Monday, May 9, 2011
Closed for now
I'm so very sorry, but I have to close this blog, at least for now. I can't work full time, write my own novel, have a social life, exercise, and write a blog. Something has to give. I'm sorry. :(
Tuesday, April 26, 2011
How to map out a scene + questions!
I'm having a lot of trouble writing chapter 3, part 2, which is why it has taken me so long to post. I finally realized what the problem is: I have too much going on in this scene and I haven't thought it all out properly. So here's a sample of what I call a scene map, which covers the main events, mood, and character and plot developments that I want to cover in the scene. Following that are some questions for you.
Chapter 3, part 2 scene map
I'm picturing scene 3-2 as a conversation between Cy and Raine. It's a quiet, almost mellow scene set in Raine's living room. They're both exhausted, although Raine does a pretty good job of hiding it. And they both feel extremely awkward, Cy because he doesn't understand why Raine's being so nice to him and Raine for several reasons that will be revealed in scene 3-3.
This scene has to do a lot for our story:
1) Shape Cy into a dynamic character who interests our readers as much as Auggie, Raine, and Moxie.
Thus far, we've portrayed Cy as a victim both of the attempted murder and the prejudice against hybrids. We've also portrayed him as a kind but angsty young man, a bit cynical but with some spunk. But this is not enough to compete with Auggie, Raine, and Moxie on the interest scale. So going into chapter 3, readers probably feel sorry for Cy and have some interest in his situation, but otherwise don't feel of anything much for him. Scene 3-1 showed some of his vulnerability and emotions, which probably made readers feel partial to him, protective even, as it casts him firmly into the role of the underdog. Readers are prepped at this point to make their decision about whether or not they like him. Scene 3-2 has to put him into the "like" category of course. More importantly though, we need to give his character depth to throw him into the "interesting" category.
2) Play on what our readers know and what our characters don't, and vice versa.
Our readers know that Raine is an assassin who has taken a particular interest in Cy's mechanical arm. They know that he sees the arm as a harbinger of disaster, but they don't know what he intends to do about it. They also know that Auggie, who is himself a hard-ass, is afraid of Raine. And Cy doesn't know any of this, so readers think that he's walking into a lion's den unaware.
Meanwhile, readers don't know any of Raine's motivations. He does several uncharacteristic acts of kindness towards Cy in this scene, and his bad-ass demeanor cracks as he also shows several moments of awkwardness. Plus it's hard to be a bad-ass when you're padding around your living room in bare feet.
3) Clear up two perplexing little details that readers may remember from chapter 1.
Chapter 3, part 2 scene map
I'm picturing scene 3-2 as a conversation between Cy and Raine. It's a quiet, almost mellow scene set in Raine's living room. They're both exhausted, although Raine does a pretty good job of hiding it. And they both feel extremely awkward, Cy because he doesn't understand why Raine's being so nice to him and Raine for several reasons that will be revealed in scene 3-3.
This scene has to do a lot for our story:
1) Shape Cy into a dynamic character who interests our readers as much as Auggie, Raine, and Moxie.
Thus far, we've portrayed Cy as a victim both of the attempted murder and the prejudice against hybrids. We've also portrayed him as a kind but angsty young man, a bit cynical but with some spunk. But this is not enough to compete with Auggie, Raine, and Moxie on the interest scale. So going into chapter 3, readers probably feel sorry for Cy and have some interest in his situation, but otherwise don't feel of anything much for him. Scene 3-1 showed some of his vulnerability and emotions, which probably made readers feel partial to him, protective even, as it casts him firmly into the role of the underdog. Readers are prepped at this point to make their decision about whether or not they like him. Scene 3-2 has to put him into the "like" category of course. More importantly though, we need to give his character depth to throw him into the "interesting" category.
2) Play on what our readers know and what our characters don't, and vice versa.
Our readers know that Raine is an assassin who has taken a particular interest in Cy's mechanical arm. They know that he sees the arm as a harbinger of disaster, but they don't know what he intends to do about it. They also know that Auggie, who is himself a hard-ass, is afraid of Raine. And Cy doesn't know any of this, so readers think that he's walking into a lion's den unaware.
Meanwhile, readers don't know any of Raine's motivations. He does several uncharacteristic acts of kindness towards Cy in this scene, and his bad-ass demeanor cracks as he also shows several moments of awkwardness. Plus it's hard to be a bad-ass when you're padding around your living room in bare feet.
3) Clear up two perplexing little details that readers may remember from chapter 1.
- Cy was bound when he woke up
- Cy remembered Raine's voice when he thought about the attack toward the end of scene 1-1. Readers don't know at this point if he forgot that when he fell unconscious again or if he was so desperate to have the metal removed that he went to Raine for help despite the memory.
- That Cy was starting to turn into one of the sluagh (the Damned Host) and the darkness he's been feeling, which he thought was from the metal, as well as his uncharacteristic anger and the impulse in chapter 1 to hit Moxie are all from the turning. Raine called him back (hence the memory of Raine's voice), but part of him is now sluagh.
- That Cy's human blood didn't protect him from the turning and it should have. This is a clue about the Steam Generator powering up and making magic stronger.
- Why Raine attached the metal parts when he knew Cy would hate them: he wanted Cy to live. Some of the pieces Cy needed to live, like the piece that replaces the shattered portions of his skull and ribs. The arm and eye were because Raine, long-lived creature that he is, thinks long term: there was no point in saving Cy now only to have him starve to death later because he couldn't work.
- Raine's opinion of Moxie and his impression that she's deceiving Cy. This is a hint at Moxie's promise.
- I have an image in my head in which Cy's curious nature peeks out, and he shows his curiosity about Raine's faerie marks (the gashes on his arms). Cy wants to touch them, but doesn't dare ask. Raine guesses his desire and kneels by Cy's chair, offering his arm to Cy. Cy is completely humbled, and it's at this point that Cy asks Raine why he's being so nice to him. Raine's response (a half-truth) is that it's because Cy offers him no hostility so he has no reason to push back (which explains his statement about "pushing back" that confused Auggie in chapter two). This develops into a quick explanation of how faerie marks work in our story: the marks are usually related to the faerie's power. (This begs the question "What is Cy's power?", something to develop later in the story.) Next it flows into a brief explanation of what happened to Cy's other faerie arm, which we hinted at in chapter 1. Cy's mother, unable to stand the sight of her half-fey child, cut it off when Cy was an infant. She didn't take the other one because Cy's cries in his sidhe voice were too much for her to handle. (This not only gives the reader a pretty good idea of what Cy's life has been like, but it also shows how deep the prejudice against hybrids runs, which sets us up for one of Raine's revelations in the next scene. Btw, for those of you who are counting, yes, Cy has lost three limbs to date.)
- This isn't revealed until scene 3-3, but the reason that Raine's being so kind to Cy, and the reason that he saved Cy's life when it might have been kinder to let him die, is that Cy is Raine's half-brother. This means a lot to Raine because the rest of his family is dead. To keep this from being cliche, I'm also throwing in that most of the people Raine assassinates, by order of the faerie king, are hybrids. He's disobeying his king to save Cy. He's also tortured by the question of how many of his own brothers and sisters he has killed.
- Do you have any ideas or desires for what we should put into Cy's character to make him more dynamic and interesting? Even small details help (like Auggie's obscene number of pockets and fidgeting habit).
- Do you want to develop the dynamic between Raine and the faerie king any further? The king, btw, is King Finvarra, Lord of the Dead (aka sluagh)? I'm adding this dynamic in for several reasons, including: 1) as a red herring for the villains in our story, 2) as a threat to Cy, 3) as back story to develop Raine's character.
- Any other comments or suggestions are also welcome!
Saturday, April 16, 2011
Chapter 3, part 1
Cy stared at his reflection in the dark window. His new metal eye was the most intricate piece of machinery he had ever seen, and the smallest: it matched his other eye in size. Minuscule silver and copper pieces twisted as he moved his gaze, adjusting the tiny red lens to focus his vision. Why the steamwright had chosen red glass confused him until a flash of lightning illuminated the street, giving him a better look. The lens was cut from a clear red gem, not a ruby, but the light faded to fast for him to determine anything more. How in the hell had Moxie been able to afford this? They barely had enough money left over to eat after buying the parts for Moxie's work and paying the oppressive taxes charged by the Republic. What had she done to save him?
Cy pulled his coat closer around him, as if that could ease the guilt constricting his chest. He owed Moxie so much more than an apology. What kind of a fool condemns his lover for saving his life? Expecting her to understand how horrific these metal parts were to him was asinine. To Moxie, metal and machines were the answer to everything. She had never been burned by touching iron or steel, nor could she feel the constant, discordant energy of this metal city thrumming in her bones. She ordered her world into nice, neat rows of logic and reason while Cy, like all fey, was ruled by instinct and emotion. And right now, every instinct he possessed was screaming at him to rip the metal from his body. He felt like it was poisoning him, burning him, twisting him into something dark and unnatural. He knew that wasn't true--at least, he didn't think it was--but his faerie instincts wouldn't listen. As it was, he could barely resist the urge to claw at the metal. Were he a full-blooded fey, he would have been screaming and tearing at the parts, desperate to remove them. Moxie didn't understand that. She treated him like he was human, but he wasn't.
A shaped copper plate surrounded that awful metal eye, replacing his brow, cheekbone, and temple. Cy scraped his fingertips across it then clenched his fist and forced it back down to his side. He sighed and leaned his forehead against the cool glass. His breath fogged the window. "Mox," he whispered, "how could you do this to me?"
"She didn't. I did." Cy whirled. A tall, beautiful sidhe stood behind him, just under the eaves that covered the porch. How had Cy not heard him approach? He heard everything, even the petal-soft footsteps of the fey. He felt six kinds of stupid to be caught here unaware. The sidhe pushed back the hood of his cloak, revealing the sheen of silver hair and perfect, blood-red eyes. Cy flinched beneath that proud, mocking gaze. "Why you are standing at my door, Cypher Nahuel?" the sidhe asked. His lips twitched. "One might mistake you for a stray wanting to be let in."
Heat suffused Cy's cheeks. Of course the braider would choose that image. That was how Cy always felt around the sidhe: like a stray--with fleas. He only wanted to understand them, to finally grasp that alien part of himself, but they went out of their way to avoid him. It was nice to know this sidhe was no different. At least now Cy knew where he stood.
He wrapped his arms around his chest then felt the metal arm inside its sleeve. He dropped the machine to his side again in revulsion. Raine's gaze tracked the movement. "Look, I know I disgust you," Cy began, "but--"
Raine's nostrils flared. "I did not say that." The sharpness in his tone scraped Cy's skin. Cy touched his cheek, expecting to find blood--when he spoke that sharply, people bled--but there was none.
"You didn't have to," Cy said softly, dropping his gaze. The sidhe liked to feel superior. Hell, they were superior, and though it galled him to acknowledge it, Cy was desperate enough to do so. "But please, the metal, can you remove it?"
