27 September 2010

"Lang Passages" by TATAbox

Title: Lang Passages
Author: the TATAbox 
Writing: homework
Word Count: 298
Warning: Beware of awesomeness.

The adult lives on the surface of the world; he lives in depressed, uninspiring steel-and-
concrete nature; he reacts without emotion, and he secures himself solely around his
surroundings. The child does not see the world as it is; he sees it only as an extension
and reflection of his mind, the unlimited universe his domain. Both are ignorant. The
ignorance of the child who lives in his dreams is such that he does not know the reality
and powerful inspirations of life. The ignorance of the adult deprives him of the power
to open his mind to the “impossible.” While he is not lacking in knowledge and thinking
ability, his inner eye is shut to the beauty of the ordinary as well as the rare because of
relinquished imagination that might give him a myriad of possibilities in his rigid world of
profits and because of his dying childhood heart that should have freed him from all his
self-placed limitations. Adulthood, though normally seen as childhood’s improvement, is
instead the continuance of childhood on different degrees.

Books, the portals to new worlds and dreams, have revolutionized the world in
unacknowledged ways. For the luckily educated, books build bridges back to the age
of wizards, fairies, and other far reaches of the Old World that draws innocents in and
frees them imbibed with mental seeds of romanticism and imagination shooting tall. For
the luckily educated, books reach out to the deep, dark unknown, bringing forth thrilling
terror, macabre murders, even majestic horrors, which resurface ten-fold in sweat-
breaking nightmares. For the luckily educated, books thrust – peppered with sweet
remnants of happy moments – unthinkably cruel reality into their readers’ faces. For the
luckily educated, these records of ink and paper impart knowledge, pain, or excitement –
all starting with a single word.

Artist's Note: Hi... I am now a temporary writer for DiW. Dunno if I can meet the goal, but I'll write occasionally at least :D However, I am an avid DiW fan! So lemme know what you think of this :D

Silver's note: :D A first non Lewis or Silver post! <3!! 

25 September 2010

Halls of Valhalla Battle Excerpt

Title: --
Author: SilverInk
Writing: Excerpt from Roleplay
Word Count: 316

Standing in a small "clearing" of twigs and fallen debris, Alina Zephyr gazed at the forest before her and felt a light wind tease her braids. She turned to her right and then left, oddly devoid of emotions. There was simply nothing here. An abandoned twig or branch, and a bare, thin tree or two. There was nothing. 

More importantly, there's no where to hide. She thought, stepping quietly over a log and listening to the wind again. It's quiet. I could like it here.

She continued along an improvised path, boots crunching faintly on twigs and other debris, wary for other people but still emotionless. At least, she reasoned, if she had no emotion, there would be no spark for her magic to run off with. She would need every drop of energy she could salvage if she wanted to live this battle. Every grain of it would have to go towards plain sword-fighting, which she predicted would be her main defense in combat. 

No. Aside from invisibility--and the mist there was perhaps heavy enough that it wouldn't make a difference for either of them-- and a little bit of telekinesis--which she wasn't so sure would be effective unless her opponent was a slow moving giant with not enough brain matter to move when it saw a log flying at it--her powers would do very little. 

Alina pressed a hand against the cool bark of a tree. What was this place? The scenery had not changed and she doubted it never would: it was the same old sticks in the ground, the same old twigs on the dirt, the same old mist that slunk phlegmatically around, blown by the same old wind that sent shivers though her long-sleeved uniform. 

And time seemed to shrink into oblivion, leaving the dead forest in it's own realm of nothingness. 

Artist's note: No, this is not supposed to be this week's post. :P  This was just my most recent post from the Gaia Guild Halls of Valhalla. It's also the first post in my first roleplay battle o.O Link to Battle. As of the time of this posting though, the above is the only post. All I added was the surname in the first line for this DiW entry XP

It's basically a drawn-out version of the 18-word caption of the scene of the battle: "In this place, time stands still and the scenery never changes. The only occurance here is the wind."

And...I"m working on something that's probably going to be very very very long that might be posted this week or next week, depending on how soon I get it done. This post should bee looked upon as a biscuit-appetizer, even though the song-fiction and this post have nothing in common ;) That's right, songfiction. If you'd like, please check out "My Immortal" by Evanescence!

Thanks for visiting! Please comment!

