(Forsaken) Christmas contemplations (December challenge)

[akonken.livejournal.com]

(Edit: It started as about family, and it still sort of is, so that will have to be good enough.

Of course there were going to be rejections.

Holly wouldn't be there if Mal was there.

Rio wouldn't be there if Holly wouldn't come.

Mal wouldn't come without Rio, apparently.

That left me with a still-decently-sized group of Nel-and-Eve, Bas (who would probably take his plate to his room and play whatever new video game there was), maybe Jonah and Kay, Eliza, Helen, and Arthur.

Helen and Arthur.

I frowned, distracted.

When was that going to happen? Helen appeared to be moving on quickly - if mournfully - from her tryst or whatever with her brother. I saw her making eyes at Arthur. I saw how quickly he moved to her side when he saw her alone.

Maybe they were fooling themselves, but they weren't fooling me.

I shouldn't care. Not really. I mean, was it a relationship? I liked Arthur, but those few dates, those amazingly eloquent words of his, it didn't mean I have any hold on him.

I just wished they'd get on with it. It was obvious they were going to.

Yet another failed romance in the making for Isabelle Richards. I should just give up.

Man. What am I going to do at Christmas?

There but for the grace of The Rat God

[rebel-wulf.livejournal.com]

Royce didn't remember a birth family. He remembered a burning fever, being alone in a gutter while his skin burned and his lungs filled with fluid. He remembered feeling that twitchy, uncontrollable rage fill his body. Those twitches never really stopped, a permenant reminder of his Birthing Plague. Now though, now he remembered all kinds of people who he'd never met before.
     He'd been sitting on top of the church for a good ten minutes now, and he was fucking freezing. Allways helped him focus, the cold. Dug straight through his clothes and chilled his bones in a way that he knew lesser men would die from. He was a survivor though, an avatar of rage and chaos made manifest in a world too full of the Weaver and the Wyrm. He looked at the thing in his hand - small and broken. A little christmas tree ornament, a rocking horse with a nutcracker missing both its arms and a loop of string coming out of its hat to hook over a branch. One of his colony was missing, and it was time to stop acting like a retard to freak out the wolves.
     He'd had one of those moments of lucid sanity that he was prone to have occasionally when serious shit needed to be done, when Roofdancer had passed on that message of hers. "One of your colony is missing". She wasnt from his colony, so how did she know? Fucking Tunnel Runners. Cryptic little shits they were sometimes, and about as far away from the Rat God's will as you could get compared to him. Why him, though? He wasnt some sort of investigative genius, last he remembered. Oh, no. Shit, he was, wasnt he? "God Fucking Damnit" he told the cold winter air.
     This was one of those Duty things that the others had kept telling him about. He hated obligations. He hadn't made a name for himself as one of the most dangerous rats around because of Duty. He was more the infamous kind, which honestly suited him down to the ground. He held up the ornament to his nose and breathed in. Smelled of Roofdancer, she was pretty, smelled good too in a only-a-rat-would-appreciate kind of way. Ooh that was dangerous ground, better put your thong back on, mental image. No mutant babies for Royce, no sir. Well, ok. Maybe one idle fantasy. Get your tits out, love.
     "Right, thats enough tom-shittery. Time to go find a missing Rat" He said eventually to himseld, and slid down a rainpipe to start his investigation.

[Forsaken] I aten't dead yet

[lslaw.livejournal.com]

It's a grey day, but the sun has never seemed so bright to me.

( I aten't dead yet )