Let there be kink, sort of

Alright, Danz went to bed so that means its safe to talk shit about him. Well, not talking shit really, but I know he may or may not appreciate this in the morning. But he's already seen a great deal of it.

So it seems our boy has a little hero worship, and a while ago I threatened more or less to write some fanfiction *shudder* _{oh god} with him and one of his actor heroes. I couldn't do that with a straight face though so I dropped it. It was funny to watch him virtually sweat though.

Then I picked it up again, for whatever reasons, I've been extremely bdsm/kink inspired. Rather than start something totally new I just went back to this. And I still can't keep a straight face while writing it but now that he's gone I may just be able to finish it. What is it you say? Well shoot, read it why don't you?

It's still got some fanfiction-y elements, obviously, but really I'd think of it less as "fanfiction" and more fantasy gone extremely awry. Technically that's all fanfiction is, but you really have to remove any semblance of familiarity from this or I think you might actually go crazy. In short, I'm depraved and I don't care. If I ever manage to finish the whole thing I'll probably just store it in my writing journal, away from you good respectable readers, but for now have a taste of my sick vision.

_{Note: That intro was all in jest, I'm out to scar your mind.}

Warning: Man-on-man relations, kink, bondage, burning, typos, in-jokes


The throbbing noise of the disappointed and hysterical fans outside died in his ears as soon as he stepped in the room. The door shut behind him mere seconds after he crossed the threshold into the crimson-colored room, dimly lit and sparsely furniture. He cynically noted the blatant cliché, right down to the shag carpeting and faint scent of patchouli in the air. Even the lamps were draped. Was this a meet and greet or the set of a low budget 70s throwback porn? It was hard to say.

What set him off completely was the figure in the shadows, lounging on the strangely modernist, sleek black couch. He was swilling a glass of wine in his hand but looking wholly uninterested at the drink, and the bottle currently lying on its side on the table in front of him seemed to attest to this. But there were other things, like a half-heartedly open pack of cigars, a beautifully designed butane lighter, and a silver case with a European dragon carved on the front. Had he interrupted something? The thought made him a little uneasy as he walked across the room slowly as if on glass.

“Mr Craig?” he said gently. The man peeked up a minute with the sort of bored ennui he’d always imagined actors had for their overzealous fans. Or contempt at least, especially when faced with such a forced meeting. For the first time since hacking his way into this little contest he began feeling doubt, and what’s more, remorse. Could he turn back and leave now, and leave everything he’d ever wanted in the world?

Just as he began moving back, apologies already on his lips and head bowed, the man stood up, setting his glass on the table in the process. He ran a hand through his sandy hair and let out a sigh.

“So you’re the winner are you?”

“Yes sir.”

“Was expecting a girl,” Daniel said with a smirk. “They enter these things in droves, fucks up the results.”

“You’ve got male fans too, you know.”

“Right, of course…” Daniel folded his hands behind his back and began to pace. “What’s your name?”

“D—”

“Do you mind if I call you cheap bitch?”

The words died on his lips. His mind was reeling in outrage, a thousand insults bursting between his ears but only indignant squeaks fell from his mouth. He stared in wide-eyed horror as Daniel came at him far too fast, dressed in a white button down that he just realized was wide open, displaying his fine physique. Before he could make another move his wrists were bound in a fierce grip and he was staggering backwards and would have fallen. Instead he was barely kept on his feet by the painful force around his wrists, cutting off circulation to his hands. And then he was on the ground, thrown forcefully and out of breath. He tried scramble up but his fingers were entangled in the shag—it would have been comical if he weren’t so confused, and if it weren’t for the knee currently pressing down on his ribcage.

“As long as you’re in this room, we’ll call you D. You answer to nothing else. Don’t do anything unless I say so. Don’t even breathe.”

A strong hand wrapped around his throat, effectively cutting off his air. His eyes bulged as he clawed desperately at the hand around his throat, but he was quickly getting light-headed. His struggling slowed then finally stopped completely as time slowed and his vision became blurry. After what felt like several minutes, the hand was gone and Daniel no longer in his line of vision. He coughed and swallowed, his mouth dry and lined with cotton as he lay on the floor in a stupor.

“It’s good you’re putting up a fight,” he heard over his head, but the voice sounded miles away. “The past couple of nights have been too easy for my tastes.”

He heard a door open and for a fleeting moment hoped it was he exit, someone come to save him from this sudden lapse of madness. But no one came. Feeling stronger, he sat up and looked around him. His captor was at the end of the room rummaging in what appeared to be a closet of some sort. Daniel popped back into the main room and shut the black door behind him. In his hands he carried a red ball and his glare was mean and heavy.

“Did I tell you to get up?”

“You didn’t tell me to stay down either.”

Another smirk, this one more sinister. “That’s true. You’ve got a mouth on you, don’t you?”

Daniel crossed the room again and loomed over his victim. D could see that the ball had black straps hanging down from the sides and suddenly everything clicked in his mind. His mouth opened, prepared to let out a horrified scream of alarm, but he didn’t get much more than a gasp before the ball gag was shoved in his mouth, tied so tightly behind his head he could feel it cutting into the bridge of his nose. A second later and Daniel loosened the straps but not by much, and certainly not enough to make the situation any more comfortable. D still managed to howl around his gag, the sound forcing silvery strands of saliva down his chin.

Daniel gripped his victim’s chin and forced it around to look him directly in the eyes. “You can scream until your blue in the face, no one out there is going to come in and save you. In fact, please do scream, I want you to.”

Another muffled scream followed by a short burst of sobbing before D went completely limp. Daniel threw him down like discarded rubbish and went over to the walls. He began to strip the hanging lamps of their warmly decorated scarves. This didn’t improve the dim lighting of the room D noticed, not that it mattered at present. Daniel was coming back over to him and he numbly registered his wrists behind tied over his head. Then he was being dragged across the floor, his head just avoiding bumping into the steel legs of the table. His wrists were bound to the table, which was either very heavy or nailed to the floor; D couldn’t say which from his perspective.

The actor hovered over him now, cigarette lighter and cigar in hand. D blinked bemusedly at the objects, having a vague notion of what could be done with them but not making the connections in his brain. Daniel lit the cigar and took a long drag off it, staring his victim in the eye the whole time. When he was done he plucked the red ball from D’s mouth and hovered close to his mouth, exhaling. The smoke floated to his eyes and made them water, and the smoke snaking into his throat made him hack and cough. The ball snapped back between his lips, smacking his teeth and making him cry out in pain. Daniel smiled over him, a gesture that would have been described as winning or charming by the press, but in this context it felt so horribly hollow. That smile wasn’t for him, it was for his suffering.

Still smiling, Daniel nudged his captive’s shirt slowly, as if measuring the individual inches, feeling the lightly haired young stomach. His fingers crept on the flesh like a growing vine, making invisible etchings and nonsensical words as he went up. The shirt was pushed until it bunched neatly under D’s chin. Dark nipples peeked at him as he swiped his hands over them, carefully keeping the lit cigar out of the way. He pinched and rolled the nubs between his fingers, pulling them in short jerks. D’s breath hitched in his throat in horror, but something deep in his mind responded, more primal than the utter terror he was feeling right now. Against his will he let out a low moan, pausing in horror and hoping his captor had not heard.

The sly smirk signaled he had.

“Like that do we?” Daniel sneered, slapping his victim’s chest. The cigar briefly met flesh and D cried out in pain. It came down against but stayed this time to eat away at his flesh. His screams became louder but hoarser as Daniel made long, cursive strokes all across his chest. By the time he was done D had tears dripping into his ears, threatening to fill them with their salty remorse. Daniel merely laughed and finished the cigar off, then put it out in the hollow of his victim’s throat, eliciting another painful howl.

His hands returned to his captive’s nipples, squeezing them as if he’d bring forth milk or blood. D only clamped his teeth down on the gag in his mouth, determined not to scream this time. That, and he didn’t think he had it in him to make any more noise, it’d already proved quite futile now.

As if he’d read his mind, Daniel looked down with another charming but hollow grin. “You finally stopped screaming. That’s too bad, the best is yet to come. What shall we do next, hm?”

The Treachery of the Hills

Well, today was my first day back tutoring! It felt good--without a couple of staunchly Republican, over tanned, over fake elements there (what?) it went very smoothly. I had so much fun!

You'd never know I had walked thirty minutes in the snow in freezing temperatures uphill just to be there!