Raine didn't answer at first. He shifted his weight and the wind caught his cloak. Cy was surprised to see that the sidhe's fists were clenched. He glanced up, but instead of the rage he expected, Raine looked... awkward. Like there was so much he wanted to say, but he didn't know where to begin. His gaze danced over Cy's face. "You don't disgust me, Cypher Nahuel," he finally said. Then he turned away in one of those lightning-fast movements that so disturbed their human neighbors. Had Cy not been so shocked by his words, he would have smiled. Raine wasn't trying to play human with him, and he wasn't disgusted by Cy's mixed blood. It felt odd. And good. So good. Cy could pretend for just a moment that this sidhe thought of him as kin.
But he knew that was a lie, and the fey didn't lie, not even to themselves. Raine's hand touched the bone latch on the door. Crushed, Cy stepped back out into the rain. Now what was he going to do? He tried to stop himself from stating the obvious, it was such a human thing to do, but he couldn't help himself. "So you won't help me then?" he said. Rain pattered down on him. The acidity and soot from the factories stung his skin. Don't beg, he told himself. Do not beg. But the words slipped out anyway. "Please? I can pay you. I mean... I don't have the money right now, but I'll find a way. Whatever it costs, I--"
Raine opened the door then looked back at him with a frown. Confusion danced across his achingly beautiful features. "You won't come inside?" he asked."This unnatural rain hurts my skin. Does it not hurt yours?"
Cy stared at him, speechless. Was this sidhe inviting him in? He couldn't believe it. He couldn't even bring himself to ask; he was too ashamed at the possibility that he might be wrong. The sidhe would laugh at him, be disgusted or worse, offended. One did not insult a full-blooded sidhe and hope to keep one's limbs intact. "Yes," Cy finally said. "It hurts."
Raine's frown deepened then his eyes lit with understanding. Emotions skittered across his face to fast to follow, but they ended in sadness. "You are welcome in my home, Cypher Nahuel," he said softly. "Please, come in."
Cy pulled his coat closer around him, as if that could ease the guilt constricting his chest. He owed Moxie so much more than an apology. What kind of a fool condemns his lover for saving his life? Expecting her to understand how horrific these metal parts were to him was asinine. To Moxie, metal and machines were the answer to everything. She had never been burned by touching iron or steel, nor could she feel the constant, discordant energy of this metal city thrumming in her bones. She ordered her world into nice, neat rows of logic and reason while Cy, like all fey, was ruled by instinct and emotion. And right now, every instinct he possessed was screaming at him to rip the metal from his body. He felt like it was poisoning him, burning him, twisting him into something dark and unnatural. He knew that wasn't true--at least, he didn't think it was--but his faerie instincts wouldn't listen. As it was, he could barely resist the urge to claw at the metal. Were he a full-blooded fey, he would have been screaming and tearing at the parts, desperate to remove them. Moxie didn't understand that. She treated him like he was human, but he wasn't.
A shaped copper plate surrounded that awful metal eye, replacing his brow, cheekbone, and temple. Cy scraped his fingertips across it then clenched his fist and forced it back down to his side. He sighed and leaned his forehead against the cool glass. His breath fogged the window. "Mox," he whispered, "how could you do this to me?"
"She didn't. I did." Cy whirled. A tall, beautiful sidhe stood behind him, just under the eaves that covered the porch. How had Cy not heard him approach? He heard everything, even the petal-soft footsteps of the fey. He felt six kinds of stupid to be caught here unaware. The sidhe pushed back the hood of his cloak, revealing the sheen of silver hair and perfect, blood-red eyes. Cy flinched beneath that proud, mocking gaze. "Why you are standing at my door, Cypher Nahuel?" the sidhe asked. His lips twitched. "One might mistake you for a stray wanting to be let in."
Heat suffused Cy's cheeks. Of course the braider would choose that image. That was how Cy always felt around the sidhe: like a stray--with fleas. He only wanted to understand them, to finally grasp that alien part of himself, but they went out of their way to avoid him. It was nice to know this sidhe was no different. At least now Cy knew where he stood.
He wrapped his arms around his chest then felt the metal arm inside its sleeve. He dropped the machine to his side again in revulsion. Raine's gaze tracked the movement. "Look, I know I disgust you," Cy began, "but--"
Raine's nostrils flared. "I did not say that." The sharpness in his tone scraped Cy's skin. Cy touched his cheek, expecting to find blood--when he spoke that sharply, people bled--but there was none.
"You didn't have to," Cy said softly, dropping his gaze. The sidhe liked to feel superior. Hell, they were superior, and though it galled him to acknowledge it, Cy was desperate enough to do so. "But please, the metal, can you remove it?"
Raine didn't answer at first. He shifted his weight and the wind caught his cloak. Cy was surprised to see that the sidhe's fists were clenched. He glanced up, but instead of the rage he expected, Raine looked... awkward. Like there was so much he wanted to say, but he didn't know where to begin. His gaze danced over Cy's face. "You don't disgust me, Cypher Nahuel," he finally said. Then he turned away in one of those lightning-fast movements that so disturbed their human neighbors. Had Cy not been so shocked by his words, he would have smiled. Raine wasn't trying to play human with him, and he wasn't disgusted by Cy's mixed blood. It felt odd. And good. So good. Cy could pretend for just a moment that this sidhe thought of him as kin.
But he knew that was a lie, and the fey didn't lie, not even to themselves. Raine's hand touched the bone latch on the door. Crushed, Cy stepped back out into the rain. Now what was he going to do? He tried to stop himself from stating the obvious, it was such a human thing to do, but he couldn't help himself. "So you won't help me then?" he said. Rain pattered down on him. The acidity and soot from the factories stung his skin. Don't beg, he told himself. Do not beg. But the words slipped out anyway. "Please? I can pay you. I mean... I don't have the money right now, but I'll find a way. Whatever it costs, I--"
Raine opened the door then looked back at him with a frown. Confusion danced across his achingly beautiful features. "You won't come inside?" he asked."This unnatural rain hurts my skin. Does it not hurt yours?"
Cy stared at him, speechless. Was this sidhe inviting him in? He couldn't believe it. He couldn't even bring himself to ask; he was too ashamed at the possibility that he might be wrong. The sidhe would laugh at him, be disgusted or worse, offended. One did not insult a full-blooded sidhe and hope to keep one's limbs intact. "Yes," Cy finally said. "It hurts."
Raine's frown deepened then his eyes lit with understanding. Emotions skittered across his face to fast to follow, but they ended in sadness. "You are welcome in my home, Cypher Nahuel," he said softly. "Please, come in."
Sunday, April 10, 2011
Sneak peek of chapter 3
Cy stared at his reflection in the dark window. The metal eye was the most intricate piece of machinery he had ever seen, far more advanced than even Moxie's inventions or the ground-breaking steam tech he helped Auggy steal. The tiny machine matched his other eye in size. Minuscule silver and copper pieces twisted as he moved his gaze, adjusting the tiny red lens to focus his vision. He didn't understand why the steamwright had chosen red glass until a flash of lightning illuminated the street, giving him a better look. The lens was cut from a clear red gem, the likes of which Cy had never seen before. How the hell had Moxie been able to afford this? They didn't have that kind of money. They barely had enough left over to eat after buying the parts for Moxie's work and paying the oppressive taxes charged by the Republic. What had she done or promised in order to save him?
Guilt stabbed him, tightening his chest. He pulled his coat closer around him, as if that could stop the pain. He owed Moxie so much more than an apology. What kind of a fool condemns his lover for saving his life? He shouldn't have expected her to understand how horrific these metal parts were to him. To her, metal and machines were the answer to everything. She operated on logic and reason while Cy, like all fey, was ruled by instinct and emotion. And right now, every instinct he possessed was screaming at him to rip the metal away from his body. He felt like it was poisoning him, burning him, twisting him into something dark and unnatural. He knew that wasn't true--at least, he didn't think it was--but his faerie instincts wouldn't listen to reason. As it was, he could barely resist the urge to claw at the metal. Were he a full-blooded fey, he would have been screaming and tearing at the parts, desperate to remove them. Moxie didn't understand that. She treated him like he was human, but he wasn't, not entirely.
A shaped copper plate surrounded that awful metal eye, replacing his brow, cheekbone, and temple. Cy scraped his fingertips across it then clenched his fist and forced it back down to his side. He sighed and leaned his forehead against the cool glass. His breath fogged the window. "Mox," he whispered, shaking his head. "How could you do this to me?"
"She didn't. I did." Cy whirled. A tall, beautiful sidhe stood behind him, just under the eaves that covered the porch. The faerie pushed back the hood of his cloak, revealing the sheen of silver hair and blood-red eyes. Cy flinched beneath that proud, mocking gaze. "Why you are standing at my door, Cypher Nahuel?" the sidhe asked. His tone was sharp and cutting, and the magic in it hurt Cy's skin. "As if you are nothing but a stray dog waiting to be let in."
[To be continued]
Guilt stabbed him, tightening his chest. He pulled his coat closer around him, as if that could stop the pain. He owed Moxie so much more than an apology. What kind of a fool condemns his lover for saving his life? He shouldn't have expected her to understand how horrific these metal parts were to him. To her, metal and machines were the answer to everything. She operated on logic and reason while Cy, like all fey, was ruled by instinct and emotion. And right now, every instinct he possessed was screaming at him to rip the metal away from his body. He felt like it was poisoning him, burning him, twisting him into something dark and unnatural. He knew that wasn't true--at least, he didn't think it was--but his faerie instincts wouldn't listen to reason. As it was, he could barely resist the urge to claw at the metal. Were he a full-blooded fey, he would have been screaming and tearing at the parts, desperate to remove them. Moxie didn't understand that. She treated him like he was human, but he wasn't, not entirely.
A shaped copper plate surrounded that awful metal eye, replacing his brow, cheekbone, and temple. Cy scraped his fingertips across it then clenched his fist and forced it back down to his side. He sighed and leaned his forehead against the cool glass. His breath fogged the window. "Mox," he whispered, shaking his head. "How could you do this to me?"
"She didn't. I did." Cy whirled. A tall, beautiful sidhe stood behind him, just under the eaves that covered the porch. The faerie pushed back the hood of his cloak, revealing the sheen of silver hair and blood-red eyes. Cy flinched beneath that proud, mocking gaze. "Why you are standing at my door, Cypher Nahuel?" the sidhe asked. His tone was sharp and cutting, and the magic in it hurt Cy's skin. "As if you are nothing but a stray dog waiting to be let in."
[To be continued]
Status update
I'm working on chapter three, but probably won't have it done for a few days yet. The bronchitis came back and took me down for most of the week. Seriously, if not for the coughing, you'd have thought I had mono. Fortunately, the antibiotics have kicked in and I'm almost up to snuff now. My lungs are even staying where they're supposed to be. Ah, the little things in life that bring us so much joy...
Saturday, April 2, 2011
Cy's mechanical parts - sketches
I completed a rough sketch of Cy's mechanical arm and the copper plating that shows on his face. I decided to go with something similar to the "Cyborg Eye" shown below for his mechanical eye. I love the idea of his eye being made up of tiny, intricate clockwork parts. I didn't give him the ability to close the eye because it didn't fit with the image I have of him in my head. Maybe we'll use the eye that doesn't close as a metaphor for him losing his innocence or something.
Anyway, here are the aspects that we've revealed in our written story thus far, followed by my working images.
Anyway, here are the aspects that we've revealed in our written story thus far, followed by my working images.
- Left eye replaced with a red mechanical eye. Eye does not close on its own.
