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Unnamed Story Part 3

Jun. 8th, 2008 | 11:44 am
location: In lala-land (not LA)
mood: bouncy bouncy
music: Lawn Mowers cutting fresh green grass...

Okay, so I'll admit to being obsessive.

I just spent all day yesterday looking at alba_aulbath's Boostle fic: Warning: The Pool is Contaminated on the Boostle Comm. here on LJ.

I think Booster and Beetle are officially OTP.  But maybe Booster, Beetle and Question are my OT3 (Besides Fraser/Kowalski/Vecchio on Due South, but then, I'm allowed to do that because here, I'm intangible...)

If none of this has made sense, it's okay, because I'm cool like that, and I've only had one cup of coffee today, so the caffiene isn't quite running correctly.  I've corrected seven typoes in this post alone, which is utterly terrifying for me (as my boyfriend could well tell).

Anywho, here's the story, but there are a couple mild cusses (no f-bombs, I don't really like the word), so if that's offensive, or the idea of this story eventually shipping Marvel characters (I don't own Marvel or any of its holdings, and I'm not being paid for writing this) who happen to be both guys, you can go.  I don't like flames - unless they're toasting marshmallows for my s'mores.

---

I smirked at the PT guy as I took my first steps – he’d been so sure I wouldn’t be able to do it, but I’ve always had a high tolerance for pain, so even though I wanted to vomit, I was walking. And he was shaking his head and reaching for the phone.
 
“What are you doing out of bed?” Stark’s sudden appearances no longer startled me – or rather, I’d simply given up on turning to face intruders after the third wave of Doombots were handily dispatched by the Avengers aided by a ninety-three-year-old woman and her walker.
 
“Walking.” I replied with an airy voice and turned towards him. He caught me gently as I collapsed. “Apparently, I can only do this in a straight line.” I chuckled and let him help me to the bed. “Thanks.”
 
“No problem, Doc.” He smiled – his eyes were still tired, but he looked infinitely better. “But you’re pushing again.”
 
“Mebbi ah aim, mebbi ah ain’t.” I countered in my worst accent ever. “But I was walking!” I grinned. “First straight lines, then… the world! Muahahahaha!”
 
“Don’t wear yourself out – I don’t pay corpses.” His throwback to our last conversation, turning my own admonishment on me, made me laugh out loud, my lungs protesting until I coughed to a stop. “Seriously, You’ll be working for me as soon as you’re well enough.” I stared at his earnest speech, knowing that he meant it and had meant it before.
 
“Th-thanks, boss. You really don’t know what that means.” And it was true – I needed the job. Ever since I’d assumed ownership of my father’s company (and I’m quite aware that I’m a walking cliché, so shut your mouth), the business had been threatening to go under. Did I mention that I have no management skills? “Where am I going to be? If it’s not too much to ask, that is…”
 
“Research and Development. I’ve seen some of the designs you made for Cave Canum Inc., and I’d like you to improve on them for me.”
 
“Thank God! They never let me finish! And I own the sack of shit!” I scoffed the company and grinned like a loon at my new employer. “You’d think they’d give the determining force behind their livelihoods a little more consideration, but they think age-wise, not brain-wise.”
 
“I hear that.” He said. I didn’t quite understand why he seemed so comfortable with me, but it was all good. If you’ll forgive my fanboying, it was Greatness… Most adults treated me like a sideshow freak or a threat to their careers. This man, one of the two richest men in business, a member (albeit an estranged one) of the social elite, reacted around me in complete comfort. Although I got a feeling that some of this suavity and calm was manufactured.
 
Whatever. I just liked not being stared at like the mutated crack-baby I was. I didn’t even get a cool mutation, like a power or something. All I got were backwards lungs, a backwards and upside down heart, and a problem with eye contact. I could look at eyes, just not into them. Tony Stark’s eyes were still bloodshot, still dulled, and still carrying more baggage than a Boeing. My own probably weren’t much better.
 