Yes, even now I can't quite type because my hands are so, so frosty. It was way too cold to bike so in my logic I walked. I've GOT to find out where these school buses come from, SURELY I look like a middle schooler.

But it was great. Me and my normal kid did vowels and he was very well behaved, then another girl read to us (very well!) and I helped another with homework. Then it was over :/ ...and I had to walk back.

You know, I love snow, but this shit right here? This shit right here?

So...I've been working on two separate stories lately. They're more or less kiddie stories. One I've posted excerpts from before and is the mermaid tale I've been trying to work on so long. The other I'm working on now is more or less a fairy tale...I love fairy tales as I've mentioned a few times before. Older ones, some contemporary ones...I try my hand at them every now and then but lately I've been feeling lucky and I think I've gotten better at combining my favorite elements almost seamlessly into something coherent and readable while still being myself.

Yes, it is time for an excerpt. This story is about a little girl lost and loster still. It's a strange mix of Alice in Wonderland and one of my favorite gruesome tales, Bluebeard. Those are the two main inspirations, then of course the typical "magical elements" I suppose. If it doesn't turn out too freaky I think I'll post the whole thing here.

Annabelle was hopelessly and irretrievably lost at this point. All it was, was a few right turns on a dirt road, behind the trees, through a field…she should have known when the houses she recognized began thinning out, and she should have realized for sure when the houses abruptly disappeared completely. There was no denying it now, she was quite a ways from home.

“Drat it all,” she muttered softly. “I do hate getting lost.”

She sighed and flopped down in the grass, staring at the clouds as they sailed by. Her golden ringlets sprawled like spilled silk across the emerald plain and she twirled a finger absently through the strands. The sky was so beautiful this afternoon, the grass so soft and warm under her that she was loath to rise again. The countryside was always so beautiful in the summer, she had never adventured out this far before and it was more wondrous that she could have hoped for. She would have to visit this quiet place again, if she ever figured out exactly where “here” was.

Another languid sigh and Annabelle rose to her feet. She didn’t have time to lie around and lounge, although being on the ground certainly meant she wouldn’t get anymore lost than she was. Still, it was foolish to hope that she could just lay there and be found; after all, who would think to look for her way out here? She trudged on with her school bag hanging heavily from her shoulder, switching it from left to right as she moved along, but all that did was make both her shoulders ache at the same time. To add to her frustration, the pretty, soft grass was becoming drier and drier, itching at her bare ankles.

After walking what felt like an entire mile in the seemingly never ending field, Annabelle spied a grey wall in the distance. Now dragging her book bag on the ground, she hurried toward it. As she came closer, she realized the wall was perhaps about waist level and appeared freshly built. The stone was very cleanly and uniformly cut and just beyond it the grass was visibly much lower and, best of all, she could see a well-worn path. Annabelle stopped at the wall and hesitated, panting in exhaustion.

“Well, it’s not quite right to just hop over a wall is it?” she pondered aloud. “But then again, I am very lost.”

With a shrug, Annabelle tossed her school bag over the wall. She waited a moment, but to her surprise she didn’t hear the dull thump one would expect from a heavy object hitting the ground. Annabelle blinked then peered over the wall. What she saw made her gasp: instead of land, what lay below was a very deep, deep valley, so deep that if she had jumped along with her bag she would have surely broken her neck, or worse. The beginning of the path was at the foot of the wall several feet below, where her bag now lay, her books all spilled out in the dust. Annabelle pulled back from the wall in fear that she would fall over as well.

“That certainly isn’t the way,” she said, voice trembling.

And now I'm going to defrost my nipples.

Wars & Little Girls pt. 2 aka iWritesometimes

Well, in this previous post I talked about this weird ass i-deer I had involving Cold War history and little girls. Actually, you know, the early phases of the Cold War is probably one of my favorite periods of US history. I don't think I mentioned that but it is. I also realize that Sir Winston didn't have much if anything to do with the whole Cuban Missile Crisis/Bay o' Pigs fiasco but damnit I couldn't help myself.

Anyway, I also threatened excerpts to illustrate what I was talking about, so once again you can file this in the expansive "What the fuck is Xands going on about?" category.

In other news, holy shit I actually finished something not school related. I am elated!

Wisteria & Joanna discuss the Cuban exiles:

Wisteria jabbed a thumb behind her in the general direction of three girls. One, the tallest girl, had jet black hair slicked into a whip-like pony tail that trailed halfway down her back. The second, a few inches below the tallest girl, was dressed in something that resembled an elaborate bridesmaid dress, cream colored with frilly lace about the sleeves. She looked horribly uncomfortable in the noonday sun and had trouble keeping up with her comrades. The third girl, the shortest of the trio, wore a simple black polo shirt with white shorts and tennis shoes. Her hair was cut in an unfeminine bowl shape and her general appearance was most un-girlish.

Joanna looked at the girls then back at Wisteria. “They’re…”

“Exiles, yes. They used to hang around Fidelita but they just stopped...” Wisteria sucked on her candy thoughtfully a moment, recalling information. “My sources said that they stopped liking her one day, when she started talking about wars between the classes and how she wanted to build the playground from the bottom up. She has a new vision, they said, and she wanted to keep all their money and property so they fled to this side. But they claim they can drum up support for a takedown of Fidelita and her little gang, a lot of them are unhappy too.” Wisteria looked over longingly at the far right side of the playground. “Yeah right…she’s giving out free popsicles…”

Joanna rolled her eyes and gave a last weary look to the three exiles. She shrugged and kicked at Wisteria’s shoes. “Wisty!”

Fidelita runs her business:

“I train my soldiers to be resilient…” Fidelita muttered. She licked the popsicle in her hand, letting the tip of it rest against her tongue, before looking at it with disdain and dropping it on the floor. “We gave you everything you could ever want, and now you will pay.”

The two girls began spinning the wheel faster and faster, running around gleefully and laughing. When they could go no faster they dropped the wheel, the metal thudding against the ground and sending the girl upwards. She landed painfully on the rusty imprints and cried out. The wheel was slowing but not stopping and the plastic ties that bound her to the rods were digging into her wrists. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the wheel began slowing, then it finally came to a stop when Fidelita slammed her Mary Jane clad foot on the edge.

“Get her up.”

She also doesn't travel without her girls:

“I’d have preferred this meeting alone?”

“I know you would have,” Fidelita said, offering a smirk of her own. “I go nowhere without these two though. Josefa, Ernesta, show Nika how we do business.”

Josefa punched her fist and cracked her knuckles while Ernesta merely cocked her hip and rested a hand on it. Nika didn’t like these girls and their over confidence, but in a way she admired them for standing up to her. Most of the playground cowered in her presence with the exception of these girls and the two powers on the west. With a single shoulder shrug, Nika turned around and led the three girls up the hill.

Fidelita, Josefa & Ernesta discuss a potential US invasion:

“Ernesta,” Fidelita called wearily.

“I trust her about as much as you do, but she’s right,” Ernesta said bluntly. “With her little projects we’ll soon be in control of the playground.”
“It’s not about control, it’s about ideals,” Josefa grumbled. “What’s the point of being in control when your vision is so strongly compromised? And what about this so called US invasion?”

“That, I do not doubt her on,” Fidelita muttered. “You don’t send spies to enemy lines for no reason.”

“They don’t have the man power, or the Tinker Toys,” Ernesta said with an eye roll. “To stop a US invasion all you must do is say ‘No’ to them.”

“In any case, let us get the troops and our pens ready. We have waited for the Motherland to come to us, and now the Great White Hope will soon be at our doorstep. And we will let them in and their only reward will be tea and Nyquil.”

That whole "uprising"? Didn't work:

As Joanna, Lindy, and Wisteria exited the restroom they heard a shriek. Lindy and Wisteria ran towards the sound, with Joanna lagging behind as she was carrying Roberta on her back and what they saw horrified them.

The three exiles were tied to Fidelita’s dreaded Merry-Go-Round and the thing was spinning fast. Fidelita’s cackles could be heard all down the playground as could the screams of the girls. Joanna paled at the spectacle and covered Roberta’s eyes.

“Wow, can’t be gone five minutes ‘fore disaster strikes,” Lindy said.

Ernesta gets the last word:

Nika’s head snapped up at the biting accusation. Her jaw clenched and she prepared to stand, but ended up only griping the table in indignant fury. Ernesta looked down on her a few moments more before suddenly swinging around and swiftly making her way back up the hill. Near the crest she stopped and spoke without turning around.