- Left jaw, teeth, cheekbone, and part of skull were shattered and replaced with copper. Skin covers the metal bones in his face.
- Left arm replaced by a "complicated mess of gears, pistons, and copper plates." Fingers are "slender metal bits with rolling joints and rubber tips" and they move via a "symphony of rods." Large cylinder and piston apparatus traverses the outer side of the elbow, joining the upper and lower parts. His mechanical shoulder is a complicated set of joints that allow for mobility while also protecting a small vat of diamond glass completely filled with blood. Tendrils of rubber tubing, pulsing with blood, extend from the vat and embed themselves into the flesh at the base of his neck.
- Rippled plates of metal replace the left side of his ribcage from his arm down to his stomach.
I decided to go with an eye similar to the image below because I liked the idea of intricate little parts.
 |
| "Cyborg Eye," origin unknown |
Cy's mechanical eye
Side question: I named Cypher after Terry Goodkind's Richard Cypher, but I just now realized that Cy also could be short for Cyborg. (Sometimes I'm a little slow.) Darn it. So do we keep the name Cy or rename him? If so, what should his new name be?
Meanwhile...
The next scene in our novel finally describes Cy's mechanical eye, as he sees his reflection for the first time since the attack. This has to be good, something unique and memorable. How are you picturing his new eye? Do you have any ideas? Thus far, the only description in our story is that the part of the eye through which Cy sees is red and that he does not have an eyelid with which to cover the eye. (It may actually have a cover should we choose to give him one, but it will have to be manually operated.)
While looking for imagery to spur my creativity, I found an awesome drawing that's reminiscent of the character development that I have planned for Cy. (Why yes, I do want him to become a badass. A nice badass, but a badass nonetheless.)
While we're at it, here's another image that I'm using as a focus for Cy and Moxie, as they would be probably about half to 2/3 of the way through the novel, once they become allies/lovers again.
I want Cy to retain some of the ethereal beauty of the fey, regardless of how mechanical he becomes because: 1) I think it's a nice juxtaposition to his increasingly mechanical body and also to the grittiness that his character will develop as he loses his more youthful innocence, and 2) to appeal to female readers. (You gotta have a handsome hero; it's just more fun that way.)
Some of the images that I've collected for inspiration for his mechanical eye follow.
Meanwhile...
The next scene in our novel finally describes Cy's mechanical eye, as he sees his reflection for the first time since the attack. This has to be good, something unique and memorable. How are you picturing his new eye? Do you have any ideas? Thus far, the only description in our story is that the part of the eye through which Cy sees is red and that he does not have an eyelid with which to cover the eye. (It may actually have a cover should we choose to give him one, but it will have to be manually operated.)
While looking for imagery to spur my creativity, I found an awesome drawing that's reminiscent of the character development that I have planned for Cy. (Why yes, I do want him to become a badass. A nice badass, but a badass nonetheless.)
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| "Torbor", http://www.gaiaonline.com/forum/barton-town/blood-promises/t.68591571_46/ |
While we're at it, here's another image that I'm using as a focus for Cy and Moxie, as they would be probably about half to 2/3 of the way through the novel, once they become allies/lovers again.
 |
| "Gravity of Love" from Magna Carta |
Some of the images that I've collected for inspiration for his mechanical eye follow.
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| "Cyborg and Human Relations," http://wallpaper-s.org/20__Cyborg_and_Human_Relations.htm |
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| "Cyborg Eye," origin unknown |
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| "Cyborg Soldier," origin unknown |
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| http://fileitt.site11.com/images/uploadinta.php?page=5 |
 | ||
| "Cyborg Eye" by Marianne Little, http://www.flickr.com/photos/27764102@N02/5540391463/ |
Please share your ideas and opinions! Should we keep the name Cy? How should his mechanical eye look?
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
How should our heroes investigate?
I'm sorry I haven't posted in a while. It's been an incredibly busy week, and my character sketch of Auggy somehow deleted itself just as I went to post it. :(
Next question: How might our heroes and heroines go about investigating Cy's attack? Also, please see the questions below, and chime in with any of your thoughts or ideas.
I'm reading a Victorian murder mystery to get some idea of how people investigated crimes prior to modern forensics and fingerprints. My ideas thus far go like this:
Next question: How might our heroes and heroines go about investigating Cy's attack? Also, please see the questions below, and chime in with any of your thoughts or ideas.
I'm reading a Victorian murder mystery to get some idea of how people investigated crimes prior to modern forensics and fingerprints. My ideas thus far go like this:
- Report the matter to the police. Would our characters do this? The police won't do much for a poor hybrid living in the slums of Slag City, but if they do investigate, they might discover Cy's and possibly Auggy's criminal activities and/or our characters' involvement with the rebels.
- Try to find out what Cy's remembers, which is...? He's having memory problems and would only have a flash or two at this point in the novel. More memories would emerge throughout the investigation process.
- Examine the scene of the crime for any evidence. What should would our characters find? To refresh your memory: Cy's left jaw and the left side of his ribs were shattered, his left eye and left arm were destroyed, the arm partly by fire. His faerie arm, which was also on the left side, was cut off and taken. Then the building was set on fire around him. What's left of the building? Where was he? What was he doing there?
- Question the people living or working around the scene of the crime. Who lives/works there? Who should they encounter? (This is an excellent opportunity to introduce any characters that you might like to add into the novel.) What might they have seen? Or how else could they help or hinder the investigation?
- Track down and question/investigate any enemies Cy or even Auggy (as Cy's employer) might have. (This is another great opportunity for including any new character ideas.) Who might these people be? What involvement did they have in Cy's attack, with the gnomes, or with the collection of Cy's essence of fey? How might they help or hinder our heroes and heroines?
Sunday, March 20, 2011
Chapter 2, part 2
A gasp escaped the woman's lips as she turned in the sidhe's arms. The faerie's hands dropped away, and she swayed, gazing up at him in open-mouthed wonder. Auggy wondered what image she was seeing because it sure as hell wasn't the same thing he was. No, definitely not, he thought as she moved to kiss the creature. The faerie's lip curled and he blurred. He was there one moment then two steps away the next, staring down at the woman with the look of supreme disdain that only the fey could manage. Then suddenly Auggy saw the woman disappearing into the crowd, moving with in the vacant manner of a human entranced. I'm losing time, he realized. That's not good.
The sidhe glided toward him, and the sounds of the bar faded away. Auggy dug his nails into his palm and the sound returned with a pop. Get it together, Taggart, he lectured himself. Now is not the time to-- The faerie stopped within touching distance and looked down at him with... respect? No, surely not. But the look in those creepy red eyes appeared to be both wary and approving. It had to be another glamour. Auggy was seeing things that weren't there.
The creature sat across from him in a flourish of silk. How do they do that? Auggy wondered. The sidhe wore a white, sleeveless tunic and matching pants. There wasn't enough fabric there for a flourish. Auggy so needed to learn that skill. He leaned back in his chair, pretending that the sidhe's presence didn't affect him, and propped his foot up on his other knee. He wanted his favorite knife within reaching distance, although he loathed to admit it. "Are you always this melodramatic?" he sneered. "If you want to talk to me, cut the faerie crap."
The sidhe laughed, and his eyes twinkled with honest-to-God mirth. Mercurial little shit, Auggy thought, even as that mesmerizing voice made his heart sing. He fought the urge to make a joke just so he could hear that laugh again. The sidhe shrugged. "It is our nature to push back," he said, as if that make a lick of sense. The he frowned. "You are surprisingly resilient for a human. That's... troublesome." He looked like he was about to say more, but cut himself off.
The sidhe was tamping down his magic though, and Auggy breathed a sigh of relief. His breath still felt like frost, but it was bearable now--even pleasant if the truth be told, a nice reprieve from the summer heat. He wondered if the faerie was doing that on purpose. He studied the creature's achingly beautiful face, but couldn't tell. "Sooooo," Auggy drawled, "messing with strangers in a human bar seemed like fun tonight, huh?"
"We're not strangers, Augrum Taggart," the faerie said, his voice low. "We run in the same circles, you and I."
Auggy scowled. This couldn't be good. He leaned forward and pointed at the sidhe with his silver-smeared fingers. "One, I'm not a dog. Two, I've never seen you before. And three... well, you get the idea."
The faerie didn't respond right away, entranced by the glimmering dust that still coated Auggy's fingers. Then he shook himself and met Auggy's gaze again. "Of course you haven't," he said. "I'm not that sloppy. A spider does not miss."
Auggy's breath caught. A few choice words ran through his head as he sat back, and his fingers danced on the hilt of his knife. It was pure steel, not as good as cold iron, but still enough to burn a faerie, even kill him if he sliced deep enough. Better than the gun at his side; this sidhe looked capable of dodging bullet. "A faerie assassin," he breathed and then slapped his thigh with his other hand. "Well, just truss me up and slap me silly. What a perfect end to a perfect day."
The faerie gave him a tight-lipped smile. "I don't play with my prey, Mr. Taggart. I simply kill them. Perhaps it has escaped your notice, but you are very much alive."
"Then why did you even mention it?"
"Because I don't appreciate being played either," the faerie said. He drummed his claws on the table, looking skyward as if searching for a word. Then he snapped his fingers and smiled. It was a heart-wrenchingly beautiful smile, just like the rest of him. "Fair warning, I believe humans call it. So you know not to double-cross me, as you have so many others."
Auggy raised a brow but then cracked a grin, part in relief and part in humor. "Hey now. I can't help it if the people whose tech I 'borrow' want it back. I sell my services, not my loyalty. So you're looking to employ me then?"
The faerie nodded. If Auggy's immorality bothered him, it didn't show. Hmm, Auggy thought. Maybe I could grow to like this creature, given enough time and booze. "You realize my specialty is steam tech," he said. "Didn't think faeries had much interest in that."
The sidhe curled his lip at the thought. The sheer level of repugnance in his expression made Auggy laugh. The faerie's face lightened as he watched, and soon his eyes were shining with mirth as well. He waited for Auggy to finish before speaking again, which Auggy thought was odd, but then, faeries were odd creatures. "I seek knowledge," he finally said, "not metal." He said metal as if it were a dirty word. Auggy grinned.
"All right," Auggy said, "so what do I call you, oh great sidhe-man?"
The faerie shrugged. "I don't particularly care, but most humans call me Raine."
Raine. I know that name. Auggy picked the gear up from the table and twirled it around his finger again. Fidgeting helped him think. Raine watched the glinting metal without a word, and Auggy realized that he probably thought he was taunting him. He set the gear down. "I've heard of you," he finally said, "but I thought you were a braider, some sort of magic healer who knits flesh back together or something."
The faerie sighed. The sound skittered around them like wind through the trees, except there were no leaves in the bar. Creepy. "I am many things," he said. "Spider, braider, healer, whatever you wish to call me, but today... Today, I became a mesher. I attached a mechanical arm and eye to a living creature."
Auggy gaped. "Willingly?"
Raine gave him a wry smile. "No, I was held at gunpoint." His tone was drier than the sandpaper Auggy had stashed away in his pockets. It made Auggy think of Cy again, with his dry sarcasm and wry humor. The ache returned to Auggy's chest, and he rubbed at it. There wasn't a damn thing I could have done for the boy, he told himself, but the pain didn't ease.
