Amalia

~nerdishness ahoy~

2008-04-29T19:42:53Z

"Don't you remember?" She frowned a small, disappointed frowned as she played absently with a stray strand of hair. The fireflies danced around the pair as they stood with their backs pressed together staring up at the moon. She was casual tonight, hair loose and spilling down her back in stark, red contrast to the plain, white robe she always wore. He looked like a fisherman in his plain, blue tunic and heavy, brown boots. All for the best, she thought with a smile to replace the tiny frown. It was much nicer to lean against a back than armor, regal as he looked in it.

"It's where we first met."

---

She wished she could be like him sometimes. Strong against adversity, graceful and elegant in battle. Instead, she would hide behind the lines, throwing a healing spell his way if he grew weary. It was a quiet sort of support, and sometimes she wished she could be louder.

He could always tell when she felt that way, and tonight was no exception.

"You're everything in the world at once to me, and there's nothing quiet about you."

---

Her hair was the sun in the morning, bright and fiery and warm. His was a thatch of messy chocobo feathers, tousseled almost beyond repair after a single night's rest.

---

A cure for his wounds, she was always healing him after battle. In turn he healed her and became the cure for her tragedy.

Ficlet~

2008-01-31T15:41:49Z

Title: In Memory of the Man Radio
Fandom: Firefly/Serenity, damned
Rating: PG?
Characters/Pairing: River Tam, Simon/Kaylee, mention of Mr. Radio/Kaylee
Summary: River keeps her promise. It's actually more serious than I thought it would be.

Morning came too soon. She couldn't see the sun rise as she was tucked away inside Serenity's embrace, but she always felt it. Bright lights in were in her eyes, and she could hear the shades being drawn up to allow it easier access. There weren't eggs for breakfast this morning, and no ladies in white with hair drawn up tight and smiles so white. Her back rested against something firm, something forever that never ran away even when it was left behind. The cool metal was always so warm.

River opened her brown eyes slowly, squinting as the artificial light that illuminated Serenity's cargo bay greeted her. Serenity was always beaming, always dancing. It welcomed her, letting her wake from her dreams slowly, ever quiet in the midst of the black. It was the only one who knew that she'd even been gone.

She wondered briefly if they'd remember? Brothers and sisters and friends bound in the same nightmarish cloth... Would they forget?

The albatross rose from her spot, shrugging off the worn, brown blanket she kept hidden away for time spent dozing, curled up against Serenity herself. Messy hair was brushed absently out of her eyes as vision focused. The warmth, the cold warmth of Serenity. She ran her fingers across the grated floor, breathing in deeply as she took in the scent of it dancing and laughing around her. Beautiful. So beautiful and perfect in its imperfection.

Home. She was home.

---------

Simon and Kaylee always laughed together. Sometimes because Simon said the wrong thing. Sometimes because Kaylee wanted him to. They would smile and laugh and carry on, like children falling in love for the first time. Then they'd make their way to Kaylee's bunk, or even Simon's infirmary when the Captain wasn't looking, to have sex. It was like foreplay, if Simon knew the meaning of the word, and it never worked as well when they really tried. Saying the wrong thing was somehow right, and it was how they'd come to fit together so well.

It was approximately twenty minutes and thirty-two seconds after a romp on the examination table, River estimated, bare feet following the invisible footprints they'd left on the floor to the dining room where they were laughing again. Another round? It was still such a mystery. When she entered, they stopped, smiles and 'good mornings' abound.

It was as though she hadn't even left.

Clearly, neither of them remembered. Maybe they hadn't even been there, but it didn't mean that promises didn't still have to be kept. River made a point of remembering him in that instant as she traced her fingers along the wall, varifying that it was real, before approaching her target.

Without warning she brushed her lips against Kaylee's cheek, earning a bewildered look from the mechanic as her conversation with Simon came to an abrupt halt. River just grinned impishly before explaining, very matter-of-factly,

"From the man on the radio." Kaylee was clearly lost, her lips forming into that confused pout, and Simon started to look somewhere between uncomfortable and suspicious. Before he could speak, River flicked him in the nose and spun on her heel to skip out of the room. At the door, she stopped, tossing one, last kernel of advice over her shoulder.