“As your last remaining willing ally in this, let us know when you decide,” she said, then vanished up the hill.

Wars and little girls

So, finals are coming up this week, ergo Xands is obviously going to need something to do so she doesn't have to study and pass her classes.

Uhh.

Anyway, I was quite inspired by a lecture my history Prof R gave today (which I seriously have to talk about in another post) to write what would almost be considered fanfiction. Long story that one.

So I decided to delve into something called moe anthropomorphism or basically giving life & characteristics to a non-living object or concept. Countries, weaponry, operating systems. Anything can be cute by throwing on a dress & big eyes! Like everything from Japan right? Except so less creepy.

So we're talking about the Cold War and for some reason Prof R mentions the sexual tensions between the USSR and America. I, still taking notes, go *blink blink* and this idea forms in my head.

It goes like this. I combine the events of the Bay of Pigs Invasion & the Cuban Missile Crisis and put them on the playground (aka the World). Then I took the major players (and Winston Churchill) and made them adorable little girls. The Cold War will be Kinder-ized.

The way I'm handling it, it's more of a humorous concept but I've seen similar ideas handled in a semi-serious manner. It's an interesting concept to play with, reducing world powers to children...suddenly everything makes sense no?

I'm actually nearly done writing it since it's a little one off, I'll try to post excerpts from it without freaking out you gentle readers out there sense there are some situations in it that have me counting up my Bail Reserve money. But now, a little character list.

Good Guys:

Joanna Kennedy: Representing John F Kennedy/USA
Joanna's a happy go lucky little girl with the weight of the world on her shoulders--literally. Beneath her happy facade she hides a more insecure, indecisive side of herself. Between trying to decide whether to invade Fidelita's side of the playground and what to do about Nika, Joanna is a very stressed little girl that relies on the advice of her little sister Roberta, Wisteria, and Lindy Johnson. She also consults with Izzy Eisenhower but the two of them are pretty estranged.

Roberta Kennedy: Representing Robert Kennedy/USA
Roberta is about 3 years old but very wise. She presides over her sister's relations with Fidelita to free up her sister's hands to deal with Nika. Unfortunately, because she's not quite up to making full sentences yet, her words are sometimes misinterpreted...

Lindy Johnson: Representing Lyndon B Johnson
Lindy also advises Joanna but in contrast to the subtle Wisteria Lindy is loud, opinionated and sometimes forceful. She deeply resents Fidelita and wants Joanna to steer way clear of her.

Wisteria Churchill: Representing Great Britain/Winston Churchill
Wisteria is a somber, wise cracking little girl full of sage advice. She tries to advise Joanna more subtly and encourages her to make the right decisions. She's way more leery about Nika than she'll ever be about Fidelita and frankly doesn't see her as much of a threat.

Izzy Eisenhower: Representing Dwight Eisenhower
Izzy's no longer controller of the Western portion of the playground and she's fine with that--she just wishes Joanna would run things her way. She doesn't converse much with her successor except on the issue of Fidelita; Izzy has mixed feeling about trying to over throw Fidelita. She also doesn't like Wisteria at all.

Bad Guys:

Nika Khrushchev: Representing Nikita Khrushchev/USSR

Queen of the Biggest Monkey Bars on the playground and ever expanding, if everyone doesn't outright fear Nika they are at least wary of her. Nika has a plan for the whole playground if everyone would just play along, especially the Western half. Nika frequently tries to compromise with her nemesis Fidelita but the two just can't seem to see eye to eye on anything. Most of all, Nika wants Fidelita's portion of the playground to build more of her giant monkey bars. But what exactly are they for?

Fidela "Fidelita" Castro: Representing Fidel Castro/Cuba
Fidelita is a head strong little girl and probably the most vicious on the playground. She doesn't tolerate traitors and prefers fight to diplomacy most of the time. She knows what Nika is up to but Fidelita has plans of her own and isn't about to let Nika mess them up.

Ernesta Guevara & Josefa Fernandez: Fidelita's crew, her diplomatic end and her force end respectively. Fidelita trusts these girls with her life--although lately she's been trusting Ernesta less and less. Ernesta seems more interested in being peaceful with Nika but Fidelita would rather not.

Even further than I can take

Well, I try to stray from emo-ness in my blog entries and talk about substantial things, and I really want to, but schoolin' is currently driving me up a damn wall and over it.

It seems that I won't be able to make my Mockingbird entry before the deadline, which ironically enough frees me up to do MORE things...sigh. That doesn't mean I want to stop writing it because it's become something personal to me--maybe too personal.

My English class...sucks. Not enough to make me switch majors but I never do research right. Ever, apparently. It's not that she's too harsh or too strict, I just wish she'd remember that most of us have more than one class to fucking take this semester. I'm getting really annoyed with her piling work on us, and she's really helpful but I've never learned anything by having heaps of work dumped on me at a time and I never will, and all it does is irritate me! I like my teacher, she's pretty nice and kind, but I may be telling her to fuck herself in so many words pretty soon. This was an old tactic I used my last two years of high school...a lot. Basically it involves me just standing by my work grade or no grade.

Now obviously this is a foolish move to make at any grade level but at college level, with my money riding on this shit it's more so. But..yeah, seriously, she needs to go in depth about these assignments. Sometimes when you've got your whole class confused, it could just be us; then again, maybe it's you. Maybe it's all of us! But this is really ridiculous, the assignments are so simple they turn out to be really difficult. I could just go see about it during office hours but when do I have fucking time?!

I can't stand this. It always feels like my hard work is for nothing when it comes to school...

And now, excerpts!

The day started off with orange juice and a newspaper. A sure sign that the week would be askew, breaking my ritualistic habits like that. I’d never started off my morning with the paper before—orange juice, sure, but the paper was usually reserved for the afternoon. I’m glad I did though, or else I would have never learned about my professor’s death.

Dr. Lourdes, or simply Lourdes as he preferred, was my World History professor. Ol’ Lourdes was found last night, the paper said, in one of the dumpsters on the side of Bledsoe Hall to the east. A female student was throwing out some very late night trash—so she said—and heard something thumping rhythmically against the side of the dumpster. She tried to put it off to the wind, she says, but the thumping was so powerful she just had to take a look. So she whips out her cell phone and by its pale light she saw a blood-stained foot hanging from the side slot where Mister Murderer—that’s what I called him—had so haphazardly thrown him, tapping in time to some invisible tune. The poor girl dropped her phone and ran back to Bledsoe screaming, well, murder.

“Mangled” the paper said, mangled over and over. It struck me as a good word to use; “mangle” can conjure up all kinds of nastiness. And nastiness this was, downright sloppy. The paper also described it as “overkill”. Ol’ Lourdes had a startling sixty stab wounds in his stomach, chest, back, and legs. If that wasn’t heinous enough his neck was broken and both his legs had been damn near severed from his body, and on top of that his ankle was shattered, which the doctors said probably accounted for the thumping. It was like it wasn’t even attached to his leg anymore it was broken so bad. His scalp had been ripped from his head and his eyes partially gouged, that piercing hazel glance now mush hanging from his sockets like so much yolk. It occurred to me, halfway through the article, that this person not only wanted Lourdes to cease living but to suffer the whole time. And personally, I kind of hoped they would never find him, crazy bastard.

Finishing off my orange juice, I grabbed my cell phone off my dresser and reset my alarm. In light of these events I assumed, I think correctly, that class was cancelled; ergo I could catch another hour of sleep.

...

When my alarm beeped again it was noon. I stretched a minute, shaking off that good sleep then set about putting on some clothes and just making myself decent for class. I was rolling on some rather pungent deodorant when I noticed the tiny crack in the mirror over the sink. It was at the bottom, near the metal rim in the right-hand corner if I recall correctly. The mirror was old—the whole damn room was old—so I didn’t think much of the fracture, especially when I was in a hurry to make it to my English class. I checked myself again and looked at the crack a moment longer, then got my books and backpack and headed out the door.