18 September 2010


Title: Lucidity
Authors: Lewis
Writing: Character story
Word Count: 520

She doesn’t know how long it’s been. She’s awake with not a thought or memory lingering in her mind, a gravestone washed clean of all engravings and blemishes. The still-warm blood coagulating on her fingertips and the weight in her lap hint that perhaps her last few minutes haven’t been spent in the land of dreams. She looks down. It’s a corpse. A young girl who, by the looks of it, might have been very pretty when she was alive- pretty, before someone decided to disfigure her until she was hardly recognizable. Maybe, she thinks, maybe I did it?

She’s not sure how to react to the notion. Something pure, righteous, and nagging declares that she should be atoning for her sins right now. Murder, done in the cruelest fashion. Appalling. She finds that being painted from head to toe in sticky red isn’t too disgusting. Strange. But what does it matter, when she doesn’t know this girl, and there is really nothing to feel guilty about? Really, all she is doing is having some fun.

With the leftover blood on her hands she paints the tiled bathroom wall: a toppled, butterfly-wing-shaped splotch for a heart symbol, since it seems like the kind of thing that would suit a girl the age of the dead one there. R. I. P., rest in peace. What was her name? She adds “beloved daughter,” because it seems to fit. She doesn’t know the date, so that too is omitted. And. What else was this girl?

When the body and the blood go cold, she reluctantly washes herself off in a nearby sink. The blood looks so pretty on white porcelain that she decides not to clean the stains off the sink, marks of her passing. She’s finished here, so after surveying the empty bathroom (where there’s no one else but herself, that blood, and those lifeless bodies), she makes her way for the door. There is a growing feeling of delirium: even as all of this is happening, she is being born. She is given a past, an experience, a mark on the world as proof that she was here. She exists.

It’s not until her reflection in the mirror catches her eye that she notices that she has no face.

Jule emerges from her dream like a drowning sailor breaks the surface of the water. Her breath is shallow, but it settles after a few seconds. It was a dream, wasn’t it? Just to be sure, she picks up the hand mirror laid readily on the bedside table and checks her reflection. Clear blue eyes blink sleepily back at her, fringed thickly with long lashes. They are almost covered by her long blond bangs, swept across her face in her sleep. The skin of her face is pale, and as she tilts her chin upward, she can almost see the veins in her throat, pulsing with blood. Normal. Normal. All normal. As long as she has a face, she has an identity. But without her memories, what meaning does it have? When the time comes, what will be written on her tombstone?


It's kind of really messily done >.<

This is another writing-- um... a character's side-story, maybe? in prep. for Nanowrimo.

Jule has the ability to shapshift into anything as long as it's human, but she also gets amnesia every once in a while. So it's very confusing, and she can't remember who she was or what she used to look like.

I just wanted to try to get some insight into her ...more human, more vulnerable side before I begin portraying her as the "torturer of humankind" kind of person that she usually is. I actually really like her because she's like this. I mean, not that I would be friends with her in real life; she'd probably make me cry and then kill me.


Also, I will probably be submitting another character story on one of the other NaNo characters, Zetes (formerly Tophis Hayes), who is (a jerk) unpopular with the ladies.

I met the word quota this week :D

Silver : 100000000000, Lewis: 1

17 September 2010

The Importance of Being Earnest End Scene Assignment

Title: The Importance of Being Earnest End Scene Assignment
Authors: Lewis,Silver Ink and esteemed guest author Oscar Wilde
Writing: Collaboration/ Homework Assignment
Word Count: 479