"So you meshed some steam tech parts to someone's flesh," Auggy said, "and you... what? Want me to steal them back for you? That's kind of twisted, you know. Even for me."
Raine's eyes flashed, and suddenly Auggy's breath was shards of ice scraping through his throat. Mercurial son of a-- Auggy's thoughts scattered as he struggled to breathe. This is how he kills, he realized. Not with a blade but with magic.
"I did not save a life only to have it taken away again by the likes of you," the sidhe hissed.
"Didn't intend to," Auggy choked out. "Let up, would you?" Wasn't I thinking just a few minutes ago that I could actually like this creature? I must be insane. The magic receded as the faerie settled back in his chair. Auggy hadn't even seen him move, and that scared him. Fair warning indeed.
Raine waved a hand as if brushing off a trivial matter. Auggy swore at him silently in his head. "I'm told the arm is powered by steam pulled from the man's blood," Raine said. "I want to know who created it and how far this technology has spread."
Auggy's brows rose. "Is that even possible? Pulling steam from the blood, I mean." Then he started thinking about the implications and clutched his stomach. "I think I'm going to be sick," he muttered.
Raine tipped his head to the side as he studied Auggy's reaction. The movement reminded Auggy of a falcon eying his prey. Auggy moved his shoulders and cracked his neck. He didn't like that look. Then the sidhe smiled... or something. Auggy didn't have a word for that expression. It was more a baring of teeth or a grimace of shared pain than a smile. "You realize the danger," Raine said. "Good. I feared you wouldn't."
"Yeah, I get it," Auggy said. He had seen too much of the dark side of humanity not to expect the worst from people. Corruption. Betrayal. Murder. He'd seen it all, and God, he was sick of it. This is my last job, he realized. I can't take this anymore. Aloud, he said, "Some corrupt SOB is going to start using people's bodies to power his machines. They'll make mechanical monsters made of people and metal. There will be oppression, slavery, war." He ran his fingers through his hair, clutching the spiky ends. "This is a freaking nightmare." He glared at Raine. "Thank you ever so much for bringing this to me. Blissful ignorance would have been a nice change of pace."
The sidhe smiled, totally unrepentant. Damn faeries. "Will you take the job?"
"Yeah, I'll take it. If the payment is right. I don't work for free, you know."
Raine pulled a black silk pouch from his waist and dropped it on the table. Gems spilled out: diamonds, sapphires, a glowing ruby. Whoa, Auggy thought. "Is this enough?" the sidhe asked.
"Yep," Auggy said and gave him a shit-eating grin. He glanced around to make sure no one had noticed the gems--he didn't want to get jumped in the street again--then pushed them back into the pouch and pocketed it. He supposed he should feel bad for taking advantage of the sidhe. Faeries didn't understand money the way humans did, which is why Cy had never managed to save a single copper of the money Auggy paid him. But somehow, Auggy just couldn't bring himself to give a damn today. "Where did you get all of this?" he asked.
"That is not your concern."
Auggy rubbed the back of his neck. Yeah, he could learn to hate this sidhe. "Okay," he said, "so who's the poor sap who got the mechanical arm?"
The sidhe glided toward him, and the sounds of the bar faded away. Auggy dug his nails into his palm and the sound returned with a pop. Get it together, Taggart, he lectured himself. Now is not the time to-- The faerie stopped within touching distance and looked down at him with... respect? No, surely not. But the look in those creepy red eyes appeared to be both wary and approving. It had to be another glamour. Auggy was seeing things that weren't there.
The creature sat across from him in a flourish of silk. How do they do that? Auggy wondered. The sidhe wore a white, sleeveless tunic and matching pants. There wasn't enough fabric there for a flourish. Auggy so needed to learn that skill. He leaned back in his chair, pretending that the sidhe's presence didn't affect him, and propped his foot up on his other knee. He wanted his favorite knife within reaching distance, although he loathed to admit it. "Are you always this melodramatic?" he sneered. "If you want to talk to me, cut the faerie crap."
The sidhe laughed, and his eyes twinkled with honest-to-God mirth. Mercurial little shit, Auggy thought, even as that mesmerizing voice made his heart sing. He fought the urge to make a joke just so he could hear that laugh again. The sidhe shrugged. "It is our nature to push back," he said, as if that make a lick of sense. The he frowned. "You are surprisingly resilient for a human. That's... troublesome." He looked like he was about to say more, but cut himself off.
The sidhe was tamping down his magic though, and Auggy breathed a sigh of relief. His breath still felt like frost, but it was bearable now--even pleasant if the truth be told, a nice reprieve from the summer heat. He wondered if the faerie was doing that on purpose. He studied the creature's achingly beautiful face, but couldn't tell. "Sooooo," Auggy drawled, "messing with strangers in a human bar seemed like fun tonight, huh?"
"We're not strangers, Augrum Taggart," the faerie said, his voice low. "We run in the same circles, you and I."
Auggy scowled. This couldn't be good. He leaned forward and pointed at the sidhe with his silver-smeared fingers. "One, I'm not a dog. Two, I've never seen you before. And three... well, you get the idea."
The faerie didn't respond right away, entranced by the glimmering dust that still coated Auggy's fingers. Then he shook himself and met Auggy's gaze again. "Of course you haven't," he said. "I'm not that sloppy. A spider does not miss."
Auggy's breath caught. A few choice words ran through his head as he sat back, and his fingers danced on the hilt of his knife. It was pure steel, not as good as cold iron, but still enough to burn a faerie, even kill him if he sliced deep enough. Better than the gun at his side; this sidhe looked capable of dodging bullet. "A faerie assassin," he breathed and then slapped his thigh with his other hand. "Well, just truss me up and slap me silly. What a perfect end to a perfect day."
The faerie gave him a tight-lipped smile. "I don't play with my prey, Mr. Taggart. I simply kill them. Perhaps it has escaped your notice, but you are very much alive."
"Then why did you even mention it?"
"Because I don't appreciate being played either," the faerie said. He drummed his claws on the table, looking skyward as if searching for a word. Then he snapped his fingers and smiled. It was a heart-wrenchingly beautiful smile, just like the rest of him. "Fair warning, I believe humans call it. So you know not to double-cross me, as you have so many others."
Auggy raised a brow but then cracked a grin, part in relief and part in humor. "Hey now. I can't help it if the people whose tech I 'borrow' want it back. I sell my services, not my loyalty. So you're looking to employ me then?"
The faerie nodded. If Auggy's immorality bothered him, it didn't show. Hmm, Auggy thought. Maybe I could grow to like this creature, given enough time and booze. "You realize my specialty is steam tech," he said. "Didn't think faeries had much interest in that."
The sidhe curled his lip at the thought. The sheer level of repugnance in his expression made Auggy laugh. The faerie's face lightened as he watched, and soon his eyes were shining with mirth as well. He waited for Auggy to finish before speaking again, which Auggy thought was odd, but then, faeries were odd creatures. "I seek knowledge," he finally said, "not metal." He said metal as if it were a dirty word. Auggy grinned.
"All right," Auggy said, "so what do I call you, oh great sidhe-man?"
The faerie shrugged. "I don't particularly care, but most humans call me Raine."
Raine. I know that name. Auggy picked the gear up from the table and twirled it around his finger again. Fidgeting helped him think. Raine watched the glinting metal without a word, and Auggy realized that he probably thought he was taunting him. He set the gear down. "I've heard of you," he finally said, "but I thought you were a braider, some sort of magic healer who knits flesh back together or something."
The faerie sighed. The sound skittered around them like wind through the trees, except there were no leaves in the bar. Creepy. "I am many things," he said. "Spider, braider, healer, whatever you wish to call me, but today... Today, I became a mesher. I attached a mechanical arm and eye to a living creature."
Auggy gaped. "Willingly?"
Raine gave him a wry smile. "No, I was held at gunpoint." His tone was drier than the sandpaper Auggy had stashed away in his pockets. It made Auggy think of Cy again, with his dry sarcasm and wry humor. The ache returned to Auggy's chest, and he rubbed at it. There wasn't a damn thing I could have done for the boy, he told himself, but the pain didn't ease.
"So you meshed some steam tech parts to someone's flesh," Auggy said, "and you... what? Want me to steal them back for you? That's kind of twisted, you know. Even for me."
Raine's eyes flashed, and suddenly Auggy's breath was shards of ice scraping through his throat. Mercurial son of a-- Auggy's thoughts scattered as he struggled to breathe. This is how he kills, he realized. Not with a blade but with magic.
"I did not save a life only to have it taken away again by the likes of you," the sidhe hissed.
"Didn't intend to," Auggy choked out. "Let up, would you?" Wasn't I thinking just a few minutes ago that I could actually like this creature? I must be insane. The magic receded as the faerie settled back in his chair. Auggy hadn't even seen him move, and that scared him. Fair warning indeed.
Raine waved a hand as if brushing off a trivial matter. Auggy swore at him silently in his head. "I'm told the arm is powered by steam pulled from the man's blood," Raine said. "I want to know who created it and how far this technology has spread."
Auggy's brows rose. "Is that even possible? Pulling steam from the blood, I mean." Then he started thinking about the implications and clutched his stomach. "I think I'm going to be sick," he muttered.
Raine tipped his head to the side as he studied Auggy's reaction. The movement reminded Auggy of a falcon eying his prey. Auggy moved his shoulders and cracked his neck. He didn't like that look. Then the sidhe smiled... or something. Auggy didn't have a word for that expression. It was more a baring of teeth or a grimace of shared pain than a smile. "You realize the danger," Raine said. "Good. I feared you wouldn't."
"Yeah, I get it," Auggy said. He had seen too much of the dark side of humanity not to expect the worst from people. Corruption. Betrayal. Murder. He'd seen it all, and God, he was sick of it. This is my last job, he realized. I can't take this anymore. Aloud, he said, "Some corrupt SOB is going to start using people's bodies to power his machines. They'll make mechanical monsters made of people and metal. There will be oppression, slavery, war." He ran his fingers through his hair, clutching the spiky ends. "This is a freaking nightmare." He glared at Raine. "Thank you ever so much for bringing this to me. Blissful ignorance would have been a nice change of pace."
The sidhe smiled, totally unrepentant. Damn faeries. "Will you take the job?"
"Yeah, I'll take it. If the payment is right. I don't work for free, you know."
Raine pulled a black silk pouch from his waist and dropped it on the table. Gems spilled out: diamonds, sapphires, a glowing ruby. Whoa, Auggy thought. "Is this enough?" the sidhe asked.
"Yep," Auggy said and gave him a shit-eating grin. He glanced around to make sure no one had noticed the gems--he didn't want to get jumped in the street again--then pushed them back into the pouch and pocketed it. He supposed he should feel bad for taking advantage of the sidhe. Faeries didn't understand money the way humans did, which is why Cy had never managed to save a single copper of the money Auggy paid him. But somehow, Auggy just couldn't bring himself to give a damn today. "Where did you get all of this?" he asked.
"That is not your concern."
Auggy rubbed the back of his neck. Yeah, he could learn to hate this sidhe. "Okay," he said, "so who's the poor sap who got the mechanical arm?"
Saturday, March 12, 2011
How did Moxie know who to seek out to save Cy?