... I took the stairs to get to the first floor from my third floor room and made it out the door in about as much time as the elevator would have taken. When I finally made it outside, warm air startled me after being cooped up in my cold dorm room most of the weekend. I was pretty grateful even though I knew I’d be sweating like the devil in about ten minutes. The walk to my second class of the day would have been so much easier coming from the Hilling building where the late ol’ Lourdes was located. From my hall, Mercer, it was about a fifteen minute day trip if I walked fast enough. And quickly I did walk as I didn’t leave myself much time to dally while slowly getting ready in the morning. About ten minutes later I began to see the big, round brick and marble building over the horizon, looking surprised to see me so soon with its glass doors propped open and most of the windows flung open to let in a little late autumn air. Briskly I strode into the building, up three flights of stairs then around a narrow hall to my English lit class with Dr. Kline.

...

“That’s right,” she said firmly, and I knew she was talking to me. I looked down at the five question quiz. It wasn’t long and the questions wouldn’t be too hard. But I was still recovering from Ol’ Lourdes’ massive, four-page test on all five chapters we had covered thus far. Lourdes was known for his frustratingly difficult tests, but I was known for my tenaciousness when it came to tough teachers. His test, however, seemed to have broken my spirit and several other people in the class as we all scratched our heads and balled up our scrap sheets. It occurred to me that I might never know how badly I did on that test.

They used to…pt 3b

Yes it's back, formatting issues and all. One day I'll figure out how to do one of those blog jumps (or blog-cuts, like lj-cuts :P). Not that they'll help because these parts will still be long as hell and weird lookin'.

Yay, next parts will definitely be picking up. Not shorter but picking up.

Huh, that's retarded. Why does scheduled publishing only work when it wants to? ~_~ I didn't mean to make this many posts in a day...oh well.


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

 

"Yes, I know! Alex this is so great!" Travis fairly squealed and balled his fists up in his glee.

"Yeah, great," Alex said softly. Antonio turned his head at the sound of Alex's voice.

"Voice recognition on," he said, his voice suddenly high-pitched and full of static. It returned to normal and he asked, "Who are you, sir?"

"I'm Alex, his friend."

Antonio closed his eyes for a moment then they shot open again. "I've stored you in my memory, Alex. Travis, if you don't mind I prefer Tonio."

"Right, right Tonio."

There was an awkward silence between the three men. Travis looked over at Alex nervously, who gave a helpless shrug. Antonio simply stood before them stoically, his eyes focused on the wall behind them and his body perfectly still. Alex swallowed and looked around the kitchen in panic.

"Uh…w-wow Travis you sure haven't dusted in a while. Tonio, why don't you help him?"

Antonio jerked as if electricity had jolted him to life. "I can do dusting."

"Great! Take the living room while you're at it. I think there's a Duster on the table or something."

Antonio marched into the living room and soon the soft sounds of the Duster sucking up debris were heard. Travis and Alex let out a simultaneous sigh of relief and collapsed into the two chairs around the table.

"That was rough. So, I can just tell him to do whatever I want huh?"

"Looks like it."

"This isn't at all like I thought it was gonna be…but I like it actually." Travis crossed his hands behind his head and let out another sigh. "No buttons to press or shit like that. I think I might have got you here Alex."

"How so?" Alex asked, taking off his gloves.

"He didn't seem very psycho to me at all. Very polite, actually."

Alex shot him a glance out the corner of his eye. "I said he would eventually go crazy, not now."

"Is not," Travis protested childishly. "He's gonna be fine. I think I might even have a new best friend—you've never dusted my house."

"Aw, fuck off," Alex grumbled and swatted at Travis. Antonio came back into the kitchen with the Duster and the two of them tensed up again.

"Living room all done?" Travis asked.

"All done. Doing the kitchen."

Antonio took to his task while Travis and Alex migrated towards the living room. Travis flopped on the couch and took up the whole space, leaving Alex to sit cross legged on the floor. He reached up to press the power button on the mounted lead crystal TV and immediately the evening news began flashing on the screen.

"Turn that off," Travis groaned. Alex grinned and obliged them, flicking through channels until he settled on cartoons.

"Better?" he asked.

"Much!" Travis sank deeper into his couch and Alex leaned back on his arms. The two of them howled and hooted and mocked the cartoons, drowning out the noise of Antonio's cleaning. Half an hour later the robot entered the living room and went unnoticed for another five minutes until he politely cleared his throat. Travis saw him first and did a double-take; he'd nearly forgotten his new prized possession.

"Kitchen's done," Antonio stated. "Dusted, cleaned the refrigerator."

"Oh! That's great Tonio! Man, when was the last time I cleaned that thing?"

"When was the last time we had Titan slug pizza?" Alex countered.

"Right…oh wow." Travis scratched his bald head and giggled. "Daaamn…"

"Anything else to do, sir?"

Travis looked over at Alex again but Alex didn't turn around; so he looked back over at Antonio and shook his head. Antonio gave a curt bow and backed away to the kitchen obediently.

Suddenly, Travis snapped his fingers and shouted, "Wait, I'll show you where you'll be sleeping!"

He hopped off the couch and led Antonio down the short hallway to the guest room across from Travis's own. Alex cringed; he knew that room well from the two or three nights he'd spent in it. It was small and painted a soft baby blue, with thick itchy blankets on the floor substituting as a bed and one large window that was great in the summer but horrible in the winter. The floor was hard and the carpeting had all the softness of a porcupodge. Not that a robot needed to sleep comfortably, if he needed to even sleep at all—recharge perhaps would be the better term. Still, Alex felt guilty about Antonio having such a Spartan room even though the rest of the house wasn't any more posh.

Travis opened the door to the guest room and ushered his robot inside. Antonio took a couple of glances around the room; it would be sufficient for his system to rest, but not much else. He sat cross-legged on his makeshift bed and dropped his hands between his knees, glancing out the window. Outside it was finally darkening in Tauri, the unseen sun casting a thin golden sheet across the sky, piercing and winding through the scattered cirrus clouds and casting deep shadows on the streets. The families of Tauri would all be at home, perhaps eating dinner or enjoying family time before turning into bed. Out the corner of his eye, Antonio glanced at his bachelor owner and gave a brief glower before his programming corrected his face with a sharp spark in his brain. He winced but Travis hadn't noticed; in fact, he was still standing in the door way dumb with joy, a gleeful smile stretching his face. Antonio wanted to roll his eyes but wasn't sure why or if he even remembered how, due to the Obedience chip planted in his body.

"I hope this is alright," Travis said finally. "It's all I've got."

"This is fine," Antonio said. The room went silent again, then Travis decided it best to leave his robot to his business. He gently shut the door and went back to the living room to see Alex preparing to leave.

"Goin' so soon? The fun's just started!" he whined.

"I think I've seen all my fun," Alex said. He pulled his gloves on with a loud snap. He looked in the general direction of Antonio's room and the corners of his mouth sagged. "Catch ya later, right?"

Travis nodded and watched Alex leave, only going back inside when the other man disappeared on the transport pad. He sighed and went back into his darkening home, turned on the living room light, and went to his newly cleaned fridge for some dinner.

 

They used to…pt 3a

Yep, I'm back to writing. They can't hold me down! Not even five classes for 3 days! Nope, not I.

So this is the third part and again it was long as the dickens so I split it up. What to say about this one... A&F having a pet store is a little joke and no, it doesn't make a bit of sense. "Tauri" I found while randomly scanning Wikipedia, apparently it's what scientists originally called Uranus thinking it was a star (34 Tauri) but at the same time it's also a group of ancient peoples. And that's just kinda interesting so I...borrowed it.

I'm a little perturbed about "Cuban-Spanish accent" because not every one knows what that sounds like (believe it or not). And it's just a weird description because technically that accent shouldn't exist. I think I'll change it later when I figure out something more suitable.

Hm, wow. Font is large. Why is it never good enough when it comes to Word? ~_~

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Vacation time was over a week later, and Alex had to return back to his job at Abercrombie & Fitch's fashionable pet department, simply called the Pet Department. He remembered when he was moved from the regular clothing store. Alex even remembered when A&F decided they wanted a pet department; he remembered because it was such a bizarre decision that made worldwide news, but the Figureheads up top thought it was cute and he couldn't deny that it brought in the rich crowd. He liked his job fine and would like it more if he weren't called in at such outrageous hours to do menial tasks such as stocking and shelving. But getting to play and interact with all the intergalactic animals was a bonus treat for him, so the cons evened out with the pros.

Alex was on break when his IMAGEphone began to ring. He pulled the slim device from his pocket, a smooth oval that fit perfectly in his palm. On the screen he saw Travis's name and pressed with his thumb, and a hologram image of Travis in his living room bouncing excitedly sprang up from the surface.