Prism: Some tea, Lady Bracknell?
Bracknell: Yes, please. (awkward silence) Miss Prism, it is plain that something is troubling you. Come now, out with it.
Prism: Yes, yes. Forgive my awkwardness. (pause) Do you remember the events just after Mrs. Moncrieff’s untimely death?
Bracknell: Of course! What of my sister’s death?
Prism: You will recall that Mrs. Moncrieff entrusted me with the task of delivering her baby to you then? (Bracknell nods and Prism continues, agitated) For some reason, I have been thinking about the poor baby. See, I had set him in my handbag for the journey. I was occupied for but a moment and then both babe and bag had vanished!
Bracknell: I see. That is most unfortunate. The poor lad-- where could he have gone?
Prism: I never found out....
Jack: This is extremely strange. I am wandering the streets with a handbag at my side, a pink handbag no less. (sigh) But it is my only clue to finding my mother. (pause, looks around) I suppose I might as well start somewhere, but how? ...oh look! What coincidence to meet a familiar face here. (Approaches Prism) Good morrow, Miss Prism! Would you happen to know whose handbag this is?
Prism: (look of shock) Why, my bag! I haven’t seen for years. (takes bag) Thank you, Mr. Worthing. How did you chance upon it?
Jack: Miss Prism, more is restored to you than the handbag. I was the baby placed in it.
Miss Prism: you?
Jack: yes (embracing her) Mother!
Miss Prism: (recoiling in indignant astonishment) Mr. Worthing, I am unmarried!
Jack: Unmarried! I do not deny that this is a serious blow. But, after all, who has the right to cast a stone against one who has suffered? Why should there be one law for men and another for women? Mother! I forgive you!
Miss Prism: Mr. Worthing, there is some error. (pointing to Bracknell) There is the lady who can tell you who you really are.
Jack: Lady Bracknell, I hate to seem inquisitive, but would you kindly inform me who I am?
Lady Bracknell: I am afraid that the news I have to give you will not altogether please you. You are the son of my poor sister, Mrs. Moncrieff, and consequently Algernon’s elder brother.
Jack: Algy’s elder brother! Then I have a brother after all! I knew I had a brother!
Prism: What is your Christian name now that you have become someone else?
Jack: What name was I given? Let me know the worst.
Lady Bracknell: (after a pause) Being the eldest son, you were christened after your father.
Jack: Yes, but what was my father’s Christian name?
Lady Bracknell: I remember now that the General was called Ernest.
Prism: Ernest! I felt from the first time you could have no other name. Congratulations!
Jack: (dazed smile/ thank you)

Artist Note (Posted by Silver Ink): :D

So for our Drama class, Lewis and I were given a scene from a published play (in this case, Oscar Wilder's The Importance of Being Earnest and instructed to build up our improvisation to this final scene. We were allowed to--and did--edit the end scene a little bit. Edits: The last few lines, where three people speak at once were edited out; Gwendolyn is made Prism in the end scene because we only have three actresses.


Lewis had read the play before, but we were not supposed to copy the original, hence this "spinoff/ fanfiction/ fan-alternate-fiction-object" :D You like? Please tell us what you think!


P.P.S. SAT should go die.
P.P.P.S. SAT should give me a 2400 and go away for good.
P.P.P.P.S. This does count as our post this week XP
P.P.P.P.P.S. Unless one of us happen to find something else to post or manage to finish EVERYTHING in time to pull something else up. Which probably won't happen, unfortunately.
P.P.P.P.P.P.S. Maybe. Wish us luck! :D
P.P.P.P.P.P.P.S. I'm hoping to finish a painting this weekend ;)
P.P.P.P.P.P.P.P.S. But considering how much I have to get done, that probably won't happen.
P.P.P.P.P.P.P.P.P.S. There are nine post scripts on this O:)

11 September 2010

Colors of Love: Bright Violet

Title: Colors of Love: Bright Violet
Author: SilverInk
Writing: Anthology submission
Word Count: 608
Context: A friend of mine was compiling an anthology of entries about different types of love, written by friends. Each chapter would contain a comparison to something else, and a "color". 

Color: Bright Violet

She smiled, turned, and left, pulling her coat around her. It had been a fine night, she supposed. Pearl’s wedding. Yes, fine enough.  

Saria strolled briskly down the sidewalk that cool night, reviewing the events of her best friend’s wedding; that is, her best friend and her other friend’s wedding. She recounted the time dedicated to preparing the wedding, the party after, and then driving the newlyweds to the airport for their honeymoon. She’d just returned the limo and gotten a ride home from her other friend, who lived down the street from her. 

The warm cozy aura poured from her brother’s kitchen as she strolled into his three-story house, tucking her key away and shutting the door behind her. Sliding her shoes in their appropriate spot, she called merrily, “Lynden! I’m home!”

Her brother’s wife popped up from the staircase in her nightgown and welcomed her: “Hiya, Saria! Pearl and Sam are on their plane then?”

“Hello Krystaline. Yes. I just saw them off. Did I wake you up?”

“No, I just finished reading to the twins. They were so whiny, ‘But Mommy, Autie Saria always reads an extra chapter if one ends in a cliffhanger. You can’t stop now, what if Harry Potter dies?’ So I read another chapter.”

