is the reason so many bright and brilliant people don't know it much of the time.

Depression is my enemy. Depression is an old companion. Depression is temporary.

Depression is not forever. But depression is now.