“I have not been pushing too hard, just hard enough. And you and I are so alike, one tells off the other and becomes a hypocrite at the same time. If you don’t stop working in your head, then we really are two peas in a pod, because I just upgraded the EKG twice today. With my brain!” My maniacal laughter was met with an alarmed raising of eyebrows, but I just kept laughing until I suddenly started crying. “Damn you, medications!!! Daaaaaammmmnnn Yooooooooouuuuuuu!!!!” My wail was followed by more laughing.
 
I woke up two hours later, grumbling about mushrooms in a marshmallow forest. 
 
“Damnation and Hellfire.” I spat, sitting up without help. “They can’t keep me on this stuff.”
 
“Yes they can, though the mood swings do get a bit scary at first.” The voice near my head was an unfamiliar one, so I slowly turned to see it.
 
“I’m Doctor Keyes.” The man at my side said, smiling. He had frazzled black hair and pale skin. “You can call me El.” He was sitting with his hands on his knees, grinning at me like a loon. “And you can tell me when the smile starts creeping you out – my bedside manner sucks.”
 
“Better than some. The psychiatrist I had to see when the ‘rents and Sarah died never answered questions and was way too touchy-feely.” I snorted my disgust with the unprofessional bastard who’d probably forced me further down the path of depression than even the deaths had caused. “So… Dr. El… um…”
 
“I’m here to see if we can change your meds to something weaker.” He grinned again. “Like maybe baby aspirin.”
 
“Try morphine. I still hurt, but I don’t hurt too much. I’m sure I’ll be fine with the next step down. I’d like to be able to stay awake once in a while.”
 
“Morphine’d knock you flat on your… er… flatter on your ass.” Dr. El Keyes snickered, looking down at my chart. “And who wrote “IT’S DOCTOR MILES CAVENDISH III, YOU IMBECILES!” in emphatic red crayon on your chart?”
 
I hid the crayon I’d had Pepper sneak in to me under my pillow and tried desperately to look innocent.
 
“I think maybe the flying monkeys did it when they dragged everyone else away…” I mumbled. “Or maybe they were lemurs.” And the good doctor exploded into belly-heaving laughter.
 
“Okay, kid. Keep this up and I’ll have them up your dosage – you’re hilarious.” He snorted and reached up, tousling my hair gently. “And the lacerations on your scalp will probably sting when you finally wash your hair. I know you’re loving the pretty nurses giving you a sponge-bath, but…”
 
“I’m not really into the whole sponge-bath thing. Not my bag. I’m more into… well…” I trailed off and he got a lascivious look on his face. Just what I wanted. “Warm showers or baths. Alone.”
 
“Asexual, are we?” He teased. I met his gaze as well as I could – meaning that my eyes continually slid to the left of his (which were brown).
 
“Non-sexual. I would be Pansexual, but I’m just not into it yet. I’m a slow-developer.” He nodded.
 
“I’d noticed a marked lag in your physical aging. It’s like the Metheuselah Complex in reverse – you age half as fast as you should. You look about nine.”
 
“I’d look about twelve if I was wearing my clothes.” I hinted. He smiled sadly and shook his head. “Yeah, I know they’re destroyed.”
 
“It’s not just that…” He muttered, glaring suddenly at the floor. “The other thing I’m in here to tell you is that your house is gone.”
 
“Lemme guess…” I sighed, rolling my eyes to the ceiling. “Doombots?” At his nod, I growled. “Well, now I know we have a mole. My home address isn’t in the regular records: it’s in the encrypted records. My Encrypted Records!” I snarled. “Bastard, whoever he is, I’m gonna so bust his ass in court…” And then I burst out laughing.   “Because I can’t exactly eye-for-an-eye him… that would get me in trouble and him on the loose…”
 
Half an hour later, I grinned at Dr. El and announced that I would enact my most evil of evil plans after I woke up from my nap.
 
The next morning, I woke up and threw up all over my nurse.

---

I'm working on Part 4, but I was wondering if I should join one of the thousands of Marvel Comms. and post there (someone's gotta teach me how, first of course).

So any feedback is appreciated.
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Story part two

Jun. 7th, 2008 | 09:32 am
location: At home, sans coffee
mood: complacent complacent
music: A continuous loop of "My Humps" by the Black Eyed Peas

( You are about to view content that may not be appropriate for minors. )
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Bwa ha ha!

