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Entry tags:
open | prompt five | ENDINGS
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prompt five | E N D I N G S dressing-room style. start your own thread. tag others. wash, rinse, repeat. open to all. |
Oh, for fuck's sake.
[He is way too hung over for this sappy tragic bullshit.]
[He is way too hung over for this sappy tragic bullshit.]
Endings only exist where you want them to exists. Think of a book, if you wanted to, you could stop reading before the ending and say that where you stopped is the ending.
Sometimes where you stop is the difference between a sad ending and a happy one. Not that real happy endings exist in real life, but I've met enough dreamers who thought they did.
Maybe they're right.
Sometimes where you stop is the difference between a sad ending and a happy one. Not that real happy endings exist in real life, but I've met enough dreamers who thought they did.
Maybe they're right.
[ Hallah looks at him through the smoke that wisps off the end of her cigarette. Eames had told her she should get out more, talk to the others, try to be amenable to conversation. It'd be good for their whole operation, if only to make them seem less separatist. ]
You talk a lot.
[ Be social, Eames had said. He hadn't said anything about being particularly good at it. ]
You talk a lot.
[ Be social, Eames had said. He hadn't said anything about being particularly good at it. ]
[He's laughing. And he looks so happy, too.]
You are so getting laid, man.
[There would be a high-five here if there was actually someone to high-five.]
You are so getting laid, man.
[There would be a high-five here if there was actually someone to high-five.]
[ sometimes, fajita, you scare serafina with how completely out there you are. but no matter, you're still a member of the cabal and that means she can't just kick you in the face. or set fire to the face. instead all she can do is chuckle. ]
You see a penis down there, Fajita? No? Then replace that little man part of your sentence and maybe I'll give you a pat on the head for that thought.
You see a penis down there, Fajita? No? Then replace that little man part of your sentence and maybe I'll give you a pat on the head for that thought.
That's just pathetic. If I followed that, I'd be sitting locked up in a room unable to do half the things I do now.
It's not like dying together is going to help anything in the long run. All you end up doing is making it so whatever team you're batting for lacks two members. Bravo, sentimental fool, you've single-handedly taken down you, a partner, and your entire operation. How does that make you feel? Any better than before?
[ ladies and gentleman, words of wisdom from an AI named azazel. your life is now far more fulfilled than it was before. ]
It's not like dying together is going to help anything in the long run. All you end up doing is making it so whatever team you're batting for lacks two members. Bravo, sentimental fool, you've single-handedly taken down you, a partner, and your entire operation. How does that make you feel? Any better than before?
[ ladies and gentleman, words of wisdom from an AI named azazel. your life is now far more fulfilled than it was before. ]
I think it was meant to be a hypothetical proposition, Azazel.
[ Ladies and gentleman, this is what happens when your AI equivalent of a little sister tries to self-duplicate on her own. ]
[ Ladies and gentleman, this is what happens when your AI equivalent of a little sister tries to self-duplicate on her own. ]
[ There are things in this world that Jojen knows for certain; he feels them in their infinite coil in his mind (albeit not as strongly as others with a stronger inclination might), can even taste them in the air when it's at its crispest in the reach of dawn and the closing on dusk.
But death and the want for it has a spice to it, a tang that lingers on the tongue and a heat that scars the mind in ways no other force could. It's driven many men to the brink of madness and delivered them to their Gods just as swiftly. It's a flavor Jojen has no like for, but it is a necessity and eventually meets even the most illusive of tongues.
Death is something that inspires fear in the smallest of creatures, stagnates in both their visible two eyes and the ever hidden third most. But Jojen knows and so death is something he's almost taken for granted. He's seen it often enough.
Today is not the day I die, sister. ]
If it is meant to happen. [ Though, I have not seen it, an echo of a thought to dwarf the solemn and soft tone of his words. ]
But death and the want for it has a spice to it, a tang that lingers on the tongue and a heat that scars the mind in ways no other force could. It's driven many men to the brink of madness and delivered them to their Gods just as swiftly. It's a flavor Jojen has no like for, but it is a necessity and eventually meets even the most illusive of tongues.
Death is something that inspires fear in the smallest of creatures, stagnates in both their visible two eyes and the ever hidden third most. But Jojen knows and so death is something he's almost taken for granted. He's seen it often enough.