"Foreplay. It's important."

And off she fluttered, an albatross weathering the storm and sailing the ocean in her memories. She left in her wake a family she'd built from the remains of people trapped her as she danced into the future, the world she held forever in her mind, Serenity.

Where the Sand Meets the Water

2007-09-04T20:07:56Z

The heart of a young woman has always been a troubling matter, a matter you'd best not trouble yourself with. She sits in her mind and spins a fantasy of white horses and forevers, while you're content to sit and play in the mud, forming buildings and making heroes of your fingers as they press eagerly into the dirt. You're like water and sand; she'll soften you and make you an easy home for all manners of beings that would gladly plunge into your well-crafted mud and make the sort of home out of you that you never could have imagined. And as she washes away with bits of you left in her, she'll end up salty until she runs far enough away.

Trouble is, she rarely wants to run, and her waves keep crashing into you and making you softer while you infect her with her salty dirt and meet on a brown shore.

But the thing of it is that the heart of a young woman and the hands of a young man fit together as opposite and as wrong as they seem in theory. What waters ebbs away at and what sand dirties are the most beautiful of scenes when the sun sets or rises. An ocean scene, complete with sunburns and sand castles, is an experience that no one should live without. You may come from it sore and in need of lotion from time to time, but you'll never in a million years wish that you hadn't bothered to go.

For the place where the sand meets the water is a beautiful thing, and where a boy's muddied hands touch a girls bleeding heart, something undefinable is captured in its imperfect beauty.

occuria @ 2007-09-04T15:55:00

2007-09-04T19:59:51Z

More RP character-related shite. In which I fail at poetry this time!

Note that I'm aware that this isn't a proper ballad, and some of the verses don't match and whatnot. But I'm in the process of editing. Forgive the phail.

Oh, did the bagpipes croon that day
Beautiful memories burning
A girl stands amongst the flames
Her heart forever yearning

Young Josephine Abbott
A princess at ten
Unwed mother at sixteen
Remember child when

Dear Zachery Lanth
A soldier since birth
He sewed his seed
Before leaving this earth

Oh, did the bagpipes croon that day
Beautiful memories burning
A girl stands amongst the flames
Her heart forever yearning

The moon was bright on the very eve
Young Zachery burned with a fire
Josephine young and naïve
Never saw in the clouds his pyre

The two joined as one
And youth is so swift
The child became a woman
As her kin set her to drift

Oh, did the bagpipes croon that day
Beautiful memories burning
A girl stands amongst the flames
Her heart forever yearning

Mother Josephine forged in her youth
She stood strong on the arm of the boy as she cried
He lifted her up and into his arms
And carried her 'til the day that he died

The winds sang songs through the tears
To the ice and snow they would give no quarter
Invincible children playing at adulthood
A dance and a love broken only by mortal

Oh, did the bagpipes croon that day
Beautiful memories burning
A girl stands amongst the flames
Her heart forever yearning

When the fires bloomed and the rockets sang
Zachery Lanth felt their call
Sirens stricken in the moonlight
He would wear pride and stand tall

Josephine would cry in the night
Tears she would not let her love see
For as a pillar she could not crumble
As a lover she was not ready to be free

Oh, did the bagpipes croon that day
Beautiful memories burning
A girl stands amongst the flames
Her heart forever yearning

A kiss on the cheek and proud son standing
Zachery left his love standing on shore
Not yet a bride alone with their child
And an angel to hold and assure

A ring was on her finger as he left
A promise that he would return
But as the sun set on the second year
Letters came with promises to burn

Oh, did the bagpipes croon that day
Beautiful memories burning
A girl stands amongst the flames
Her heart forever yearning

He would return not for a wedding
But he would return in peaceful repose
Clad in the stiffest of refinery
A simple boy and lover in a man's clothes