Jun. 5th, 2008 | 09:26 pm
location: Woozy-land
mood: accomplished
music: The Well Tempered Clavichord

Today, I got two fillings instead of the one I was supposed to have.  It took three tries for the first shot of Novacaine to go somewhere without a blood vessel and two for the second.  The first took care of the originally planned filling.  The second took care of my upper-right-hand-backmost-molar, which chipped for literally no reason.  I personally think it's a ploy, a very clever ploy, by my dentist to keep me in the chair for the rest of my natural life.

In other news, I'm posting the very first chapter of my newest fic... I don't know how to do anything on this site or any other, so the whole "posting" business: utterly over my head.

So here's a fic involving my OMC (Miles Cavendish) and his adventures in the Marvelverse... which I do not in any way, shape, or form own.  Anything that seems OOC for any characters is my own fault combining poor writing and the fact that I don't own a single Marvel comic (which is about to change, I'm sure.)  I'm not getting paid for this.  I have no money and suing would just make the prosecution look like an ass for picking on a chubby girl with glasses, no money, no degree, and no life.  But I clean my church's bathroom, so that's gotta stand for something... SOMEWHERE!!!

---

I was five when my parents killed each other and my baby sister. No, one did not kill the other, they all died at the same time. My sister Natalie and I were in the basement, playing with spare circuit boards at the time, and they died right in front of us. I threw up when baby Sarah’s head exploded, but Natty, even at eight, simply stepped over our parents and went upstairs to call 911.
 
It should be mentioned that this incident wound up shaping the rest of our lives. I don’t like stairs (am phobic about them, really) or alcohol. Natty is a Navy SEAL, a sniper, and I’ve heard that she’s training for Black Ops.
 
It should also be mentioned that I don’t play with circuit boards near my sister or in basements.
 
Actually, I don’t like going near basements at all – again with the stairs. And the basement.
 
Brr.
 
Anyway, that was then, and this is now… except I feel like I’d imagine my baby sister felt when my mother landed on top of her at the bottom of the stairs – popped like a rotten grape.
 
I’m hanging from the wall, my wrought silk suit in smoky tatters, with large shards of glass and metal sticking out of my chest. I must resemble, I assume, a piece of sadistic modern art. Study with glass, steel, and applicant-boy-genius. I’d laugh, but existing hurts enough.
 
The medics are combing through the debris. One comes up to me and moves to dismiss me as a corpse – but there’s the whole weird-anatomy thing I need to explain…
 
“Help me…” I manage. The medic stares at me in horror. “My heart’s not in the right place… Birth defect.” And suddenly I’m in an ambulance, and then I’m waking up in a cold white room.
 
A man in a white coat is standing over me with a concerned frown on his face. I only catch on that he’s even talking when I hear the dreaded “Mister”.
 
“I’m Doctor Cavendish.” I interrupt, my throat hoarse and coppery. The doctor above me pauses with a disbelieving stare. “Five PhD’s. Just ask the University of Limestone Ridge, UCLA-Berkley, and Harvard.” Hey, if I was just impaled. Shouldn’t my voice still sound like I’m talking underwater and feel like I’ve swallowed a hedgehog? “Wait… what year is it?” I ask.
 
“I’ll assume that this is your version of ‘could you please tell me how long I’ve been unconscious, doctor?’ and answer that you’ve been here close to a month.” At the dry tone, my jaw drops. A month? “And you were in a coma brought on by the severity of the trauma you suffered."

The list of injuries he monotones like a desert is longer than I expect - how did my bowel get punctured?!  My lungs collapsed? I have broken ribs and a shattered left elbow? I may never play the violin again?  I don't play the violin, doctor, so how about piano?  Yes? Great!  I could barely play it before...

But what really takes the cake is the glowing disc embedded in the center of my chest.

A Stark Artificial Heart.


---

Just as a note, I took the Artificial Heart idea from the movie.  And Miles's heart?  It was upside-down and backwards towards the right side of his ribs...

Euwch...

Much love and Joy,
Scarfnin...


