This may be a mistake
Mar. 13th, 2006 10:17 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
noellenoI don't like sharing things I write. Especially the ones I cook up in under an hour. But, you know what? Kat is being lame (Who falls down the stairs and hurts themselves? SERIOUSLY?) and not here for me to give it to her, and it's just...sitting here on my monitor..So, you know? Why not? Maybe it'll be good for a few laughs from those of you who are far superior in the writing field.
Day-glow is what happens when rays of sunlight manage to poke through the heavily-knit clouds of dust and smog and it reflects eerie colors on them. It usually only happens in the early morning, but sometimes, in the summer around midday, the sky will look like a washed out, technicolor mess.
This was the case today–it was around two in the afternoon, and the day-glow gave the sky a misty orange-pink look. The city was ghostly quiet; all outside activity was prohibited in a level 4 state of security. The citizens were in underground facilities, conducting their routines as usual. The fear of attack was so frequent it was becoming just another part of life that everyone had to deal with. After forty-six years of intense combat with the south coast, few could recall life being any other way.
The United Continental Republic had a ground-air assault station just outside of this particular city; most of the region’s tanks and anti-aircraft weaponry was manufactured there. A lot of military youth was trained there as well; six squadrons of the army’s mechanized assault division (MAD) were almost entirely composed of soldiers under the age of 19. You only have to be twelve to begin the rigorous training required to become a member of the UCRA. Manpower as thin as it was in these hard times, young women became more frequent as well. Anyone willing and able to march for their nation was inducted.
Such was the case for Rezzle Sanston. He, too, had registered into the UCRA at twelve, and now seventeen, ran a group of four of his peers in one of MAD’s reconnaissance teams. MAD-R, Team 12: Team Leader Sanston and Privates Forso, Rockefeller, Hewes, and Martin.
Rezzle’s father was a lieutenant for the MAD’s second battalion, so the boy was quite determined to follow in his footsteps and climb the military ladder right to the top, even from a young age.
In any case, he and one of his teammates, Abe Forso, had opted to patrol a section of the sprawling city for security errors and any stray folks meandering the streets. They rode in a 40-X Commander motorcycle; it was a covered cycle that let the driver crouch forward near the steering and navigation tools, while its passenger was strapped in facing the opposite direction, with a multiple-screen view that picked up heat and electrical readings, among other things.
Abe kicked it into high gear and sped through the empty streets; no need to obey the speed laws when there’s no one to hit. Rezzle had his eyes glued to the screens as they ticked by the scrolling data. He was quite skilled in retaining and decoding information–he spent a lot of time learning to speed up his reading comprehension and doing memory exercises. It was kind of boring, but the better he got, the more action he would be allowed to see.
Not that it mattered; he was content in any position. That was the thing about him; nothing seemed to get him down. He was always upbeat, even when trouble was brewing. His team loved his attitude, but sometimes it got on their nerves, especially when they were assigned some droll mission to keep them out of the way of the older guys.
Rezzle glanced down at his left arm. Metal ran from his elbow to his wrist, and fixed on there was a small screen. Tapping the right button, he could see the time, his precise location, his heart’s bpm, among other things. It was quite handy, and also necessary. Ever since his heart failure as a child, the consistent injections that were stored in that machinery kept him on his feet and aware.
And happy, too, but he was oblivious to that. That, and a good five years of his own life. He couldn’t tell you what he got for his 10th birthday, what color shoes he wore, or even what he looked like around the ages of 10 to 14. No one else could, apparently. Oh well, if that’s how it is, why worry? He wasn’t upset about it.
“How’s it lookin’ back there?” Abe asked without taking his eyes off the road. After a pause, he said, “Helloooo?”
“Ah! Wha?”
“I asked how it’s lookin’ back there. What’re you doin’, sleepin’?”
“Hah, I wish!” Rezzle rubbed his eyes; he might’ve dozed off just a bit. “Looks pretty normal to me...all the sensors are functioning properly and–Whoa!”
“What whoa?”
“I mean, WHOA, whoa. Stop, dude!”
“Wha?”
“There’s an energy reading coming right atcha; you’re gonna hit whatever it is!”
Abe squinted. “I don’t see any–AHHHH!”
The cycle turned sharply, almost skidding onto its side and spinning out onto the sidewalk, yards away from the strange energy compiling in the street.
Err. Yeah. It's a text-layout for the opening of one of our chapters in Shadowed Heavens n' stuff. Not all of it'll make it, but I think it was a good idea to write down a few of those ideas, if only for future reference. Lord knows I could totally forget the names Forso and Hewes. Even though I'm kinda proud that I made those up real quick-like.
Sad to announce I got nothin' worth posting as far as drawings. =/ After that insane comic splurge I went on, I think that I'm losing steam.
But you know what? It's okay. I bought my Season 1 of Teen Titans, and taped the cool Jericho episode. Which might lead to more Jericho fanarting. I'm sorry in advance if this is so.