Next question: How did Moxie know who she should go to for help saving Cy? Please post your ideas in the comments section.
I've been pondering this question for a while now. I had assumed that we had at least two villains (or groups of villains): the ones who tried to kill Cy and the ones who helped save him in order to collect his essence of fey. I think our readers will assume that as well because why try to kill Cy and then turn around and heal him? It makes no sense until you realize that they must have built the mechanical arm and had it ready when Moxie came to them for help. She wouldn't have had much time: Cy was wounded and dying. And something as complex as his mechanical with its apparatus that distills his essence of fey couldn't have been built in an hour.
There are only two reasons that I can think of that they would have had the arm, which by the way, had to be pretty close to the right length for his body.
I've been pondering this question for a while now. I had assumed that we had at least two villains (or groups of villains): the ones who tried to kill Cy and the ones who helped save him in order to collect his essence of fey. I think our readers will assume that as well because why try to kill Cy and then turn around and heal him? It makes no sense until you realize that they must have built the mechanical arm and had it ready when Moxie came to them for help. She wouldn't have had much time: Cy was wounded and dying. And something as complex as his mechanical with its apparatus that distills his essence of fey couldn't have been built in an hour.
There are only two reasons that I can think of that they would have had the arm, which by the way, had to be pretty close to the right length for his body.
- They're doing this to a large number of people. I think that's unlikely though because the fey have such an aversion to metal that they wouldn't willingly submit to having mechanical parts put on to them no matter how grievously wounded they were.
- Our villains intended the arm for Cy, which means they were the ones who orchestrated the attack, making sure that his left arm was rendered useless, requiring amputation.
- Our villains orchestrated the attack on Cy.
- Cy is somehow unique, which is why our villains targeted him specifically rather than a full-blooded faerie.
- Our villains cut off and how have his faerie arm.
- Our villains had some contact with Moxie prior to the attack, which is why she went to them for help in those moments of desperation.
Saturday, March 5, 2011
Brainstorming: Essence of fey?
We need to create our villains, so I'm attacking it from a few different angles. Here's the first. Cy's essence of fey is being distilled from his blood into a vial inside the mechanical arm he has unwillingly required. What might our villains do with his distilled essence of fey? Go crazy. Outlandish works.
Here are a few ideas I've thought about or that others have tossed around before:
[Post script, "I'm discouraged" note deleted. I apologize; that's very much not like me. Just had an exceptionally bad day.]
Here are a few ideas I've thought about or that others have tossed around before:
- In mythology, the sluagh (pronounced "slooa") are the worst of the faeries. They're the damned Host that flies through the air at night, maiming or killing basically whatever they encounter. In our novel, I'm thinking the sluagh should be undead faeries. When faeries die, especially if they are murdered, they sometimes turn into sluagh, basically an evil, ravening horde with uncanny intelligence and a thirst for blood. The king of the faeries (Finvarra, for anyone for reads mythology) may be dying and starting to turn. Distilled essence of fey could reverse or delay the process.
- The faerie essence could be used to make or power more powerful steam tech machines.
- It could be a component of some terrible magic.
- It could be a black market drug.
- Or the cure for a disease running rampant amongst... whoever our villains are.
[Post script, "I'm discouraged" note deleted. I apologize; that's very much not like me. Just had an exceptionally bad day.]
Thursday, March 3, 2011
Chapter 2, part 1
Twirling a copper cog around his finger with feigned nonchalance, Auggy rocked his chair back and pressed his boot against the beer-stained table in front of him. The hilt of a blade peeked out from his boot. A fight was spreading through the saloon. It looked like fun and Auggy was debating whether or not to join in. He spotted Mixie, Moxie's twin sister, through the crowd. She appeared to be having a grand old time.
Mixie dodged a punch then delivered a staggering blow to her opponent's solar plexus. The air whooshed out of him and he stumbled back, grasping at Mixie's clothes as he went down. Her tight-fitting half-bodice and bare midriff gave him no purchase, however, and his hands skidded down her front until they caught on the thick leather belt of her baggy pants. Mixie kneed him in the jaw, dislodging him before he found whatever weapons or treasures were hidden in those folds. She looked up and caught Auggy's gaze. Grinning, she gave him a finger wave. Brass knuckles glinted around her fingers.
Auggy grinned back but shook his head when she motioned for him to join her. Mixie raised a brow in surprise and then puffed her lower lip out in just about the cutest pout Auggy had ever seen. He laughed and waved her off, motioning to his empty beer mug as if he wanted another drink. Mixie gave him one of her dazzling smiles then slugged the man beside her. He looked like the good, law-abiding type, just the sort who would set Mixie off into a tirade about the injustices of the corrupt republic in which they lived.
Auggy's smile died abruptly. Maybe I should tell her that Cy's dead, he thought. He sighed and tossed the cog he had been twirling onto the table. The clatter of metal on wood was barely audible over the din of the crowd. Nah. Let Moxie do it. Playful, creative, tough-as-nails Mixie he could deal with, but a grief-stricken, sobbing Mixie demanding answers he didn't have? Hell no. Auggy had brought Cy's dying body back to her sister, and that had been bad enough. He'd done his good deed for the day. If Cy's God really was up in the sky keeping a tally, then Auggy may have even tipped himself over to the side of good today. Well, we can't have that. He made a mental note to commit more nefarious deeds this week to tip the balance back to where it should be.
Auggy patted his hands down his sleeveless leather coat, perusing the lumps from the multitude of trinkets, weapons, and lockpicks hidden amongst all the pockets and straps, and drew one out at random. It was a hollowed-out pocket watch with a grinning face on the front of it, worn smooth from years of finger oil and absent-minded rubbing. Auggy ran his thumb over the face then popped the case open. Damn. Inside was that chunk of strange white metal that Cy had given him a few weeks back because, apparently, when people found odd things, they thought of Auggy. Go figure.
He felt a pang, looking at it now. Was that... grief? No, surely not. Guilt then. Yes, guilt. He and Cy hadn't been friends; Auggy didn't have friends. He simply collected people who weren't as stupid or corrupt as all the rest. People like Mixie, clever little steamwright that she was, and Cy, who had become something like that damnable conscience that Auggy had discarded years ago. The boy had been gutter trash when Auggy had met him: a destitute sixteen-year-old forced to steal or starve because no one would hire a half-breed, no matter how pretty he was to look at. People are sick, Auggy thought. And that boy should know better by now. It had been eight years since Cy had tried to lift Auggy's wallet (he might have even succeeded had Auggy not been wearing an obscene number of pockets), and Auggy had watched him debase himself over and over again trying to find "honest work," just to stay on the right side of his morality, if not the law. Auggy had plenty of work for him, albeit of the illegal kind, and damn if that boy hadn't become the best lockpick he'd ever employed. Machines worked for Cy--or fell apart in his hands as the case may be--with uncanny ease. Auggy had never regretted hiring him, Cy had made sure of it. He worked hard and fast, and everything he did, amoral or not, he did with that wry smile, as if poverty and contempt were his due and he was somehow escaping it by working himself into an early grave. It pissed Auggy off to no end.
And I let that boy die.
Growling, Auggy stuffed the odd white metal back in the watch case. He had been rubbing the metal without even thinking about it, and now a fine sheen of silver coated his fingertips. He cast about for a cloth or something to wipe his fingers with and found himself staring into the plumpest, most perfect pair of breasts he'd ever seen. The bar maid reached across him, giving him an even better view of her bodice-enhanced cleavage--good Lord, how did those things stay in place?--and swapped out his empty beer mug for a fresh one. Foam spilled over the side, wetting the creamy skin of her delicate hand.
"Is there anything else I can do for you, sugar?" she asked. She gave one long, slow lick to the froth on her hand, keeping her brown-eyed gaze locked with his. Then her tongue flicked out, tasting the foam on her lips. "Anything at all?"
Auggy almost whimpered. Now, he knew he was a handsome man, what with his black hair, easy smile, and those soft, southern cheekbones and enchanting hazel eyes that he'd inherited from his mother, God bless her. Auggy used it to his advantage all the time, and he couldn't count how many women he'd bedded because of it. But this was ridiculous. This woman didn't even know his name, much less his reputation. Or did she? Auggy looked her up and down, from her old-fashioned bodice made modern with copper boning to her short ruffled skirt that showed too much leg, and then back up to her lovely face. He also noted the dagger hidden at her waist and the poisonous flowers pinned to her lapel. This little sex kitten had probably taken one of the contracts out on his life. His enemies were insidious that way.
Auggy gave her the sweetest smile he could muster and tossed a gold mark on her tray. "Yes, actually," he said, "there is something. How about you take the night off, sugar, and stick to serving beers?"
Outrage flared across the woman's face, rounding those kiss-me lips into a perfect O. Auggy gulped. Was he mistaken? Had his paranoia gotten the better of him--again? But then her palm slapped his cheek with a resounding smack, and he decided he didn't give a damn. "How dare you... you... mongrel!" she sputtered. "I am not a--"
"Leave."
Auggy blinked. The voice that had spoken felt like spidersilk brushing across his skin. It tangled up inside of him, muddling his brain, then smoothed into a most disconcerting caress. Cy? he wondered. His heart did this weird little leaping thing. The front legs of his chair hit the floor with a resounding thump as he clutched at his chest. What is this? A heart attack? I'm not that old.
The bar maid--assassin?--turned as if in a trance, and Auggy saw the sidhe standing behind her with his hands resting lightly on her shoulders. Not Cy then. This faerie's long, slender fingers were ghostly pale and tipped with razor-sharp claws. Silky, white-blond hair fell past his waist, framing a lean body and a face so lovely that it was painful to look at. Cy's faerie presence merely gave the unsettling impression of sunshine and autumn leaves brushing the skin; this creature made Auggy feel as if he had plunged into the icy depths of a lake on the blackest of nights. He shivered and clenched his jaw to keep his teeth from chattering. He had forgotten how alien these creatures really were. The sidhe's eyes had no whites, only pure black irises floating like beetles in pools of red as dark as blood. Black gashes cut across the sidhe's arms, baring flesh that should never have seen the light of day. They weren't injuries, but a natural part of his body, the faerie defect that showed just how twisted their magic had made their race.
A gasp escaped the woman's lips as she turned in the sidhe's arms. The faerie's hands dropped away, and she swayed, gazing up at him in open-mouthed wonder. Auggy wondered what image she was seeing because it sure as hell wasn't the same thing he was. No, definitely not, he thought as she moved to kiss the creature. The faerie's lip curled and he blurred. He was there one moment then two steps away the next, staring down at the woman with the look of supreme disdain that only the fey could manage. Then suddenly Auggy saw the woman disappearing into the crowd, moving with in the vacant manner of a human entranced. I'm losing time, he realized. That's not good.
[To be continued]
Mixie dodged a punch then delivered a staggering blow to her opponent's solar plexus. The air whooshed out of him and he stumbled back, grasping at Mixie's clothes as he went down. Her tight-fitting half-bodice and bare midriff gave him no purchase, however, and his hands skidded down her front until they caught on the thick leather belt of her baggy pants. Mixie kneed him in the jaw, dislodging him before he found whatever weapons or treasures were hidden in those folds. She looked up and caught Auggy's gaze. Grinning, she gave him a finger wave. Brass knuckles glinted around her fingers.