Saria chuckled. “How far are they?”

“I think there’s a chapter left,” Krystaline replied as they reached the second floor. “You’re going to sleep?”

“I think I’ll take a shower, check my e-mail and go to sleep. It’s been a long day.”

“Hear hear,” Krystaline echoed. “Good night, Saria.”

“Night,” the other responded as she trekked up the last flight of stairs. 

“Lynden, you get out of here you! I don’t care if you haven’t gone to the pool in a week, you can’t swim in the shower anyways! Lynden!” Krystaline was shouting below her. 

Saria smiled affectionately and closed the door to her spacious third-floor loft. Within her loft was her own bedroom, bathroom, and office; for privacy, her loft was also completely soundproofed. Now, she tossed her clothes in the laundry basket and headed to the shower. 
Morning came. 

Saria awoke, yawning even as she shut the alarm clock and pulled the light-colored curtains aside and peered at the sky through the window. Clear, with a few clouds. Splendid. She shut the curtains again.

She waltzed into the bathroom and out again, brushing her teeth and hunting for clothes in her small walk-in closet. Usually she would have her clothes already picked and laid out, but it had been a weekend and she hadn’t bothered. 

After the mundane schedule, she grabbed her sketchbook and purse and sauntered down the two flights of stairs to the kitchen, where Krystaline was preparing breakfast and ordering the little ones around. 

“Don’t forget your jacket, young lady. And you! If I catch you not doing your homework again, young man, there will be no video games for a week! Oy! Are you listening to me? Drink your milk!”

“Morning, Krystaline,” Saria greeted. “Morning kids.”

“Hello,” the kids’ mother replied, returning to spreading the jelly on the toast. “Kids, are you ready to go? Didn’t I tell you to drink your milk? Get your jacket on!” she hollered as the twins made their escape in their aunt’s big blue truck. 

Later, Saria returned home to find her breakfast on the table, and the house empty. Lynden and Krystaline had gone to work, and the kids were in school. Time to get to eat and get to her own work. 

She opened her sketchbook to a blank page and started sketching her family.

Artist's Note: Continuing from the "Context", it took me so long to write this (I only finished today and rather unsuccessfully at it, I think XP) that the project has long since been abandoned with little hope of renewal. Therefore, I thought it safe to post this here. 

In case anyone was wondering, I didn't really have a comparison. So this would have made a fail entry >.<

And Saria in this story is not the same as Saria from the "Soap Opera".

Um...hope you like! :D Please comment! 

06 September 2010

Introducing Love

Title: Introducing Love
Author: SilverInk
Writing: Short Story?
Word Count: 2866
Warning: Implication of mature themes, Minor profanity at end.

“Gil, Gil, I’m here, it’s ok,” He held the shaking girl in one arm, keeping the other one—the one with his rifle—away from Gil. “It’s ok. Everything’s going to be fine.”

Revolting. “Liam, you’ve got 10 minutes.” Liam’s pilot glanced again at the countdown on his watch. “Hurry up.”

Liam grimaced and let the girl go for a moment and leapt onto a crate so he was level with his pilot. “Wen, take Gil to safety, will you?”


“Please? For me?”

Wen sighed. “It’s against the rules to associate with civilians.”


“Nine minutes 45 seconds.”

“Please, Wen.” 

The pilot sighed and glanced at the girl, who was shivering, half from the cold air, half from quiet sobs. “Fine. Get back quickly though.”

 “Thanks,” Liam said, hopping off the crate and kissing Gil quickly on the cheek. “Go with Wen. I’ll be right back.” Without further ado, he slid down the visor on his head and disappeared outside the warehouse. 

“Liam!” the girl called, reaching out a moment late. There was no response. Gil shook, and another sob escaped her. 

“Well,” Wen said with a sour taste on his tongue, “Get in.” 

Without words, Gil pulled her jacket tight around her body and picked her way to the small passenger’s area behind Wen. “Thank you,” she added quietly as he shut the glass screen. 

Wen didn’t respond. He flicked a few switches and the aircraft started to hum. Within a few seconds they were cruising out of the warehouse and flying over the nearby port. “Eight minutes,” he muttered to Liam over a communication gadget. 

Gil was silent in the back, her eyes glued on the countdown. 

Love. Isn’t that word sickening? Why would anyone willingly give their entire self to another? 