FANGIRLS! (as the verb, not the plural noun)

NERDS! (as above)
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My mouth hates me

Jun. 5th, 2008 | 12:15 pm
location: rocking back and forth in fear and discomfort
mood: scared scared
music: none

Now, usually, when a person says that a part of their anatomy dislikes them, they mean that said part is actually being offended or non-operational.

My mouth hates me because one of my teeth broke last night.

It didn't hurt or anything - it still doesn't hurt - but there is currently a hole in my tooth where I recently had a filling.  And the filling isn't what broke.

So I'm angry at my teeth, but for once, I'm grateful to be going to the dentist's office.  I have to get a filling anyway, so he may as well talk about the huge hole in my rearmost upper right molar.

Stupid teeth...

Scarf-nin
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Muggy days are not my cup of bark tea...

Jun. 1st, 2008 | 07:00 pm
location: letting the mood take me away
mood: awake
music: Pennsylvania Six-Five-Thousand

Today it got up near seventy, and humidity was up as well.  Now, I'm sure that some people would call a muggy day in the upper sixties/lower seventies a godsend, but seeing as how I live in the USA's left armpit (if we consider our continent belly up and north as the head-area), and the highest temperatures I can remember in my area being in the nineties - once - I'd say this was pretty uncomfortable.

And maybe my fleece pj pants weren't such a great choice.

On the other hand, I've got a list for anyone who bothers to read this (my boyfriend seems to be the only one.):

ADD_SCARFNINJA'S CURRENT PROJECTS:
- FORRESTER AND KOWALSKI, PI'S (A look at what would happen if there was a booming metropolis in Aroostook County, Maine, and every mythological creature I'm aware of existed in some form or another)
- THE SHADOW OF MANA (A tale which follows the characters of Squaresoft's (tm) awesome RPG: Secret of Mana, after the game is over)
- THE WITCHING HOUR (A horror story)
- WEST PILLAR (Another horror story with a sort of secret agent feel to it)


I'll be working on more as time goes by, but for now I'd just like to finish these.

By the by, does anyone out there know anything about this old Universal movie I have: The Creature from the Black Lagoon?  I'm surprised that there's no online fanfiction that I've been able to dig up.

c'est fin...


GUATEMALAN FLYING SQUIRRELS ARE EATING MY PANTS!!!

Scarfnin
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My Sandwich has a beret...

May. 28th, 2008 | 11:51 pm
location: Napping at the laptop
mood: amused amused
music: "Creature from the Black Lagoon" Soundtrack

According to some quiz or another, "addscarfninja" is an adjective which means "smells like turnips at all times."  My real full name means "benevolent to a fault", and my boyfriend's full name means "A person with a taste for acorns".  Weird, huh?
What's weirder, is that one of my old pennames was "Goddess Benign"... except that it never worked as an e-mail address... apparently, people don't like to think of me as a deity, and my extremely Baptist parents made me take it off... but I'm a rebellious teen, and my rebellious older sisters and revoltist younger sis have worn the folks down to a manageable level.

add_scarfninja... AWAY!!!

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Parades=3VIL!!!

May. 26th, 2008 | 01:56 am
location: making my tush fall asleep instead of the rest of me
mood: sleepy sleepy
music: Jigglypuff's Lullaby

It is currenlty 1:53 am by my alarm clock.

It is set to go off at 7:00 am.

This is because I have to march down Main Street with a bunch of Middle Schoolers, tootling away at some 4th grade-level music on my piccolo.  Or my flute.

At 8:30 am...

I am not a morning person (glances at the clock again)... clearly.

Also, I've got to head from that particular engagement back home, change into my blue polo, and then head up to Lincolnville to get on the bandwagon - literally.  I have to be on the truck, riding up the road, at 10:00 am.

Which cuts the time I get to spend with my boyfriend, who has the patience of a saint and the brain of Thoth (and usually, the humor of Loki), sadly short.

Which sucks more than the getting up early part.

Because my father, a member of the same band I'm in (along with his sister and one of their brothers) cannot shut up when it comes to the people he knows.  It's like a disease or something.