Auggy grinned back but shook his head when she motioned for him to join her. Mixie raised a brow in surprise and then puffed her lower lip out in just about the cutest pout Auggy had ever seen. He laughed and waved her off, motioning to his empty beer mug as if he wanted another drink. Mixie gave him one of her dazzling smiles then slugged the man beside her. He looked like the good, law-abiding type, just the sort who would set Mixie off into a tirade about the injustices of the corrupt republic in which they lived.
Auggy's smile died abruptly. Maybe I should tell her that Cy's dead, he thought. He sighed and tossed the cog he had been twirling onto the table. The clatter of metal on wood was barely audible over the din of the crowd. Nah. Let Moxie do it. Playful, creative, tough-as-nails Mixie he could deal with, but a grief-stricken, sobbing Mixie demanding answers he didn't have? Hell no. Auggy had brought Cy's dying body back to her sister, and that had been bad enough. He'd done his good deed for the day. If Cy's God really was up in the sky keeping a tally, then Auggy may have even tipped himself over to the side of good today. Well, we can't have that. He made a mental note to commit more nefarious deeds this week to tip the balance back to where it should be.
Auggy patted his hands down his sleeveless leather coat, perusing the lumps from the multitude of trinkets, weapons, and lockpicks hidden amongst all the pockets and straps, and drew one out at random. It was a hollowed-out pocket watch with a grinning face on the front of it, worn smooth from years of finger oil and absent-minded rubbing. Auggy ran his thumb over the face then popped the case open. Damn. Inside was that chunk of strange white metal that Cy had given him a few weeks back because, apparently, when people found odd things, they thought of Auggy. Go figure.
He felt a pang, looking at it now. Was that... grief? No, surely not. Guilt then. Yes, guilt. He and Cy hadn't been friends; Auggy didn't have friends. He simply collected people who weren't as stupid or corrupt as all the rest. People like Mixie, clever little steamwright that she was, and Cy, who had become something like that damnable conscience that Auggy had discarded years ago. The boy had been gutter trash when Auggy had met him: a destitute sixteen-year-old forced to steal or starve because no one would hire a half-breed, no matter how pretty he was to look at. People are sick, Auggy thought. And that boy should know better by now. It had been eight years since Cy had tried to lift Auggy's wallet (he might have even succeeded had Auggy not been wearing an obscene number of pockets), and Auggy had watched him debase himself over and over again trying to find "honest work," just to stay on the right side of his morality, if not the law. Auggy had plenty of work for him, albeit of the illegal kind, and damn if that boy hadn't become the best lockpick he'd ever employed. Machines worked for Cy--or fell apart in his hands as the case may be--with uncanny ease. Auggy had never regretted hiring him, Cy had made sure of it. He worked hard and fast, and everything he did, amoral or not, he did with that wry smile, as if poverty and contempt were his due and he was somehow escaping it by working himself into an early grave. It pissed Auggy off to no end.
And I let that boy die.
Growling, Auggy stuffed the odd white metal back in the watch case. He had been rubbing the metal without even thinking about it, and now a fine sheen of silver coated his fingertips. He cast about for a cloth or something to wipe his fingers with and found himself staring into the plumpest, most perfect pair of breasts he'd ever seen. The bar maid reached across him, giving him an even better view of her bodice-enhanced cleavage--good Lord, how did those things stay in place?--and swapped out his empty beer mug for a fresh one. Foam spilled over the side, wetting the creamy skin of her delicate hand.
"Is there anything else I can do for you, sugar?" she asked. She gave one long, slow lick to the froth on her hand, keeping her brown-eyed gaze locked with his. Then her tongue flicked out, tasting the foam on her lips. "Anything at all?"
Auggy almost whimpered. Now, he knew he was a handsome man, what with his black hair, easy smile, and those soft, southern cheekbones and enchanting hazel eyes that he'd inherited from his mother, God bless her. Auggy used it to his advantage all the time, and he couldn't count how many women he'd bedded because of it. But this was ridiculous. This woman didn't even know his name, much less his reputation. Or did she? Auggy looked her up and down, from her old-fashioned bodice made modern with copper boning to her short ruffled skirt that showed too much leg, and then back up to her lovely face. He also noted the dagger hidden at her waist and the poisonous flowers pinned to her lapel. This little sex kitten had probably taken one of the contracts out on his life. His enemies were insidious that way.
Auggy gave her the sweetest smile he could muster and tossed a gold mark on her tray. "Yes, actually," he said, "there is something. How about you take the night off, sugar, and stick to serving beers?"
Outrage flared across the woman's face, rounding those kiss-me lips into a perfect O. Auggy gulped. Was he mistaken? Had his paranoia gotten the better of him--again? But then her palm slapped his cheek with a resounding smack, and he decided he didn't give a damn. "How dare you... you... mongrel!" she sputtered. "I am not a--"
"Leave."
Auggy blinked. The voice that had spoken felt like spidersilk brushing across his skin. It tangled up inside of him, muddling his brain, then smoothed into a most disconcerting caress. Cy? he wondered. His heart did this weird little leaping thing. The front legs of his chair hit the floor with a resounding thump as he clutched at his chest. What is this? A heart attack? I'm not that old.
The bar maid--assassin?--turned as if in a trance, and Auggy saw the sidhe standing behind her with his hands resting lightly on her shoulders. Not Cy then. This faerie's long, slender fingers were ghostly pale and tipped with razor-sharp claws. Silky, white-blond hair fell past his waist, framing a lean body and a face so lovely that it was painful to look at. Cy's faerie presence merely gave the unsettling impression of sunshine and autumn leaves brushing the skin; this creature made Auggy feel as if he had plunged into the icy depths of a lake on the blackest of nights. He shivered and clenched his jaw to keep his teeth from chattering. He had forgotten how alien these creatures really were. The sidhe's eyes had no whites, only pure black irises floating like beetles in pools of red as dark as blood. Black gashes cut across the sidhe's arms, baring flesh that should never have seen the light of day. They weren't injuries, but a natural part of his body, the faerie defect that showed just how twisted their magic had made their race.
A gasp escaped the woman's lips as she turned in the sidhe's arms. The faerie's hands dropped away, and she swayed, gazing up at him in open-mouthed wonder. Auggy wondered what image she was seeing because it sure as hell wasn't the same thing he was. No, definitely not, he thought as she moved to kiss the creature. The faerie's lip curled and he blurred. He was there one moment then two steps away the next, staring down at the woman with the look of supreme disdain that only the fey could manage. Then suddenly Auggy saw the woman disappearing into the crowd, moving with in the vacant manner of a human entranced. I'm losing time, he realized. That's not good.
[To be continued]
Sunday, February 27, 2011
Status update
I apologize for not having posted in a while. I've been sick all week. I'm halfway through the writing of scene two, in which you get to meet the infamous Auggy Taggart and the playful little vixen Milena Daxia, more commonly known as Mixie, Moxie's twin sister. Meanwhile, we have a few questions that need answering...
Moxie's promise
The general consensus is that in order to get help to save Cy's life and get the steam tech parts to replace his left arm, Moxie promised to continue replacing Cy's living flesh with mechanical parts. What she doesn't know is that the steam tech arm, which run on steam extracted from Cy's blood, is also distilling his essence of fey into a small vial contained within the arm. Forums question: Who are the villains to whom Moxie made her promise and why do they want Cy's essence of fey?
The attempted murder of Cy
Someone or a group of people tried to murder Cy. They attacked him, cut off his faerie arm, left him for dead, and set fire to the building to reduce him to ashes. Forums question: Who tried to kill Cy, and why?
Moxie's pregnant!
Okay, maybe not. But Nancy on Facebook says, "Make a place for a new born fey, Andrea [Nancy's daughter] is naming her new daughter, Avery, which means leader of the fairies. Salvation comes through a new born queen." Forums question: How should we add baby Avery into our novel?
Side note: our novel's reference section
I've made a section in our forums called "Current Novel Design," in which I am recording the decisions we've made for plot, setting, and characters. Check it out. It includes pictures of our characters that I haven't had a chance to post yet on our main site.
Moxie's promise
The general consensus is that in order to get help to save Cy's life and get the steam tech parts to replace his left arm, Moxie promised to continue replacing Cy's living flesh with mechanical parts. What she doesn't know is that the steam tech arm, which run on steam extracted from Cy's blood, is also distilling his essence of fey into a small vial contained within the arm. Forums question: Who are the villains to whom Moxie made her promise and why do they want Cy's essence of fey?
The attempted murder of Cy
Someone or a group of people tried to murder Cy. They attacked him, cut off his faerie arm, left him for dead, and set fire to the building to reduce him to ashes. Forums question: Who tried to kill Cy, and why?
Moxie's pregnant!
Okay, maybe not. But Nancy on Facebook says, "Make a place for a new born fey, Andrea [Nancy's daughter] is naming her new daughter, Avery, which means leader of the fairies. Salvation comes through a new born queen." Forums question: How should we add baby Avery into our novel?
Side note: our novel's reference section
I've made a section in our forums called "Current Novel Design," in which I am recording the decisions we've made for plot, setting, and characters. Check it out. It includes pictures of our characters that I haven't had a chance to post yet on our main site.
Sunday, February 20, 2011
Morgan Daxia (Moxie) - Character Sketch
History and personality
Moxie is reckless, outgoing, and lives her life with vigor and aggressiveness. The daughter of two steamwrights (steam tech experts), she has been playing with gears and building steam tech machines since she was a little girl. After her village was destroyed in a war when she was sixteen, her parents moved to Slag City in search of work. Having lost everything when the soldiers torched their home, they had no choice but to move into the roughest part of the slums, albeit temporarily since steam tech mechanics are in high demand. Two years later, the Slag City government executed her parents for "insubordination" because they refused to build a steam tech weapon that would have killed thousands. Moxie grieved for her parents, but overriding her grief was rage. Now, three years later, she is herself an established steamwright and is involved with the steamers and rebels who seek to overthrow the corrupt government and the old-fashioned magic users in power.
Moxie is absent-minded and completely oblivious when she's thinking about or working on her machines. She thinks like a scientist, viewing the world with emotional detachment as she tries to make logical patterns out of the chaos. Because of this detachment, she doesn't always think about the morality of her actions and rarely does it even occur to her to consider others' feelings while she's in pursuit of a goal. She doesn't understand people and the subtleties of emotions and social interactions are lost on her. She usually gets her way through the brute force of her personality and sheer stubbornness; she refuses to admit defeat and will keep trying for a goal when others have long since given up.
Fatal flaws
1) Reckless
2) Rarely considers other people's feelings before she takes action
3) Doesn't understand emotion or the subtleties of social interaction
4) Takes logical action even if that action is amoral
5) Easily angered
Saving graces
1) Loves Cy fiercely
2) Highly skilled steamwright
3) Understands logic, mechanics, and strategy
4) Emotionally strong and fierce
Physical traits
Chin-length, straight, cinnamon-colored hair. Startling, large, dark brown eyes. Slender nose. Full lips. Shaped eyebrows. Voluptuous figure. Smooth, tanned skin. Moxie wouldn't know feminine if it hit her with a parasol. She never wears skirts or makeup, and her clothes are functional rather than stylish. She generally wears tight, black or dark brown pants (better for wiping dirt and machine oil on); knee-high, copper-toed boots (for when she drops heavy objects); two low-slung leather belts, one for holding tools and the other for her pistol and ammunition; either a sleeveless shirt or a collared, button-down shirt open at the neck and a man's vest; a waist-length, brown leather jacket; and either mechanic's lenses or metal-working goggles resting on her collarbones or pushed up into her hair. Although she by no means attempts to look feminine, her clothes tend to be form-fitting due to her voluptuousness and do little to hide her natural beauty. Moxie almost always has smudges of machine oil or dirt across her skin.