EDIT: Holy shit, my fanart of Jafar is on the third page of a google image search. Oo; That's kind of frighteningly cool. I was just searching for a stupid face reference of him to draw, too...Hah!
Day-glow is what happens when rays of sunlight manage to poke through the heavily-knit clouds of dust and smog and it reflects eerie colors on them. It usually only happens in the early morning, but sometimes, in the summer around midday, the sky will look like a washed out, technicolor mess.
This was the case today–it was around two in the afternoon, and the day-glow gave the sky a misty orange-pink look. The city was ghostly quiet; all outside activity was prohibited in a level 4 state of security. The citizens were in underground facilities, conducting their routines as usual. The fear of attack was so frequent it was becoming just another part of life that everyone had to deal with. After forty-six years of intense combat with the south coast, few could recall life being any other way.
The United Continental Republic had a ground-air assault station just outside of this particular city; most of the region’s tanks and anti-aircraft weaponry was manufactured there. A lot of military youth was trained there as well; six squadrons of the army’s mechanized assault division (MAD) were almost entirely composed of soldiers under the age of 19. You only have to be twelve to begin the rigorous training required to become a member of the UCRA. Manpower as thin as it was in these hard times, young women became more frequent as well. Anyone willing and able to march for their nation was inducted.
Such was the case for Rezzle Sanston. He, too, had registered into the UCRA at twelve, and now seventeen, ran a group of four of his peers in one of MAD’s reconnaissance teams. MAD-R, Team 12: Team Leader Sanston and Privates Forso, Rockefeller, Hewes, and Martin.
Rezzle’s father was a lieutenant for the MAD’s second battalion, so the boy was quite determined to follow in his footsteps and climb the military ladder right to the top, even from a young age.
In any case, he and one of his teammates, Abe Forso, had opted to patrol a section of the sprawling city for security errors and any stray folks meandering the streets. They rode in a 40-X Commander motorcycle; it was a covered cycle that let the driver crouch forward near the steering and navigation tools, while its passenger was strapped in facing the opposite direction, with a multiple-screen view that picked up heat and electrical readings, among other things.
Abe kicked it into high gear and sped through the empty streets; no need to obey the speed laws when there’s no one to hit. Rezzle had his eyes glued to the screens as they ticked by the scrolling data. He was quite skilled in retaining and decoding information–he spent a lot of time learning to speed up his reading comprehension and doing memory exercises. It was kind of boring, but the better he got, the more action he would be allowed to see.
Not that it mattered; he was content in any position. That was the thing about him; nothing seemed to get him down. He was always upbeat, even when trouble was brewing. His team loved his attitude, but sometimes it got on their nerves, especially when they were assigned some droll mission to keep them out of the way of the older guys.
Rezzle glanced down at his left arm. Metal ran from his elbow to his wrist, and fixed on there was a small screen. Tapping the right button, he could see the time, his precise location, his heart’s bpm, among other things. It was quite handy, and also necessary. Ever since his heart failure as a child, the consistent injections that were stored in that machinery kept him on his feet and aware.
And happy, too, but he was oblivious to that. That, and a good five years of his own life. He couldn’t tell you what he got for his 10th birthday, what color shoes he wore, or even what he looked like around the ages of 10 to 14. No one else could, apparently. Oh well, if that’s how it is, why worry? He wasn’t upset about it.
“How’s it lookin’ back there?” Abe asked without taking his eyes off the road. After a pause, he said, “Helloooo?”
“Ah! Wha?”
“I asked how it’s lookin’ back there. What’re you doin’, sleepin’?”
“Hah, I wish!” Rezzle rubbed his eyes; he might’ve dozed off just a bit. “Looks pretty normal to me...all the sensors are functioning properly and–Whoa!”
“What whoa?”
“I mean, WHOA, whoa. Stop, dude!”
“Wha?”
“There’s an energy reading coming right atcha; you’re gonna hit whatever it is!”
Abe squinted. “I don’t see any–AHHHH!”
The cycle turned sharply, almost skidding onto its side and spinning out onto the sidewalk, yards away from the strange energy compiling in the street.
Err. Yeah. It's a text-layout for the opening of one of our chapters in Shadowed Heavens n' stuff. Not all of it'll make it, but I think it was a good idea to write down a few of those ideas, if only for future reference. Lord knows I could totally forget the names Forso and Hewes. Even though I'm kinda proud that I made those up real quick-like.
Sad to announce I got nothin' worth posting as far as drawings. =/ After that insane comic splurge I went on, I think that I'm losing steam.
But you know what? It's okay. I bought my Season 1 of Teen Titans, and taped the cool Jericho episode. Which might lead to more Jericho fanarting. I'm sorry in advance if this is so.
EDIT: Holy shit, my fanart of Jafar is on the third page of a google image search. Oo; That's kind of frighteningly cool. I was just searching for a stupid face reference of him to draw, too...Hah!