"You'll never guess what I gooot," he said in a sing-song voice.

"I guess you better tell me then," Alex replied.

Travis's face disappeared then the image panned around Travis's living room before coming to a stop on a figure in a large glass box. Alex thought of dolls on display in a store as he looked at the man who was wearing the shiny blue-grey jumpsuit of a personal robot. He came with a pre-packaged bundle of clothes and a small black flask next to his hip. The image wobbled a minute then Travis's face reappeared.

"See 'em? Isn't it great?"

"Yeah…" Alex replied, suddenly feeling uncomfortable. "When'd he get there?"

"This morning. You gotta come over after work so we can put him together."

"But he is together, isn't he?"

"Sort of." Travis leaned over out of view then came back with a folded list. He shook the list and it dropped into a long inventory that hit the floor. Alex's eyes widened as he stared at the directions, some of it English and some of it apparently chicken-scratch scrawled between paragraphs. Translations, he assumed, although he couldn't imagine for what language.

"What the hell?" he asked slowly. "What is all that even for?"

"Damned if I know. I can't even read some of this shit, that's why I need you over here."

"I'll…see what I can do." Alex ended the transmission. He closed his eyes and rubbed his temples, grumbling angrily. He then looked up and realized his break was over.

After work, Alex made a quick stop home to change clothes. As usual, Tim met him at the door.

"Hey buddy!" the task manager said merrily. He zipped over to his owner and perched on his shoulder. "Good day at work?"

"Fair," Alex answered. He still hadn't gotten used to having the overly-exuberant Tim around compared to his more complacent Darla. He sometimes wished Tim had a personality chip too, or a sedative program. He threw his rucksack on the couch and headed for his bedroom. He clapped to bring his wardrobe up from the floor, took his work clothes off, and threw them into the closet. The clothes vaporized inside and Alex gently brushed Tim off his shoulder.

"Where you goin' anyway?" Tim asked. His lips vanished and were replaced with a checklist with lines drawn through completed tasks. "You're supposed to be on the couch chillin'."

"Change of plans," Alex answered briskly. He picked Tim up and with the tip of his nail struck through the rest of his list. "I'm heading to Trav's to fix his robot."

"Ohhh. 'Kay, I'll mind the house."

The task manager hummed away and left Alex to dress himself. Alex turned to the wardrobe and contemplated what would be best for the job.

"Jumpsuit? Nah. Maybe…oh—black shirt and shorts, sneakers and gloves."

Alex stepped into the closet and the blue light formed his clothes and shoes. A separate light wafted down to form a pair of black elbow length, heavy rubber gloves. Satisfied, Alex dashed out the closet and headed for the door.

"Good luck," Tim said from the couch.

"Thanks, I'll need it."

Travis lived about ten minutes away from Alex if he walked slowly. Today he hurried, nearly beating the oncoming sunset. By the time Alex actually arrived the sky was just tinting itself with various oranges and pinks, the clouds parting to reveal a dull red sun on the horizon. Tauri was where Travis resided, a heavily guarded sphere community that hovered about three meters over another neighborhood. It was practically invisible except for the reflection of the sunset on its glossy surface and the only way in was an invitation from a resident. Under the sphere in an empty field was a circular transport pad for visitors. Alex was never quite sure how residents got in the sphere, Travis had tried to explain it once but it was such a complicated procedure that Alex forgot the details immediately afterwards. It had something to do with a password and he was sure there was another transport pad well-hidden somewhere else, he remembered that much. It didn't matter though, since he could never live in such a wealthy community.

Alex stepped onto the transport pad and waited for it to clear. The pad turned green and a light went up his body and vaporized him, carrying him directly to Travis's street. Inside the sphere it was still sunny even though the sun itself could not be seen. A warm breeze blew through the street, agitating the cypress and hybrid trees and stirring up a few dead leaves. It looked like perpetual afternoon even though outside it was nearing seven o'clock. Alex paused, taking in the neighborhood. He'd been here several times before but he was always entranced by its utter perfection. The houses were perfectly square but tall and wide, the lawns well-manicured by teams of worker robots, and there was at least one fruit-bearing tree in every backyard. The roads were wide and the sidewalks untouched by time and traffic, the driveways paved with chrome for their family aerocars. Alex knew Sirius Drive well but he had never gone beyond it, had never had a reason to. In fact, he had never gone far beyond Travis's house, which was the first on his block.

Travis's lawn was not as finely clipped as his neighbors and more rectangular in shape. It also had a more old-fashioned triangular roof, requested by Travis because he simply liked the aesthetic. He also didn't have a car in his driveway as he couldn't afford one, and the interior of his house was undoubtedly sparsely furnished unlike his neighbors. Alex took his time ambling to Travis's door and once on the porch, he pushed the doorbell and knocked.

A moment later the door swung open to reveal Travis grinning ear to ear. "Come on! I've been waiting for ages!"

"You could have started already…did you?"

Travis paid his friend no mind and bounded back inside. Alex followed him and the two of them went into the kitchen where the robot still stood in his glass container.

"So, how do we get him out?" Alex asked.

"I think the front comes off…like this." Travis grabbed the front of the box and slid it up. The glass was heavy and only moved a few inches despite Travis giving it his greatest effort. Alex pitched in and the two of them slid the door open until it clicked. Then Travis grabbed the robot by his sides and pulled him out. Now the robot stood in front of them, his eyes closed and his head drooping as if he'd fallen asleep standing up. His hair had been pulled back into a braid, his fingers manicured and a light touch of makeup to cover some of the deeper wounds on his face and hands. He was a few centimeters taller than Travis and Alex and broad shouldered, muscled without being too bulky—perfect for work, his creators must have thought.

"Wonderful," Travis said. He went to the kitchen table and grabbed the list of directions.

Alex snatched the directions and looked through them. "The directions themselves aren't the problem, it's the trouble shooting."

Travis took the directions back and looked at them again, more thoroughly this time. "This looks pretty easy but…why is the precaution list so long?" he asked with a slight tremble.

"I think we better just focus putting it together first. Read 'em out loud."

The robot, despite the directions claiming eighty-percent of his body was various metals, was fairly malleable and flexible as a normal human male. Alex sat the robot down and, per the directions, opened the flask and poured the contents into an opening at the base of the robot's neck.

"Some kind of 'memory juice' it says," Travis explained with a grimace. "Supposed to keep him…obedient? This gets weirder and weirder."

Alex just shook his head and stretched his own arms, then pulled on one of the robot's. He rotated one then the other, his legs and finally the feet. That done, Alex pulled the robot to his feet then unzipped his jumpsuit from behind and pulled it over the robot's shoulders. On the robot's left shoulder was a hole about the width of a pencil tip and embossed in tiny letters underneath was the word RESET.

"Gimme a paper clip or something…something so I can reset him."

"I don't think I've got a paperclip," Travis said as he rummaged through the utility drawer. "You want a screwdriver?"

"Too big."

"Nail? It's a long one."

"Let's try it."

Alex took the nail and gently pressed the reset button. It clicked and there was a humming noise from within the robot. His shoulder twitched then he abruptly stood erect, his shoulders and back rigid. He began relaxing again as if he'd suffered a shock of some sort, then there came a shuddering sigh from his lips. Antonio pulled his jumpsuit back up and zipped it. He then slowly turned to face his new owner with cold, dead black eyes.

"Travis Smith," he said mechanically, his voice labored by a Cuban-Spanish accent. "I am Antonio Gutierrez."

They used to…pt 2b

Weird, thought I'd posted this a couple of days ago. Or...perhaps that was the draft I accidentally deleted. Aaand I'm a ditz.

I think I even made some specific notes but I forget...well, off the top of my head, Travis's alien name is a little joke and Izotz, the Circuit City employee, his name is actually Basque. I like weird names and languages, and Basque is...certainly unique if you've never seen it. I was having trouble coming up with my own alien name but nothing sounded weird enough, if you can believe it. I was going to make note of his Basque name but that wouldn't have made sense in context of the story.

Lastly, it's time to ease up on the mobile task manager banter even though it's kinda funny. To me anyway :P

Hmm....more weird formatting...maybe I didn't "accidentally" delete that draft after all.
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Once at their destination, Travis and Alex stepped off the pads, a bit disoriented from the ride.