I'm just praying for some cool weather tomorrow (not too cold, and not foggy (I still panic since my boyfriend [due to the fine, cruel hand of Loki or maybe even Strife] had me watch part of The Mist [and have I mentioned how much I hate horror movies?])

Marching in a heavy polo-shirt is no fun in 65-70 degree heat.

Desparately seeking Hypnos,
add_scarfninja

... I didn't know you could do that with a ham sandwich...

(I think I got that from a webcomic called Bhag.  My favorite character had no name... and thought he was Satan's Bunny...)

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I've exhausted my resources...

May. 24th, 2008 | 09:18 pm
location: busting my spine by sitting weird
mood: blah blah
music: Ram-Jam Black Betty

As a writer, I'm afraid I'm running out of steam.  I'm not getting as much inspiration as I used to, and I've been having trouble sleeping.  Personally, I think this is another "Attention/Obsession Shift".

I have an excruciatingly difficult time maintaining attention around things I don't care about of am simply uninterested in, whereas I'll obsess over other things.  For instance: while it is impossible for me to focus on any menial task that doesn't involve creativity as a central theme - like cleaning my room or doing homework - I am quite content to sit still for hours in front of my laptop, hashing out a new paragraph for each of my 20,000 or so stories or cradling one of my thousands of notebooks whilst smearing away with one of my many mechanical pencils at yet another sketch of my infinate effeminates.

I also seem to have phases - writing phases and artwork phases.  And I believe that I'm exiting a writing phase and entering an artistic one.  I'm okay with this if only because I have most of what I have been thinking about, story-wise, written down somewhere in little snatches of plot, dialogue, character sheets, and/or backstory.

So much for finishing up my detective tale...

add_scarfninja

Squirrel?

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Blah...

May. 22nd, 2008 | 10:47 pm
location: Scarfnin HQ
mood: calm calm
music: twitchy la-las in mah brain

I despise the dentist.

Don't get me wrong, he's a perfectly nice guy...

But I don't really like to have my jaw hanging open for two or three hours just for one filling.  He wanted to do two - and so did my mom - but I didn't think I could sit through four-to-six hours of him drilling substantially more than I can psychologically stand.

And my mother wrote all over one of my stories.

Grr...

But enough of my whining - I found poltran.com today and have been going nuts with Polish for a couple of stories I'm writing.

One of these is a detective story involving two Private Eyes from a city that doesn't exist.  Their first mission turns out to be taking pornographic pictures of a husband and wife.  Then it all goes downhill from there.

The other story is a fanfiction for Due South.  I like Ray Kowalski more than Ray Vecchio, but I also like seeing Mountie-sandwiches and such, so deal.  Besides, I haven't forgotten to add my stereotypical OMCs (Kell McQueen, Isa Kowalski, and Whitney Spenner by name...), so it's not all slashity goodness...

And if you despise slash and/or are a homophobe, I really don't want to hear it.  Love is love, no matter where it be found, and if anything wicked (like, say, slaughtering a kid just for being gay) is done in the name of God, it is still sinful and wrong, whereas even a saintly deed done in the name of Satan will be accepted as saintly in the eyes of God.

But that's just my take on things, and you don't have the right to tell me I'm wrong any more than I have the right to tell you that you are - it's an opinion, not a law.  Or even a rule.  Or a suggestion.  Just IMHO...

Turtles...
Scarfnin

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I have no life

May. 22nd, 2008 | 02:46 am
location: In bed
mood: tired tired
music: just what's in my head

I don't really know how this is all going to work, since I've never really done this before.

It took about twenty minutes for me to get past step two, but I'll add in here what I couldn't seem to include there:

add_scarfninja is not just my username, it's also who and what I am.  Seriously.

My senior year of high-school, my ADD with inattentiveness (I pay no attention to things that don't interest me, much to the real world's chagrin...) manifested at the arrival of Naruto on Cartoon Network and I found myself wearing a scarf the whole year.

Granted, last year was pretty chilly, but that doesn't excuse that my place in the yearbook was for "most unique" and you can't even see my face.

Whatever.

It's too late for typing, and someone will undoubtedly come upstairs and twitch at me for typing at ten 'til three in the funking morning...

Sighs,
add_scarfninja

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