And Josephine Abbott would cry into her white dress
Her mournful cries staining that bridal gown with tears
As she came to know it should never be worn
As he would walk invisible behind for the rest of their years

Oh, did the bagpipes croon that day
Beautiful memories burning
A girl stands amongst the flames
Her heart forever yearning

occuria @ 2007-08-01T11:10:00

2007-08-01T15:12:13Z

Sunlight no longer kissed her waking face. At first, the lack of that which she had grown so used to for so many years had prevented her from awakening at an appropriate hour; the bleak streets of Lowtown were never to be blessed with the light of the rising sun. In truth, Ashelia would have pitied them the luxury that she had so often taken for granted. But there was little time for pity and little time to waste pretending at sleep in the wake of her father's murder and the desecration of kingdom's honor.

With a face carefully crafted into the finest imitation of stone, Ashe strapped her longsword to her side and a simple buckler to her arm. She was a daughter of Dalmasca today, fighting for her kingdom's sovreignty. It was a duty she would bear as the daughter of King Raminas and the widow of Prince Rasler.

As she passed the small, cracked mirror hung for her convienience, heading for the door to join Captain Azelas and the rest of her loyal soldiers in the common room, the princess paused to regard herself. Clad in noble clothing suited for battle... Armed as a knight of her nation... Despite her humble surroundings, she would always look like a princess of Dalmasca. It was an air that she carried her step and in the way she tilted her chin ever-so-slightly to the sky.

But there was something decidedly wrong with the picture of the girl who gazed back at Ashelia on this day. Though she bore a neutral expression, the furious depths of her eyes stood out against her carefully practiced solemness. The hatred... the fury... the bitterness of a woman scorned and left broken in the wake of war... The gentle spirit and the resolute determination of Dalmasca's princess was lost to a grieving widow and a daughter seeking vengeance for the loss of both her husband and her murdered father. Today, and every day since she'd come to the small hovel set aside for them in Lowtown, Ashelia had been losing ground to Amalia. She was a fool to consider herself anything like a graceful princess scorned by the cruel hand of fate.

"Rasler... Father..." she whispered faintly, her eyes breaking for but a moment as sorrow overtook ambition for but a fraction of a second. A hand reached up to touch her reflection in the cracked mirrow as her brow furrowed and her eyes hardened. "I will avenge you both," Ashelia finished hatefully, turning every ounce of emotion into the sword of vengeance that would be Archadia's downfall.

The same sword that would rebuild a kingdom to honor the memories of the lost.

"should the sun have let me set with it"

2007-03-27T14:51:15Z

Like the water, her surface was always calm and fluid, change and movement seemed to melt into themselves and flow naturally, so naturally that sometimes it was hardly noticeable. To move with grace and subtlty while maintaining the impression of art an beauty in one's nature was a gift that she shared with the water. Midori could recall that he had often likened her to that water, speaking of her as a body that remained unchanged and steadfastly beautiful on the surface with untold depths that few were brave enough to explore. He said that people accepted water as it was and as they always assumed it to be, never plunging beneath the surface to see the secrets that it held below or bask in the beauty of it in its entirety. To know all of what the water held in its depths might be impossible, but to attempt to befriend it and know it in such a way... He would smirk and wonder if perhaps it would grow warmer then in time, if only for the one brave enough to attempt to see it for what it was.

Though she would say nothing in response to his bold prose, she did not chide him for presuming too much. Occasionally, when the days were warmer and her heart light, she would wear softer shades of blue and even whites for him during their visits. He would smile and dip his hand in a nearby fountain, claiming that the water felt especially good on those days. Midori would nod, her expression set carefully if perhaps a shade softer, and admit that the sun had been warming it as of late.

The night was quiet as she stared at her journal, flickering light spilling over its pages. Long, white hair spilled down over her back as suddenly soft, blue eyes regarded her recollections. They were simple yet elegant and to the point, reclaiming her place as the water that he had dubbed her. Though her lips did not twitch, a certain sadness filled those deep irises, as the brush was again touched to paper.