"I don't think we're even at the right Circuit City," Alex said and removed a gum wrapper from his hair.

"They're all the same aren't they?"

Travis pulled Alex towards the big red and slate grey building. An electronic banner over the doors projected "CRAZY PRICES 50% OFF RE-PROCESSED ROBOTS ANTIQUE CAMERAS HIGH-TECH FOOTWEAR" in big, bold, scrolling letters and a couple of worker robots stood holding the doors open. A burst of cool air ran over their skin as Travis and Alex stepped into the building. Worker robots, humans, and aliens of every color meshed noisily chatted on the main floor against the blare of glass-mounted televisions perched along the walls and radios and task managers swirling around on free-floating shelves. The inside of the building was enormous, the roof seemingly rising for miles into a dark abyss. The building was also brightly lit although the light sources were hidden, casting light on the grey walls and dark carpeting. Travis and Alex paced around a bit, Travis's hands firmly in his pockets and gripping his money.

"Hey!" a perky male voice called from behind him. The pair turned around and saw square lavender task manager on a floating, transparent disc zooming around behind them. On the device's screen was a pair of thin male lips and the beginnings of a goatee at the bottom. "What's up guys?"

"Oh look," Alex said, grabbing the disc. "One of the new ones.

"That's right! I'm a TMY-150 mobile task manager. I can hold up to three years of tasks and 12,000 personal contacts, improved voice recognition, customizable calendar, and I come in ten colors!"

"Wow," Travis said. "Pretty nice. How much you cost?"

"I run about $2,500 EC," the TMY-150 said. He moved in cagily towards Alex and whispered, "Between you and me though, I come with a bargaining chip if you get my drift."

"That's okay…I like mine," Alex said, pushing the disc away. The lips pouted and the TMY-150 gave a pout.

"Well, if you change your mind…let me know," he said and whirred away to join a cluster of lavender, red, blue, and lime green task managers.

Alex sighed and tapped his chin. "I sure would like a new one, some day."

"Maybe they'll have a sale," Travis said and grinned. "But how would Darla feel about you replacing her…?"

"Not good I bet. We have to find your robot, though. Look up there, I think that's it."

Alex pointed to a large dome on a raised platform with a tattered sign floating above it reading "RE CESSED BOS". The two glanced at each other before making their way towards the area. However, the closer they got to the area the higher it rose until the two of them realized they were facing a half-mile long flight of steps. The dome had a flattened top and a round, opaque glass door.

"Why the hell would they put it so high?" Travis wondered aloud, covering his eyes against the glare of the hidden lights.

"Because, sir, we've had a few…accidents already."

Travis and Alex whipped around and saw a black-clad employee with wet, lilac skin and a headset melded into his clean-shaven head. His arms were folded across his chest while a secondary set swung casually from his lower torso as he strolled between Travis and Alex to stand in front of him. He nodded to the staircase and took a few steps up, his secondary hands inviting the two to follow. After a moment of hesitation, Travis shrugged and went first. Alex, sizing up the walk, sighed and took off his Solars. The industrial rubber-nylon hybrid material had already begun weighing on his feet and he wasn't going to make the journey with them on; instead, he tied the laces together, hung the shoes around his neck, and scrambled after Travis and the employee.

The employee led at a leisurely pace, all four of his arms at his side and swaying as if in a breeze. "Last year we had some incidents with the re-processed ones. You know, I assume, how unruly these things can be depending on what they're made of, and the company really does not check for quality or sources." The worker alien rolled his amber eyes and sighed. "So we got a few live ones if you get my drift."

"What happened?" Travis asked, breathing heavily now.

"We had a couple of re-processed psycho murderers and a thief I think. It started with one child getting hurt, then some adults, an old woman was killed, then the robots got loose and…yeah, we shut down a couple of days for repairs. And lawsuits."

"But—but you're still selling them!" Alex exclaimed. The worker shot a furtive glance over his shoulder and grinned, displaying four rows of needle-sharp teeth.

"Let me put it this way. You heard the story and saw the staircase and you didn't leave. I've told that story to at least fifty people today and none of them left. What do you think?"

Alex muttered in his native Chinese under his breath and looked over at Travis; Travis, who either didn't hear the story or simply didn't care, had an exhausted determination about him that let Alex know he wasn't planning on stopping soon. With a sigh, Alex tied the strings of his Solars together, slung them over his neck, and continued hiking. Nearly half an hour of dragging and coercing later the three of them made it to the top of the stairs and to the enclosure. The alien worker pressed his hand against the door and it slid open with a sigh and another gust of air. Beyond the door were a handful of customers and two or three other workers on the floor checking prospective robots which lined the walls of the room in cylinders filled with clear fluid. The alien worker shut the door behind him and walked around to face Travis and Alex.

"This is the sale room," he said, gesturing to the cylinders. "I'm Izotz. Lonnie, Anne, and Keev are around somewhere. If you need help get one of them; when you're ready to purchase I'll be up here."

Izotz headed for the check-out counter in the middle of the room which had a line forming behind it already. Alone, Travis and Alex glanced around at the dozens of cylinders in the room. Alex took his Solars off his neck and slipped them back on, then he and Travis began drifting towards the robots.

"How much money did you bring anyway?" Alex asked. Travis reached into his pocket and pulled out a roll of yellow bills.

"I got…about $800 EC," he said with a grimace.

"Is that all? Most of these are 600 and up."

"We'll find something. You're good at being cheap, go do your stuff!"

"I don't know Trav." Alex glanced around the room briefly. "I see…seven. Over there."

The two of them went to the left side of the room where the lower-priced robots resided. Alex walked up to the one he had spotted. He eyed the cylinder which contained a pallid, hefty, muscular man dressed in a black shirt and pants that hung about his legs, suspended like mushroom caps over short, thick stems. Grey wisps of hair framed his age-weathered face, his eyes were shut tightly and his head downcast as if eternally awaiting judgment. Alex pressed a white button on the side of the cylinder and a digital info plaque appeared on the glass, glowing fluorescent green against the bubbling suspension fluid. A soft male voice began reading off the robot's data.

"James MacCleod. Age forty-five. Born in England. Career criminal and arsonist. Death by police laser fire. Skills include cleaning, car repairs, and light housework. Works well with common house tools."

"Sounds good, but he's too old. What about that one?" Travis walked down two cylinders, leaving Alex to go the opposite way. Travis came in front of a cylinder holding a teenage girl with sandy blond hair and freckles on her face and shoulders. Upon further inspection, Travis also noted that she had what appeared to be a Y-shaped scar on her chest, disappearing into her pink blouse. A deep, scraggly red ring formed a morbid choker on the girl's slender neck and there was another cut above her left eyebrow. Travis scratched the side of his face gently in thought, then pressed the button and the girl's info plaque appeared.

"Cindy Johnson. Approximate age fifteen. Unknown murder victim. Skills include laundry, cleaning, cooking, and assorted daycare. Specializes in children aged 2-6."

"Hmm, I don't have any kids," Travis mumbled. A harsh whisper caught his attention and Travis turned around to see Alex flailing his arms; Travis dashed over to see Alex pointing proudly at the price label. In the cylinder before, a tanned man floated, his black hair swaying gently upwards like a torch. He had a salt and pepper beard, his tattered white beater and shorts draping his body and barely hiding the semi-healed wounds and stitches.

"Tah-dah, I did it! $615 EC, won't find a damn thing cheaper." Alex pressed the data button and his jaw slowly drooped as the robot's information was read off.

"Antonio Eliseo Sanchez y Gutierrez. Age twenty-nine. Born in the United Nations of Cuba, Florida & California. Multiple murderer, thief, and kidnapping suspect. Death unknown. Skills include household repairs, cleaning, cooking, home security, and laundry. Is fluent in five languages."

"Nice!" Travis exclaimed. Alex turned to him, his eyes wide and his mouth still agape.

"Dude, this is THE Tonio Gutierrez. He was the most famous outlaw of the 35th century! He was wanted on every continent, dead or…deader." Alex rubbed the back of his neck, surprised at the perspiration he found. "I think it took the intercontinental police like five years to find him. They said he killed over a hundred people on all three continents and kidnapped some high-ranking officials. That's how they caught him."

Travis looked over at Alex, then back to the man in the cylinder and stuck out his tongue. "Why in the world would he do those things?"

"No one really knows. Some say he was crazy, some said he was some kind of vigilante."