Moxie is reckless, outgoing, and lives her life with vigor and aggressiveness. The daughter of two steamwrights (steam tech experts), she has been playing with gears and building steam tech machines since she was a little girl. After her village was destroyed in a war when she was sixteen, her parents moved to Slag City in search of work. Having lost everything when the soldiers torched their home, they had no choice but to move into the roughest part of the slums, albeit temporarily since steam tech mechanics are in high demand. Two years later, the Slag City government executed her parents for "insubordination" because they refused to build a steam tech weapon that would have killed thousands. Moxie grieved for her parents, but overriding her grief was rage. Now, three years later, she is herself an established steamwright and is involved with the steamers and rebels who seek to overthrow the corrupt government and the old-fashioned magic users in power.
Moxie is absent-minded and completely oblivious when she's thinking about or working on her machines. She thinks like a scientist, viewing the world with emotional detachment as she tries to make logical patterns out of the chaos. Because of this detachment, she doesn't always think about the morality of her actions and rarely does it even occur to her to consider others' feelings while she's in pursuit of a goal. She doesn't understand people and the subtleties of emotions and social interactions are lost on her. She usually gets her way through the brute force of her personality and sheer stubbornness; she refuses to admit defeat and will keep trying for a goal when others have long since given up.
Fatal flaws
1) Reckless
2) Rarely considers other people's feelings before she takes action
3) Doesn't understand emotion or the subtleties of social interaction
4) Takes logical action even if that action is amoral
5) Easily angered
Saving graces
1) Loves Cy fiercely
2) Highly skilled steamwright
3) Understands logic, mechanics, and strategy
4) Emotionally strong and fierce
Physical traits
Chin-length, straight, cinnamon-colored hair. Startling, large, dark brown eyes. Slender nose. Full lips. Shaped eyebrows. Voluptuous figure. Smooth, tanned skin. Moxie wouldn't know feminine if it hit her with a parasol. She never wears skirts or makeup, and her clothes are functional rather than stylish. She generally wears tight, black or dark brown pants (better for wiping dirt and machine oil on); knee-high, copper-toed boots (for when she drops heavy objects); two low-slung leather belts, one for holding tools and the other for her pistol and ammunition; either a sleeveless shirt or a collared, button-down shirt open at the neck and a man's vest; a waist-length, brown leather jacket; and either mechanic's lenses or metal-working goggles resting on her collarbones or pushed up into her hair. Although she by no means attempts to look feminine, her clothes tend to be form-fitting due to her voluptuousness and do little to hide her natural beauty. Moxie almost always has smudges of machine oil or dirt across her skin.
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| Laetitia Casta, photo origin unknown |
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| From Cowboy Bebop, animewallpapers.com |
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| From Cowboy Bebop, animewallpapers.com |
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| Moxie's style of dress http://www.robotvsbadger.com/images/steampunk-girls/ |
Saturday, February 19, 2011
Chapter 1, part 2
Silence fell between them. All Cy could hear was Moxie's fast breaths, the sidhe's low growling, and the rapid beat of his own heart. Cy tried to move, but his limbs wouldn't work right and the pain was excruciating. Black winked in and out of his vision. What the hell had happened to him? All he could recall was blood pooling around him and a silky, condescending voice - this sidhe's voice. Oh, God. Did Moxie know? He fought the lethargy in his limbs, even managed to move his right arm, only to find that he was bound to the worktable.
Finally, the sidhe said, "You would claim a hybrid as one of your own?"
Moxie didn't hesitate. "I would walk through hell and back for this man. Hell yes, I claim him. He's mine."
The sidhe laughed. The dark, enchanting sound seethed with bitter mirth. "I don't like you, Morgan Daxia, but I can see why he does. Without the presence of other fey to fill his needs, your fire must have drawn him like a moth to a flame. Pity that it also burned his wings."
Moxie started to speak, but the sidhe cut her short. "What we've done here is evil, Morgan."
Finally, the sidhe said, "You would claim a hybrid as one of your own?"
Moxie didn't hesitate. "I would walk through hell and back for this man. Hell yes, I claim him. He's mine."
The sidhe laughed. The dark, enchanting sound seethed with bitter mirth. "I don't like you, Morgan Daxia, but I can see why he does. Without the presence of other fey to fill his needs, your fire must have drawn him like a moth to a flame. Pity that it also burned his wings."
Moxie started to speak, but the sidhe cut her short. "What we've done here is evil, Morgan."
"We saved his life."
"Not a kindness, I think." The sidhe's footsteps, soft as a fall of autumn leaves, receded as he approached the door.
"Then why did you do it?" Moxie called after him. She was angry, but beneath that was a trepidation that was painful to hear.
The door opened with a rush of sultry evening air. It was starting to rain, and the raindrops clattered on the metal skylight with a sound like rivets hitting the floor. "Because," he finally said, his voice so low that Cy could barely hear it over the rain, "I felt his faerie blood and recognized its cadence."
"What does that--" the door shut "--mean." Moxie huffed and muttered a few choice insults about the faerie's anatomy and what he should do with it. Then she holstered her gun and approached the worktable, her steps hesitant. "Cy? Are you awake? Please be awake, baby."
Cy turned his head toward her. The movement was difficult and exhausting, and it reawakened the agony in his skull that had been starting to abate. Moxie was as lovely as always, but he could see the strain tightening of her jaw and the shadows beneath her eyes. Sweat pasted her short, cinnamon hair to her face, and the normal smudges of machine oil that marred her tanned skin were streaked with blood. The blood looked hideously bright through the red haze covering Cy's vision. He tried to speak, but only succeeded in worsening the stinging pinpricks around his mouth. Another drop of blood slid down his cheek.
Moxie winced. She disappeared from his line of sight then reappeared with a small set of copper scissors. "Just a moment," she whispered. Cy stared at her as she snipped the threads sealing his lips. The horror of it made his heart race, and the threads hurt as she pulled them out. "I'm sorry, baby," she murmured, picking out the stitches. "It was the only way to... to..." She bit her lip then dragged it out through her teeth. When she finally spoke, the words tumbled out of her. "It was the only way to keep your lips where they should be. Your jaw and cheekbone were shattered. Raine, that awful sidhe, couldn't fix them. He tried, baby. God, we tried, but finally..." She leaned over him in a hug that wasn't a hug, squeezing her eyes shut as she touched his hair. "I made the replacements out of copper, so they won't burn you. And there's no risk of infection. Raine saw to that. And you're just as beautiful as always, although I know you won't believe me. You never could see how handsome you are." She broke off and pressed the heel of her hand to her lips. Her fingers were crusted with dirt and blood. "I couldn't lose you, Cy. You were dying. I couldn't... You were dying."
Cy's eye widened as he saw the tears glittering down on her cheeks. Moxie didn't cry. Ever. The closest he'd seen her to tears was three years ago when the government executed her parents. He couldn't remember what they had done, but he had a flash of Moxie sitting on her parents' bed, gripping her mother's metal-working goggles. Her eyes were dry as bone while her sister lay sobbing beside her. Even then anger had overridden her grief. That was Moxie. Stronger than anyone had a right to be, and stronger than Cy by far.
He tried to raise his hand to brush her cheek, forgetting for a moment that he was bound--why was he bound?--and the movement made his vision swim in streaks of red, copper, and brown. He couldn't feel his left arm, and his second left arm, that small, tender extra limb that was his faerie defect, felt just as numb. "I love you," he tried to say, but broke off into a fit of coughing so excruciating that darkness flowed over him and stole his words away.
* * *
Cy woke to the bitter scent of coffee spiked with whiskey. The red haze still covered his vision, and he realized as he opened his one remaining eye that the other had been lost--and replaced. He shuddered and was surprised that the movement didn't hurt. The agony that had wracked him was almost gone. That braider, Raine, must be a miracle healer, he mused.
"Cy?"
He turned his head. Moxie had drawn up a chair to his right and was sipping coffee, clutching the cup as if her life depended on it. Her face and hands were clean now, but the shadows looked like dark smudges beneath her eyes. Her mechanic's spectacles with their multiple lenses on thin metal arms were pushed haphazardly up into her hair. She looked exhausted. She took his hand, unbound now, and pressed the back of it to her cheek. Her skin was petal soft and sticky from tears. "Stay with me this time, baby," she whispered.
He turned his head. Moxie had drawn up a chair to his right and was sipping coffee, clutching the cup as if her life depended on it. Her face and hands were clean now, but the shadows looked like dark smudges beneath her eyes. Her mechanic's spectacles with their multiple lenses on thin metal arms were pushed haphazardly up into her hair. She looked exhausted. She took his hand, unbound now, and pressed the back of it to her cheek. Her skin was petal soft and sticky from tears. "Stay with me this time, baby," she whispered.
He gave her a wan smile. The left side of his mouth felt odd sliding across his new metal teeth. "I'll try," he croaked then fell into another fit of coughing. He tensed, expecting it to hurt, and it did, but it was nothing he couldn't handle.
"Here," Moxie said, offering him her whiskey-spiked coffee. Cy made a face. He hated that sludge she drank, but he pushed himself up on his elbow and reached for the ceramic mug. He froze, staring at the limb. His left arm was gone, replaced by a complicated mess of gears, pistons, and copper plates. I shouldn't be able to move this, he thought in a detached sort of shock, even as he flexed his new fingers. They were slender metal bits with rolling joints and rubber tips. A symphony of rods moved with mechanical precision as he clenched his fist. He glanced further up the arm. A large cylinder and piston apparatus traversed the outer side of the elbow, joining the upper and lower parts to help lift the heavy forearm. His shoulder was less a shoulder than a complicated set of joints that allowed mobility while also protecting a small vat of diamond glass. Blood gleamed dark red inside it, filling the vat completely. Tendrils of rubber tubing, pulsing with blood, extended from the vat and embedded themselves into the flesh at the base of his neck. He felt a pulling from the arm, something just this side of pain, as if it were slowly drawing out his innards through those little rubber tubes. He lay back, gripping his stomach with his flesh hand, trying not to throw up.
"It distills the steam it needs to run from your blood," Moxie said softly.
"How is that possible?" Cy rasped. He tried to close his eyes, but of course, the left one would never close again. He wondered how he was supposed to sleep.
"I don't know," she said in that same soft tone, "but Raine said it made sense." She laughed without humor. "To him maybe, but not to me. The steamers assured me though that your blood will replenish itself as you breathe. Raine concurred, although he wasn't too happy about it."
"I think I'm going to be sick," Cy said.
Moxie rose quickly, set her coffee aside, and reached toward him. "Let me help you."
"No."
She flinched as if he's slapped her, but in that moment he couldn't bring himself to care. "What else?" he said.