As she had been his water, so he had been like the sun to her. Though she lay cast in shadow, cool and steadfast in her shimmering surface, occasionally his presence would warm her, touching the surface and beginning to sink deeper and deeper to envigorate the depths of her being. Though the change might not be so apparent to those watching the surface, there would be little doubt that the sun would cause it to shimmer and become more beautiful. Basking in the rays of the sun, it could not help but shine an image of perfection.

But the sun had since set, a beautiful array of colors conflicting on the surface of the water. In its descent, it had been beautiful, but the water could not help but wonder if perhaps the sun had known how it had cherished it's warmth, wishing to have allowed it to know and light more of it. There had not been enough time in one day, and now the sun was gone, the night cloudy and without stars. If only the sun could've taken her with it, for it was far too cold and lonely on this starless night. She could do little save hope that a new day would come, and the sun would return to her.

It was a hope and a fear all at once. Again, the water would retreat into itself. And again still.

occuria @ 2007-03-13T08:08:00

2007-03-13T12:38:45Z

He isn't sure just how he's supposed to touch her. Her essence is something so very pure, despite the fact that it's been technically processed time and again. He makes no attempt to hide the fact that he marvels at just how in-tact she seems to be. Naturally, a woman reborn twice should undergo some changes, the proverbial caterpillar-to-butterfly analogy works well when applied to her, but in essence, Jillia remains unchanged. She'll always smile at him like that. It'll always sound like rain when she laughs. It's why he's not sure how to touch her. The last time he did, after all, he broke her quite willingly.

She's clearly frustrated and exerting no effort to hide the fact. The door to her room is closed, locked, and standing in the way of the world right now. Two, small candles are burning and flickering, shadows dancing across the dimly-lit room. She watches them play on the bed, tangling up and melding together in a way that makes her jealous. She looks over at Veck, standing on the other side of the room watching her as though he's looking to see something new and wishes that he would let it go. She isn't going to break, and she needs him more than ever now. It would take a second for him to depart. One second, and he could run away like he always did.

He could snap his fingers, if he so wished it. He could be gone from this stifling, awkward situation with the impure shadows and the wife aiming to bridge the gap between them this very evening. He doesn't think he's worthy, and he's not sure she's really ready to make the decision she seems to have already made. Mostly, he wants to be gentle with her, and if recent years would provide any indication, he's not sure he can be gentle with anything anymore. The shadows flicker across his face, and he wonders why he hasn't taken his leave yet.

Sometimes she wonders if she has to do everything herself. When she raises to her feet, it seems almost like an act of aggression, despite the fact that her small, bare feet fall so delicately on the wooden floor. He hasn't moved yet. It's a start. The air is thick, but it's time, and he knows it. If not now, then never. She wasn't aware when the plan was shaped that this moment would become so very crucial, but it's now of never at this point. Everything is so very heavy, and the burden is decided now. Shall it remain eternally, or shall it be lifted? When she approaches him, she waits. She wants to reach out and touch him, but she knows that this has to come from him. So, she gazes up at him with wide eyes, pleading silently because words just aren't relevant at this point.

He doesn't look away from her as she corners him, lost in her eyes and understanding exactly what they're trying to tell him. Doubts and reservations abound, but he looks closer into those eyes regardless, finding something that urges him to step forward and reach out to touch her cheek. His large hand lingers there, and he continues to stare. He's not sure that he's worthy; in fact, he's almost one-hundred percent sure that he isn't, but she's standing before him right now needing him in a way that he once thought only he needed her. It's then that he finds himself beginning to understand. He probably isn't worthy of love. Who is? He's fortunate to have her here in his arms, willing and filled with forgiveness.

Though he hasn't closed the space between them yet, she smiles because she can see in his eyes exactly what he can see in hers. It took him long enough, but he's getting it finally. She opens her mouth to say aloud what wells up in her heart, but he silences her by placing a finger to her lips.