I figured out why Gil was so attached to Liam. In his first mission to this place some years ago, Liam had some spare time after his mission. His pilot had been—put in the nicest way possible—occupied with certain members of the same species but opposite gender in a place where alcoholic beverages were commonly served. Liam had been rather new at the whole thing then, and still took his job seriously, following every petty rule, like that one concerning members of the same species but opposite gender in places where alcoholic beverages were commonly served. But there had been this one girl, who was just so very beautiful, that caught his eye.

I had the pleasure, of course, of listening to him describe her gorgeous curves, pleasant face, and bright eyes. He detailed the way her lustrous hair sashayed along her back, brushing the straps of her very revealing and torn dress in the most tempting way. And of course, he remembered vividly the way she lost her footing and nearly fell on him as he was walking out of the tavern: the thrill when her soft, delicate hand touched his, and the way her body crumpled against his, filling his nose with the scent of the kitchen. 

Gil wasn’t actually a prostitute. Her mother was though, and her uncle was the tavern’s keeper. She was a natural beauty, and didn’t need artificial maintenance to maintain a more-than-pretty appearance. Her uncle didn’t clad her in much clothing as she worked as a waitress, partly because he didn’t care, and partly because he wanted customers to be seduced and keep coming. 

Liam didn’t pay very high; according to his tale, she had taken one look at his “irresistible” muscles and pushed him out of the door and led him into a dark alley. He said he’d been confused when she removed her apron and started unbuttoning her dress. “When I realized what she wanted, I tried to stop her, but”—here he would cuss, depicting her nude body with profane adjectives—“and I caved into her charm. She talked me into love, and I kept volunteering for missions to come back and see her.”

Wen landed the aircraft in an open field, by a small hut where Gil said her friend Violet lived. The girl wanted to visit her friend, but the pilot refused, shielding the craft so it blended in with the forest behind them.

“Six thirty,” he said to the assassin in town. 

“I’m working on it, sheesh,” came an exasperated reply. ”How’s Gil?”

“She’ll be better off if you came back alive, I reckon,” Wen replied sarcastically, glancing back at Gil. She was shivering again, and silent tears were pouring down her cheeks. Blinking to clear the tears, she continued a transfixed stare on the countdown.

Profanity sputtered through the connection, followed by a sweet, “Hang in there,” before the connection ended completely. Silence engulfed the small jet, the only sound an occasional sniffle from the back. 

“Aw shut it,” Wen finally said, whirling around at her. “There are always other boys. You probably had the time of your life while he was gone, seducing other people with those pretty eyes of yours.”

Gil sniffed again, and wiped the tears away with her sleeve. “S-seducing?”

“He said you dragged him into an alley near your uncle’s tavern and seduced him.”

“Me?” Incredulity and outraged brimmed her eyes—all tears had been drowned. Wen mentally rolled his eyes. At least his precious plane wouldn’t be inundated by salt water now. “He ruined my life!”

“Your fault for caving into hormones,” he retorted, turning back to the front. He watched Violet’s hut for action, bored. A little girl skipped out, only to be called back in by a motherly voice. Next a boy a bit older than his teenage years came out, fetched water from the well, and then returned inside. 


Wen glanced back at his passenger apathetically. 

“That guy that just walked out of the house. I loved him, and he me. My uncle said that if he couldn’t make me a good prostitute in a few years, he’d let me marry that guy.” She stopped briefly, but seemed desperate to get her story out. 

“Then Liam came. He followed his pilot in, and the latter gave his orders quickly, already familiar with the place, and provided a large wad of money. Liam stood by their door, saying he wasn’t interested. 

“I was sent out to serve a few drinks, but I quickly retreated to the back when I saw his eyes tailing me. As I passed him, he grabbed my skirt and pulled me up to him, scrutinizing my face. As soon as he let go, I ran off. I was afraid. It was only about a day until the proposed deadline, and I didn’t want to have it ruined then. I heard their discussion though, as Liam offered my uncle large sums for something I didn’t care to know about. 

“Finally, my uncle fetched me from the back. From the way he was pocketing the cash, it seemed my life had already ended. My mom cheered, looking up from washing plates. ‘You will see, Gillian. Someone as pretty as you was destined for this line of work. You will make good money for us. Trust me. You will like. Some customers are very creative.’ My uncle led me to his best room, one with a nice bed and couch, and a few bottles of drink. ‘Do well,’ he warned me, ‘and I might let you go after all.’ Without doubt he was thinking of a hefty tip.”