"Cy--"
"What. Else." His teeth ground together. Bile rose in his throat from the sharp, metallic taste of copper.
"Your eye. Your shoulder. Half your ribcage, and part of your skull. Raine made the skin regrow over the metal bones in your face," she said quickly. "He rerouted some blood vessels so the skin wouldn't die."
Cy laughed bitterly--as if he cared what he looked like--then pushed himself up. He was shirtless and his breeches were stained with blood. The left pant leg was ripped off, the skin beneath burned. It would scar, but at least his leg was whole. Gingerly, he touched his left side with the hand that could feel, knowing what he would, or more precisely wouldn't, find. His faerie arm was gone. Rippled plates of metal covered his rib cage from his arm down to the edge of his stomach. Ironic that he had lost this last faerie part of him and there would be no scar, while on his right side...
Rage filled him. He was suddenly, irrationally furious. Furious at his mother who had lain with a sidhe and yet hated the sight of her half-sidhe son. Furious with Moxie for saving a life that wasn't worth living and for not being able to bring herself to even mention his faerie arm. Enraged at the world that thought hybrids like himself should be put down. What was so wrong with him that no one could see the person inside the trappings? Someone who had never once purposely hurt another soul? Why couldn't they see him for who he really was?
"What happened?" he hissed.
"You don't remember?" Moxie's hand shook as she picked up her coffee cup and took a sip. She offered it to him again and he met her gaze with a glare. Her charcoal eyes showed hurt, remorse, and even a little fear.
"Moxie," he growled. "Just tell me."
"I don't know, Cy!" she cried. She slammed the mug down and hot liquid splashed across her hand. She cradled her burnt hand against her chest but made no move to tend the wound. "Auggy and one of his men brought you home. He wouldn't say what happened, just that you'd been attacked and left for dead, and the building was set on fire around you. The flames took your arm. We couldn't save it; we had to amputate. And your other... It was sheared off completely, like it had been taken as some kind of sick trophy. There was so much blood--"
Cy swung his legs to the side and jumped from the worktable. Ugh. His left leg hurt like hell. He wondered why the sidhe hadn't healed it, or his smoke-burned lungs for that matter. He was taller than Moxie by a hand's breath. He looked down on her now, and he knew his anger showed plainly in his one remaining eye. "You can't even say it," he rasped. "Even now, after everything we've been through together, you can't even say that I lost my faerie arm, the one part of myself that was still fey. I'm fey, Moxie. As much as you like to pretend that I'm fully human, I'm not. I'm a half-breed, and you've made me into even more of an abomination. A faerie with a metal arm. It's disgusting. Unnatural. There are reasons--" He broke off, biting his tongue. He'll hate you for what you've done, Raine had said, and in that moment he was right. But Cy couldn't say that, not to Moxie. He loved her. Even as he hated her, he loved her.
"You still have your voice," she whispered. "Even now, as hurt as you are."
"And yet you stand against it."
She lifted her chin. "Only because I'm used to it. And because I love you."
He growled at her. He'd never wanted to hit a woman, but right then he did and that scared him. He turned on his heel, grabbing up the coat he had left on her workbench the day before. The metal arm was stronger than it should have been and ripped the worn leather. He stared at the tear, but shrugged the coat on anyway, covering that cursed bit of steam technology, that thing that made him into something he wasn't. The coat was long enough to cover his ruined pants. He strode toward the door, ignoring the pain of his injuries.
Moxie ran after him. "Where are you going? Cy!"
"Out," he said.
"You can't. You're hurt. Cy, please!"
He turned toward her, gazing at that beautiful face, those dark eyes that he loved so much, and sighed. "I need to be alone right now, Moxie. Can you understand that? I need time to... adjust. I'll be back. I promise." Then he left, shutting the door softly behind him and walking out into the rain.
"It distills the steam it needs to run from your blood," Moxie said softly.
"How is that possible?" Cy rasped. He tried to close his eyes, but of course, the left one would never close again. He wondered how he was supposed to sleep.
"I don't know," she said in that same soft tone, "but Raine said it made sense." She laughed without humor. "To him maybe, but not to me. The steamers assured me though that your blood will replenish itself as you breathe. Raine concurred, although he wasn't too happy about it."
"I think I'm going to be sick," Cy said.
Moxie rose quickly, set her coffee aside, and reached toward him. "Let me help you."
"No."
She flinched as if he's slapped her, but in that moment he couldn't bring himself to care. "What else?" he said.
"Cy--"
"What. Else." His teeth ground together. Bile rose in his throat from the sharp, metallic taste of copper.
"Your eye. Your shoulder. Half your ribcage, and part of your skull. Raine made the skin regrow over the metal bones in your face," she said quickly. "He rerouted some blood vessels so the skin wouldn't die."
Cy laughed bitterly--as if he cared what he looked like--then pushed himself up. He was shirtless and his breeches were stained with blood. The left pant leg was ripped off, the skin beneath burned. It would scar, but at least his leg was whole. Gingerly, he touched his left side with the hand that could feel, knowing what he would, or more precisely wouldn't, find. His faerie arm was gone. Rippled plates of metal covered his rib cage from his arm down to the edge of his stomach. Ironic that he had lost this last faerie part of him and there would be no scar, while on his right side...
Rage filled him. He was suddenly, irrationally furious. Furious at his mother who had lain with a sidhe and yet hated the sight of her half-sidhe son. Furious with Moxie for saving a life that wasn't worth living and for not being able to bring herself to even mention his faerie arm. Enraged at the world that thought hybrids like himself should be put down. What was so wrong with him that no one could see the person inside the trappings? Someone who had never once purposely hurt another soul? Why couldn't they see him for who he really was?
"What happened?" he hissed.
"You don't remember?" Moxie's hand shook as she picked up her coffee cup and took a sip. She offered it to him again and he met her gaze with a glare. Her charcoal eyes showed hurt, remorse, and even a little fear.
"Moxie," he growled. "Just tell me."
"I don't know, Cy!" she cried. She slammed the mug down and hot liquid splashed across her hand. She cradled her burnt hand against her chest but made no move to tend the wound. "Auggy and one of his men brought you home. He wouldn't say what happened, just that you'd been attacked and left for dead, and the building was set on fire around you. The flames took your arm. We couldn't save it; we had to amputate. And your other... It was sheared off completely, like it had been taken as some kind of sick trophy. There was so much blood--"
Cy swung his legs to the side and jumped from the worktable. Ugh. His left leg hurt like hell. He wondered why the sidhe hadn't healed it, or his smoke-burned lungs for that matter. He was taller than Moxie by a hand's breath. He looked down on her now, and he knew his anger showed plainly in his one remaining eye. "You can't even say it," he rasped. "Even now, after everything we've been through together, you can't even say that I lost my faerie arm, the one part of myself that was still fey. I'm fey, Moxie. As much as you like to pretend that I'm fully human, I'm not. I'm a half-breed, and you've made me into even more of an abomination. A faerie with a metal arm. It's disgusting. Unnatural. There are reasons--" He broke off, biting his tongue. He'll hate you for what you've done, Raine had said, and in that moment he was right. But Cy couldn't say that, not to Moxie. He loved her. Even as he hated her, he loved her.
"You still have your voice," she whispered. "Even now, as hurt as you are."
"And yet you stand against it."
She lifted her chin. "Only because I'm used to it. And because I love you."
He growled at her. He'd never wanted to hit a woman, but right then he did and that scared him. He turned on his heel, grabbing up the coat he had left on her workbench the day before. The metal arm was stronger than it should have been and ripped the worn leather. He stared at the tear, but shrugged the coat on anyway, covering that cursed bit of steam technology, that thing that made him into something he wasn't. The coat was long enough to cover his ruined pants. He strode toward the door, ignoring the pain of his injuries.
Moxie ran after him. "Where are you going? Cy!"
"Out," he said.
"You can't. You're hurt. Cy, please!"
He turned toward her, gazing at that beautiful face, those dark eyes that he loved so much, and sighed. "I need to be alone right now, Moxie. Can you understand that? I need time to... adjust. I'll be back. I promise." Then he left, shutting the door softly behind him and walking out into the rain.
Sunday, February 13, 2011
Steampunk Imagery
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| Steampunk Watchman, steampunk-pics.com |
Looking at art and photography spurs my imagination when I write. The details of other artists' creations spark my creative side, giving me ideas for my own writing: unique touches, emotions, scenes, and plot twists. I develop those sparks into full-fledged concepts and weave them into my stories, making them uniquely my own.
I think every writer should make a habit of collecting images that speak to them. I have an entire library of images that I've collected over the years, including photographs and drawings of people, places, and things. When I'm developing characters, designing settings, or am just plain stuck, I'll flip through my collection. It never fails to inspire me.
For characters, I make a file with the photos and drawings that remind me of the character in some way. Comparing my mental image to real images clarifies my mental picture and nails down the details of the character's appearance and personality. When I sit down to write, I display the pictures that are closest to my mental images on my screen. (My screen is usually half images and I put the MS Word window on the right side.) The images ground me, improve my descriptions, and help me make better and more consistent decisions about what my characters say and do and how they react to events.
The same goes for setting. Looking at setting images while I write helps me pretend that I'm actually there in the scene with the characters. The visual images help me imagine the sights, sounds, tastes, textures, details, and spacial relations as I write. Also, I can't tell you how many maps I've drawn of rooms, ruins, and cities. Even if I don't describe a characters' surrounding in depth, I, as the writer, need to know where everything is spacially so that my descriptions make sense to the reader.
These are a some of the images I've collected as inspiration for our setting. I've also posted more steampunk images on our Social Novel Writing Facebook page.
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| steampunk-pics.com |
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| http://www.robotvsbadger.com/images/steampunk-girls |
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| Undertakers by Marc17, steampunk-pics.com |
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| steampunk-pics.com |
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| Executors, steampunk-pics.com |
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| Steampunk Mech I by likaspapaya, steampunk-pics.com |
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| http://www.robotvsbadger.com/images/steampunk-girls |
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| Photography by Tyrus Flynn, http://www.flickr.com/photos/tyrusflynn |
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| Photography by Tyrus Flynn, http://www.flickr.com/photos/tyrusflynn |
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| Photography by Tyrus Flynn, http://www.flickr.com/photos/tyrusflynn |
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| Brisingammen by Rasmus Berggreen, steampunk-pics.com |
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| steampunk-pics.com |
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| Clockwork Twins by Tyrus Flynn, http://www.flickr.com/photos/tyrusflynn/ |
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| Hall of Souls by Dieter Joppich, steampunk-pics.com |
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| steampunk-pics.com |
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| Sequester, steampunk-pics.com |
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| steampunk-pics.com |
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| http://amatoc.com/articles/steampunk |
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| Steampunk Goliath by Cory Jespersen, steampunk-pics.com |
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| Tyrus Flynn, http://amatoc.com/articles/steampunk |
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| http://www.gizmowatch.com/entry/steampunk-arachnid-steam-powered-six-legged-insect |
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| http://amatoc.com/articles/steampunk |
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| http://amatoc.com/articles/steampunk |
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| http://www.robotvsbadger.com/images/steampunk-girls |
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| Steampunk Monocle, http://www.friedpost.com/sciencetech/the-best-steampunk-gadgets-devices-ever-129.html |
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