He steps forward, away from the safety of the wall, body pressed against hers as his strong arms engulf her completely. He's afraid, but it needs to be and he wants it to be. He needs to immerse himself in her, to remind himself of what it's like to drink her presence and breathe in her scent. It isn't a question of want or fear or apprehension anymore; it's a question of desperately needing everything that is and has to offer. He smiles, a tender smile that's completely unlike the smirk he usually wears, as he sees her flush before dipping his head down to press his lips firmly and without hesitation against hers. And there in the dancing shadows, the distance isn't so great.

Words aren't enough right now; in fact they aren't even neccessary.

"Third time's the charm."

2007-03-12T17:25:58Z

"How are the doors working out for you?"

She's all smiles when she sees him. Any fear or apprehension she's felt are chased away by the almost gentle, tired eyes he tries to hide beneath his massive ego. She's begun to realize that she's not the child in this relationship.

"Better. Gives me a flashier entrance. I mean, it's kind of fun seeing people dive under the tables when I just pop in, but the doors make it more noticeable. It'll probably have the same effect anyway."

He can't help but try to brag. Maybe he's trying to make himself seem like something special for her, especially considering everything he's done. Sometimes he wonders why she still loves him. Sometimes he wonders why she always smiles at him, like it doesn't bother her.

"I'm sorry I don't dive under the tables with them. I can start if it'll make you happy."

She teases him. A girl who's barely made the rank of Samurai and lost her memories by his hand because he doubted for an instant that she loved him. Maybe it's silly not to fear his madness or his power, but she's not afraid of him. Maybe because she's started to realize that, no matter how much power he wields, he's more insecure and frightened than she's ever been in any of her existances. Her smile perpetuates.

"You know you're different."

He rolls his eyes, talking to her as though he's correcting a child and assuring them of their place above all the rest in his heart. Deep down, he knows that he's the child. He knows that he has a lot more growing to do than even she could ever know. He loves her more than anything. He's not sure why he doesn't think he's worthy of telling her that just yet.

"I know. It's because you love me?"

She looks so hopeful, and it isn't so much because she needs to know or doesn't already. It's because she wants more than anything to hear him say it.

"Yeah."

She looks so hopeful, and his eyes soften reflexively in a way that he isn't entirely comfortable with. He feels the words rising up in throat and wants to scream when his lips refuse to give them air, and they die there. She needs him to say them to her, and he curses himself for not being able to. It isn't because he doesn't love her.

"Good. Because I love you."

Her eyes fall, and she still smiles even though it's clear that she's disappointed. It's difficult to face, but she's forgiven him. She forgave him in the instant that his betrayal was made known, and she gave her life for him. She thinks sometimes the problem is that he hasn't forgiven himself.

"Good."

He's annoyed at the fact that he has to sound so obviously uncomfortable when she presses the subject, and again he hears himself screaming to tell her what she needs to hear him say. As usual, he forces it away because he can't deal with it just yet. There's too much that needs doing to be focusing on this. At least, that's what he tells himself.

"Veck..."

She can't stand it anymore and stands up. She can see him fighting himself; she can see him beating himself senseless over it all, and it's breaking her heart. He wants to take her in his arms. He wants to kiss her and love her like he never did before. He loved her before he stole her memories, but he loves her truly now. And it scares him.

"Jillia."

He repeats her name mainly because she said his and watches her approach him, her intent clear in her eyes. When she reaches him, looking up because he's nearly a foot taller than she is, he freezes and waits for her to pop up on her tiptoes and kiss him.

It's a soft kiss, only a little more than a peck, and she knows what will follow when she falls back to her regular height, still smiling sadly at him. He isn't ready yet.

"I've got to get going. I'm a busy man. We can sort this all out when it's finished."

He knows he's making excuses, and he's sure she knows it too. That's probably why she looks so damned sad. She bursting with love, but she wants him to say so. She wants him to forgive himself.

"I know, but Veck?"

"Yeah?"

She smiles, genuinely this time before she says what she usually says after meetings like this.

"Third time's the charm."

He nods and doesn't bother using the door this time.</p>