Wen was glaring at her by now, half disbelieving, half horrified. He noticed the little pigtailed girl—closer up she was closer to his twelve than a little seven year old—coming towards them, but didn’t worry. The ship was cloaked after all. He didn’t say anything to Gil, thinking over the new information.

“Finished,” Liam’s voice cackled though the microphone and the glowing 1:14 faded. “Told you it was easy. I’m stopping by the inn to give Gil's uncle his payment. See you soon!” 

Liam stood in the corner of the room, flipping though the drinks in the room. His jacket, vest, and belt were lying on the couch, discarded. He’d stolen a hefty sum earlier, and was happy with how he was going to spend it. The girl came into the room, changed into a short red skirt. 

“She’s all yours,” the tavern-keeper told him, and locked the doors. 

She knelt by his feet suddenly, wildly, and was begging with him the moment the door closed. “Please, please, please sir. I’m engaged to be married, my uncle is just looking for the money. Please spare me.”

“What’s your name?” Liam said, selecting a bottle and uncorking it. He took a swing and sat her on the bed.

“Gillian Summers. I’m a waitress, not a prostitute. I don’t belong in this,” she pleaded, indicating both room and dress. 

“Virgin?” he asked, ignoring her and taking another swig.

She was terrified and didn’t answer. “Please don’t,” she whispered. 

Liam took another long drink and looked at her evilly. “It’s ok. I am too. My pilot tells me it’s fun though.”

“You’d be ruining my life, sir. I have a future—a loving husband and a proper family. I-I can read and write. I can cook and sew. Please?”

He drained the bottle and set it aside. “Your husband will never know, he said, pining her down by her shoulders. She didn’t scream, though her face was contorted with fear. 

“Your conscience though,” she stammered, desperate. “Would you rape an innocent girl?”

“Hell ya if she looked like you.”

He kissed her hard, biting her lower lip lightly to keep her from turning away. “Stop squirming he hissed, his hands roaming down her body, groping and touching as he wished. She struggled and fought to get away, but was no match for a person like Liam.

"Why do you continue to pretend you love him though?" Wen was asking, still scrutinizing the girl coming towards his jet. 

"Because...I have to pretend. Liam keeps my uncle loaded with money. If I didn't have him, Uncle would sell me as a prostitute for certain. He threatened it before. But then Liam came again and offered to pay to keep me away from other people."

"I still don't understand."

"Uncle is old now. He will have to retire to less work soon. He has no heirs and no family still living aside from my mother and me. My mother is sickly and cannot run a bar. I can see his plan--he could give me the bar and continue to live wealthily off my work and Liam's donations. I care not to run the place, but if it is my only way free of my mother's rules and his threats, then it is a chance I am willing to take."

"It wont help you get back together with your friend there," Wen pointed out, gesturing gruffly at the teenage boy now chasing after his sister. "Your uncle might even make you marry Liam."

"I care not. Marriage is a superficial matter if no one cares too much for it. He will continue his missions, and I will continue my life."

"Still not helping your love life."

"I...will figure out a way to reconnect," Gil said, suddenly quiet. 

The silence was interrupted when Liam's voice came crackling though. "Finished. I've got your location. I'm coming."

His pilot shrugged and stared out the window again. The little girl--Violet-- was suddenly a lot closer to his jet than Wen would have liked, and her brother was close behind. Wen was tempted to turn his jet's laser cannon on them--one shot and the two of them would be vaporized without a trace--but abruptly stuck a new thought and decided something else. 

He stood up and pressed a button to contact Liam. "Negative," he instructed. "Civilians nearby.  I can't take off without revealing our location. Stay back until I signal otherwise."

Liam could be heard cursing and demanding why Wen was opposed to just blasting the people into smithereens but when he was met by cold silence, finally relented, "Agreed."

Wen checked to ensure Liam could not hear his speech before taking off his seat belt, opening a hatch and jumping onto the grass. He wasn't concerned about getting hurt, even if these two happened to prove hostile; he had multiple daggers concealed on his body and a handgun in his pocket. 

"Where are you going?" his passenger said, also standing. 

"Miss Summers, I believe that where I am going is none of your business but also in your best interest to follow me. Now get off."

He wandered through the jet's shield and stood a few yards away from the boy and his sister. Gil was still lingering behind the shield.