"Vigilantes don't go on mass killing sprees…" Travis said lowly. "Whatever became of him?"

"Well, the reports I remember say he got blown to bits by the cops." Alex pressed his hand against the thin glass. It warmed to his touch and for a minute, Alex thought his hand would sink in. "But whoever put him back together is a damn artiste."

"Agreed," Travis said, nodding. "Let's get 'em."

Alex's tongue failed him as Travis signaled for an employee. He knew how bad Travis wanted this robot, or rather, felt he needed this robot. He shook his head and looked at Tonio Gutierrez in his glass & fluid prison, sleeping like the dead. He began to remember the reports of Gutierrez's life, yes, they were all over the satellite transmissions. Gutierrez was born in an impoverished city and had allegedly suffered physical and sexual abuse. There wasn't much to note about his life before his seemingly random spree; first it was two cops and he was arrested, then he managed to break out and in his five year reign he took down most of the combined police force of Cuba, Florida and California before he really went off the deep-end and kidnapped those officials—were they diplomats? Ambassadors maybe? Alex couldn't remember; it didn't necessarily matter either. He did remember, however, that the intercontinental police force showed him no mercy with their laser weaponry when they took him down. An artist's hand hid his past well indeed, he thought, or perhaps those reports were just exaggerated as they usually were. But in the cylinder he looked in tip-top, prime working condition, despite a few imperfections here and there.

Alex cringed at his own line of thought. Here he was, already assessing a human being like a tool to be used—although, wasn't that exactly what he was? Probably more machine than human at this point, and there were still some that would argue he was never human at all.

"Can I help you sirs?" the female employee said. She was petite and a bit on the heavy side, with her platinum blonde hair tied into a ponytail so high it sat right on her hairline according to the latest fad among young girls; her hair fell stiffly to her shoulders and surrounded her face like a hood. Travis thumbed to the cylinder behind him and Alex tried to work his mouth again in some sort of protest, but he failed again. Instead, the girl nodded dutifully and complimented his choice.

"Very good. That one is what we call 'all-purpose', he's pretty good with a little bit of everything," she said. "Wait here and I'll get you some forms to sign then you just take them over to Izotz."

Travis pressed his hands together in a prayer position and turned to look at his purchase.

"All-purpose she said. I wonder if he'll tuck me in and give me warm melon water to sleep?"

"That's not funny," Alex said through a small grin. "Although I suppose he could."

"Look at him. Look at all of them, it's like they're sleeping." Travis gave the room a good look over for the first time and for a moment he felt a little disturbed and worried. His mind was desperately trying to fight the notion that there was something wrong with making human beings into machines; he couldn't worry about that now, he was so close to not looking like such an oddball in his neighborhood. The scrutinizing eyes taunted him whenever he closed his eyes—"where is his robot? He does his own dishes and lawn? What is he, broke?" Alex always told him how disgustingly superficial it all was and when Travis was alone, he agreed. But in polite society he had to put on that hat no matter if he didn't particularly like it or how ill-fitted it was.

Anne came back with the paperwork on a transparent clipboard. She pulled a pen from her pocket and indicated where Travis should sign then left for the other side of the room. For a moment Travis's hand faltered, but then he signed his name, first in his native Castalian then its English approximation. The two of them then headed to Izotz's checkout line, which was moving faster than either of them expected with Izotz's arms working overtime; in five minutes time it was their turn. Izotz handed Travis a slip of paper with his confirmation number on it and the date on which his robot would arrive.

"You're…Traveesh…Traveesh Oh—"

"O'chthnor," Travis said and rolled his eyes. "Travis Smith, please."

"Oh," Izotz said. He grumbled at his pen running out of ink and pulled another one from his chest pocket to fill out the rest of the forms. "You Anglicized it, did you? They told me to do that with my name when I moved here, only there is no English equivalent for 'he who drinks the blood of the elderly'."

Travis and Alex stared at Izotz dumbly as he signed his name with a flourish. He looked up to see their twin bewilderment and laughed dryly.

"For Goddess's sake I'm kidding. I was born on Earth, it's a family name."

"Uh—oh. Charming," Travis said, his purple face turning violet. Izotz gave another acerbic chuckle and exchanged the completed forums for Travis's cash. He nodded to them and took the next customer in line. With that, Travis and Alex left the dome, back down the long spiral of steps, and onto the main floor again. The crowd from earlier had thinned considerably and the translucent clock on the wall said they had been upstairs for the better part of three hours.

"You wanna grab a bite to eat or something?" Travis asked, placing his hands firmly in his pocket again. He raised his shoulders and stiffened his arms in a short stretch.

"Can you afford even a bite?"

Travis shook his head and leered over at his partner. "I was hoping you could. Look, your friend is coming."

The lavender TMY-150 from earlier breezed over on his disc, hovering in front of Alex.

"You're back! Done shopping? Save some for me?" Alex looked at Travis nervously, who was pretending not to notice and was instead focusing on a row of small, mobile radios.

"Man, I really don't have that kind of money to buy you," Alex confessed. "Plus, I like mine."

"Is that so?" The task manager said in a huff. "And how old is it?"

"It's…wow, I guess she's about five years old."

"Five? Are you kidding? It was time to replace that antique a long time ago, friend," the TMY-150 sneered. Alex was taken aback at the machine's sudden outrage and persistence. Behind him, he could hear Travis whispering "I told you so" in a sing-song voice. He blushed heavily as the task manager zipped around him.

"I already said I can't afford you!"

"I know you can't. Remember that bargaining chip I told you about? What's your name?"

"Alex Lo."

"Alex, let me handle this."

The TMY-150 droned away, leaving Alex scratching his head in confusion. Travis finally rejoined him and without saying a word the two of them left the store for lunch. The next day, the TMY-150 wound up at Alex's house. After deactivating Darla, Alex begrudgingly accepted his new task manager and named it Tim.

They Used to…Pt 2a

Little long for a full chapter, so I broke this one up into 2, fairly readable parts :P

I have fun with the new country names in this. There aren't many country names because this story is set so far in the future that the sun is cooling (I'd imagine near red giant phase--and yet somehow humans have survived the radiation) and there aren't 7 continents anymore. because they either broke up or disappeared completely..rather, there are more islands and 3 big continents and only a few major countries now thanks to wars and what not. Shit, it could happen *shrug*

I've been looking for more ways to at least hint on all this IN the story without making it overly social and long. The thing I'm not really having fun with is city names for some reason.

I also realized that since I can do blogs from Word 07, the font I use carries over to my blog and...well, my font is apparently really tiny. So that's fixed.

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Alex and Travis traveled down the street, Travis padding silently on his bare feet, Alex squeaking along in his Solars. Travis sighed at the noises, feeling slightly embarrassed but his discomfit was outmatched by his excitement. Being the offspring of two fairly wealthy parents, all his life Travis had received nothing but the best, most innovative technology money could buy. Unfortunately, this was not the case once he'd left his home world for Earth after college. Instead, he had spent the past three years living in relative squalor thanks to his inability to hold more than $2 Earth Currency, instead perpetuating an illusion of luxurious living to the folks at home. Adding insult to injury, his parents had sent him off to live in one of the wealthiest neighborhoods on the continent. Surrounded by uppity, nosey, tattle-tale neighbors with at least three personal robots per kitchen, Travis had been feeling the pressure. Alex was the only one who knew about Travis's situation and thankfully kept it quiet. But once Travis had started raving about owning a personal robot, Alex had his doubts and worries about his friend's motives.

"Are you totally sure about this?" Alex asked for about the 500th time that month. "Totally sure?"

"Damn right," Travis said cheerily. "I've never been surer."

"You sure?" Alex continued, oblivious to his friend's displeasure. "I don't see why you need a robot anyway. Why not get a task manager like me? Those are expensive."

Travis looked mildly aghast. "You mean—like that old thing? Never! Besides, what could I do with a task manager that I couldn't' do with a personal robot?"

Alex gave light sigh. "Travis, you really should just tell your parents the truth. Even if you can afford to buy the robot, how you gonna keep up with it?"

"Alex, Alex…" Travis said condescendingly, as if explaining to a child. "These robots will take care of themselves. They're those re-processed things, little to no upkeep. The ad said so."

"Re-processed?" Alex raised both eyebrows. "You know what those things are right?"

Travis stopped and thought a moment. "No, actually I kinda don't. I just know they're pretty cheap."