"Whoa! Didn't see you there, little sir. If you don't mind my asking, what're you doing all the way out here?"

"What's your name?" Wen asked neutrally, staring at the boy.

"Uh...Utah Kyson. And this is my lil' sis, Violet. You, sir?"

"Wisconsin Tynan, delighted to meet you." Wen said, still monotonously, staring back at Violet, who was peering at him curiously. She had an innocent face and was offering him a flower she'd picked up. "No thank you."

He didn't know how he was do what he wanted to, and Violet gave him a nasty surprise when she asked, "Is that your ship? And why's Gil with you?"

The boy who had called himself Utah was probably also shocked by this news because his eyes flickered over Wen's shoulder suspiciously. Violet sighed and pulled a ribbon out her pocket in a dramatic way. "I can see past your shield," she explained. "Utah can't though." 

Wen shook his head to clear the disbelief and concern. "I'm going to be blunt, Mr. Kyson...."

Gil knew Violet could probably see past the ship's shield but still didn't bother telling Wen that her friend was coming. She chatted with him, glad to be able to tell someone about her plight. This boy...he was what, 12? But already he was flying a war machine as if it was the most familiar thing to him in the world. Gil admired him for that, but only slightly. She knew where he came from--the same place as that Liam.  They came from a place where kids were taught to kill. 

Liam Osborne Wreke. That creature that made her life a wreak. Well, she reasoned with herself,  not really. He had complicated matters, yes. But she was more mad at her uncle and her mother than she was at Liam. Still, she would not trust him with her schemes. She cared about his existence only for his money. 

But there was something odd about this boy. This ambivalent kid pilot that acted--and probably though--more maturely than she considered herself. 

She followed Wen out and stood at the edge of the jet's shield, staring at Utah with loss. She knew he could not see her, and she was glad. How would she explain?

Wen returned to his ship, feeling mighty pleased with himself and even more pleased with how matters had gone. He waved at his new friends on the ground; Gillian and Utah, who had been talking quietly on the way back to Utah's hut stopped and waved and Violet smiled in his direction before skipping after them, flowers bouncing merrily and dress blowing back with the power of wind his ascending aircraft was billowing.

Wen smiled, certain he had done some actual good that day. He closed his fist around a small smooth stone, answered a message sent to his watch, and continued to pick up Liam.

"Where's Gil?" Liam asked, swinging onto the ship as Wen hovered temporarily on the outskirts where Liam had been waiting. 

"With a friend," the pilot assured, closing the hatch as Liam strapped himself in. He executed a double roll and backflip to turn them in the direction of their headquarters and grinned evilly to himself. 

"What? I wanted to see her before we left, you bastard! Bring me to her! And turn the damn plane around. It's giving me a headache."

Wen spun the aircraft around, twirling until Liam screamed "Stop it!" Wen laughed darkly and returned to the normal position, accelerating as he went. "Better," Liam scowled. "Where're we going? I thought I told you to go back, damnit."

"No can do," came the reply. The boy in front typed in a few short commands with one hand into the hologram keyboard and a screen showed up in front of Liam, with the message Wen had gotten just a few moments before. In a few seemingly innocent words, it gave the assassins their next assignment's destination.

Liam spewed profanity and Wen adjusted Liam's screen so it showed a dorky cartoon. "Looks like something you might like," he said, smirking at Liam's outrage. 

Wen guided his ship contentedly and glanced at the stone with a color-changing flower engraved on it in it. He pocketed it and felt a small but genuine smile creep onto his face before yanking the wheel sharply left.

Artist's note: HI! Sorry for the late update, but it's about 5 times as long as an expected DiW post, if that's any compensation ;)

It's kind of a continuation of The Pilot, which I wrote in May... hope you like it! (And hope I kept them in character, somewhat?)

In other news, school has resumed! And also, I will need to be writing college application essays soon as well (and no, I'm not posting them online. XP) Therefore, updates might be sporadic at best, I think :( Perhaps I will have a few drawings though I can post instead? Lewis and I agreed to be non-originalists in our interpretation of the Drawn in Words Challenge >:) (AP Gov't allusion ;) ) November SHOULD theoretically contain many updates due to NaNoWriMo, but I am unsure if I will be able to post, or if I will be able to even write that much >.<

Regardless, my best to you all. Thanks for reading and please comment! :D