Now it was Alex's turn to be patronizing. "Travis, re-processed robots are…uh, how do I put it…they're—they're people."

Travis's face turned blank. "Excuse me?"

Alex spied a bench and began walking for it; Travis followed behind him, the blank look still on his face. Alex tried scaring away the three feral pigeons off the bench, but when they simply scowled at him he sighed and sat next to them. Travis sat on the other side of the trio and craned his neck.

"So, re-processed robots are what?"

"Re-processed robots are people, like I said." Alex swallowed and glanced at the pigeons before continuing. "Um, they were people anyway. Sometimes police take criminals, Jane and John Does, or anyone they just need getting rid of and enhance 'em with robot parts. You know, scramble their memories to make them useful, turn them into cyborgs."

"…That sounds like some straight Phillip Dick shit," Travis said flippantly, much to Alex's dismay. "Come on, the BusPad is lit."

"Travis," Alex said firmly. "Those things are dangerous. Unpredictable and unstable. They have a lifespan of like a year!"

"Then I'll buy a new one when it goes nuts."

Alex sighed as he and Travis stepped onto one of the five large, square BusPads. The pad was red for boarding and a few minutes after Travis and Alex got on, the pad turned green and a ring of light zipped up their bodies, vaporizing and teleporting them to Danube City, fifty miles away.

10 Mistakes Writers Don't See

But can easily fix :P

I've seen lists like this before; you see them in books sometimes and just kinda...circulating around. I literally just randomly came across this list and was ready to pass it off as a "GOD I KNOW ALREADY" deal. The thing about reading these "common mistakes" list is they're usually damn lengthy and kinda boring. And tend to kinda run together.

I liked this list a little more because it's long but it makes a point and gets to it, goes in depth without becoming horribly dry, it's pretty concise, gives fair examples of what to do and what not to do, and actually brings up a couple of common mistakes that I never thought of before (but now it's soooo obvious). For example, flat writing. Now that I think about it, I'm pretty guilty of both flat writing and exceeeeessive prose. I am the master of passive voice. Lately I've been finding more of a compromise between balls-out ridiculous metaphors and "working man's prose".

I took a good look at this list and read it, gave it some thought, and went back into my current story and began editing in earnest. And indeed it is easy to fix a lot of these common errors and when you see them it's like "DUH how did I miss that?!"

Ah, I'm really glad I found this list :D

They Used to Make 'Em Like That

Haha, that isn't the real title but I figure it was funny enough to be temporary. That's another thing I'd like to do, not take my shit so damn seriously anymore.

Anyway, here goes my first serious attempt at sci-fi/speculative fiction. I remembered yesterday, this isn't exactly my FIRST attempt, but my first attempt was more of an exercise in geekery so it doesn't count *shrug* this one is just as geeky but at the very least more thought out.

So here we go. Me and Word have resolved our differences and all formatting errors are fixed I think. I love being successful.

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Alex was abruptly startled from his dreams by his alarm clock.

"Wake up, Mr. Lo," the sultry female voice beckoned. "It's time to get up, Mr. Lo."

"I hear you Darla," Alex groaned as he sat upright. He rubbed the sand from his eyes, stretched, and gave a big yawn. His alarm clock—an old DRL-30 mobile task manager, to be precise—skittered off the nightstand on its spider-like metal legs and onto the floor. A pair of voluptuous, glossy pink lips fizzled onto the metallic screen and smirked. The clock scrambled up the bed and up Alex's body to nestle on his chest.

"Let's see what we've got here." The lips vanished and were replaced by a short to-do list with each completed task marked by a green X. "Sleep 'til six. Brush teeth. Brush your teeth Mr. Lo!"

Alex nodded and swung his legs over the bed. Darla rolled off his chest and onto the floor with a crash and a light "ouch". Alex stood and padded his way to the bathroom with Darla scuttling behind him, nearly getting caught in the door as Alex swung it shut.

Soon, Alex fell into his routine. He brushed his teeth and shaved with Darla prompting him. He ran a comb through his dark, glossy hair, just enough to get out the tangles. He dropped in his liquid contacts, blinking the excess moisture away before the remains hardened into a flexible, gel-like substance on his eyes. Alex blinked again to make sure they adjusted to his vision; satisfied he left the bathroom wearing only a bath towel draped around his waist, with Darla resting on his shoulders.

"Don't forget to dress, Mr. Lo," she said, the lips reappearing on the screen.

"Already ahead of ya," Alex said. He clapped his hands and his wardrobe drew up from the floor in front of him. It was a slender mahogany wood box that compressed and expanded according to the amount of clothing. Alex pressed his hand under his chin and contemplated for a moment on what he should wear. It didn't matter much since this was one of his rare days off, he could choose what he wanted.

"What do you think, Darla?" he asked even though he already knew her answer.

"I love that royal blue sweater," Darla answered. Alex smiled; he wasn't sure why Darla was so crazy about that sweater. It was a nice color but it was very thick and itchy and only suitable for the bitterest winters.

"Let's try a…yellow shirt and jeans. And Solars," Alex said as he headed for the closet. Darla gave a disappointed sigh.

"But it looks so good on you," she said. "And yellow is so…blah."

The interior of the closet was empty except for a pair of circular pads at the bottom. Alex stepped onto the pads, dropped his towel, and stretched his arms out. A few seconds later a gentle blue light drifted lazily over his body, forming his shirt and jeans as it wafted down; his Solars were formed last, a pair of dense, white sneakers with five inch platforms supposedly capable of withstanding temperatures as hot as the Sun's surface. In theory at least, no one had ever actually tried walking on the Sun with them or even walking in them in temperatures exceeding 100 degrees Core. The light disappeared and Alex stepped out the closet, gave another stretch, and scratched his side.

"What's next, Darla?"

The to-do list replaced the lips on the screen again and green Xs ticked off the finished tasks. "Brush teeth. Dress. Travis, Mr. Lo."

"Huh?" Alex scratched his head. "What am I meeting Travis for?"

"Shall I call him, Mr. Lo?"

A rapping on the bedroom window caught both their attentions.

"No need," Alex said as he went over to open it. "I can just ask…"

Alex threw the window open and a burst of sunshine hit the floor. A moment later the light was literally swallowed up as Travis stepped through the window. He wore a black and white striped shirt and white cargo shorts that contrasted starkly against his skin, which was the color and density of a healthy eggplant. Travis was part of a small group of natives from a distant solar system orbiting Phoebus, a star twice as massive as the Sun. The system consisted of three planets—Castalia, the third and farthest from the star being the only one inhabited by anyone who would have anything to do with the denizens of Earth. However, as some shady and heavily biased evidence suggested, the only reason for this was that Castalians are capable of absorbing the yellow light of the Sun, making them walking black holes intent on slowly killing everyone and everything on Earth by depriving them of sunlight. Needless to say interactions between Castalia and Earth had been extremely limited.

"Alex, nice to see you didn't forget about me."

"Actually," Darla interrupted. "He did."

"Darla!" Alex yelled, gently kicking the clock away. He looked over at Travis sheepishly. "Okay, maybe…you could remind me what we're supposed to do."

Travis cocked his eyebrow and made a groan of disapproval. "You forgot. Our super-special big important day?"

"No! …Yes."

Travis threw his hands up and sighed. "Man, you said you'd come with me to buy a robot! Remember, Circuit City half-off stock sale?"

Alex thought for a minute and abruptly slapped his head. "Oh my Gosh that's right! I was supposed to go for moral support."

"Yes! You got it!" Travis clapped with joy and stretched his arms out at his sides. "So let's get going! I want to go before all the good stuff's gone." Travis's eyes drifted down to Alex's shoes and he scoffed. "Please don't let me be seen with you wearing those things."

"What?" Alex kicked at the ground, making a soft squeaking noise. "My Solars? I love 'em, they're so comfortable."

"Yeah, but they went out of style when the Sun started cooling off years ago dude," Travis said matter-of-factly, rolling his eyes. "You're going to need some RGs soon. Does anyone actually think they could walk on the Sun with those?"

"I've never tried." Alex gave a wide, toothy grin and jabbed his hands into his pockets. "Well, I guess we better get gone. Darla, watch the house 'kay?"

"I always do…" Darla said, her silky voice trailing off as she watched her Owner and his funny-looking friend exit via the window. Somewhere in her AI core, she wondered why they just hadn't taken the front door.