Today is not the day I die, sister. ]
If it is meant to happen. [ Though, I have not seen it, an echo of a thought to dwarf the solemn and soft tone of his words. ]
[ The skin of a woman but the heart of a crow, and with eyes that can see well beyond the all-seeing Sight. She has been called many names but none of those names are hers, save one, the name Mari — given to her by the boy Milen Seaborn out of duty and sincerity and love. Milen cannot see as Mari does, but when she covers his eyes with both her hands, sometimes he can; that is her gift. And at night, she whispers into Milen's ear dreams of the future and of the present and of the past. Tiny talons digging into the folded cloth of the blanket, her black wings casting a long shadow across his sleeping face. ]
If, he says. If, if. Do you not know. Can you not see?
If, he says. If, if. Do you not know. Can you not see?
Yes.
[Her voice is sharp, as though she should be able to cut with it.]
Men make promises and offer their loyalty but the lies outweigh the truths.
[Her voice is sharp, as though she should be able to cut with it.]
Men make promises and offer their loyalty but the lies outweigh the truths.
[Blue smiles up at her, because well. That's a nice refreshing change of pace]
Don't you think someone somewhere will find any ending good?
Don't you think someone somewhere will find any ending good?
[ Graham's brows lift. It's an expression that's almost amused but mostly a little surprised, the small crook to his mouth kind enough. ]
Sounds like a bad day.
Sounds like a bad day.
[ It is the kind of promise children make. Little girls who think themselves sisters, men and women who call themselves lovers. Jeyne knows that things don't happen that way, not truly, that these sort of promises are the hardest to keep.
Death is a mercy and life is not kind. Those that survive are left to the suffer the weight of the dead and Jeyne's shoulders are already stooped so low that she fears they will bend to breaking soon.
I am a good wife. I swear it, I'm good. ]
If it would please my lord.
Death is a mercy and life is not kind. Those that survive are left to the suffer the weight of the dead and Jeyne's shoulders are already stooped so low that she fears they will bend to breaking soon.
I am a good wife. I swear it, I'm good. ]
If it would please my lord.
[ His lids are low, his gaze elsewhere. They're words he's taken to heart in the past, but they never got him anywhere, and they never saved anyone (not anyone who mattered). ]
Je sais, je sais.
[ I know, I know. ]
Je sais, je sais.
[ I know, I know. ]
[ Once upon a time, Emma might have been a girl who did this. Said this sort of a thing to a boy she liked. Once upon a time never happened and Emma is supposed to be pragmatic about this. Fuck saying you'll die just because someone else will die.
(She would have maybe considered it for him- no she can't think about that.)
There are times, right before Emma goes to sleep that she wonders why she never has been a romantic sort and then she always remembers. No use in being romantic when your parents didn't want you. (Sure someone else might, but hurts like that sting.) ]
Letting someone else dictate what you're going to do when it comes to dying? I can't see a single thing wrong with that. [ Sarcasm all the way today. She knows that it's completely stupid. ]
(She would have maybe considered it for him- no she can't think about that.)
There are times, right before Emma goes to sleep that she wonders why she never has been a romantic sort and then she always remembers. No use in being romantic when your parents didn't want you. (Sure someone else might, but hurts like that sting.) ]
Letting someone else dictate what you're going to do when it comes to dying? I can't see a single thing wrong with that. [ Sarcasm all the way today. She knows that it's completely stupid. ]
[ A woman bounces a sleeping child on her hip, a hand on his back rubbing tiny circles to make sure he doesn't wake even when she speaks. ]
Things don't end, they just change.
[ Her mother had died, but her ghost had lingered. Her father had left, but then he'd come back again. She'd fallen in love with a man haunted like she was, but then the ghost got the better of him and he went away for a while. But good behavior and early parole meant that he was here now, with the both of them.
Each thing, each moment, at the precise time it was happening, had felt like an ending, like a tiny death. But instead of dying, she'd continued. On and on, up until now. ]
Things don't end, they just change.
[ Her mother had died, but her ghost had lingered. Her father had left, but then he'd come back again. She'd fallen in love with a man haunted like she was, but then the ghost got the better of him and he went away for a while. But good behavior and early parole meant that he was here now, with the both of them.
Each thing, each moment, at the precise time it was happening, had felt like an ending, like a tiny death. But instead of dying, she'd continued. On and on, up until now. ]
That is a very optimistic perspective for someone in your position, love.
[Eames shouldn't be here, sitting next to her on a park bench. He should be far away, on a warm beach on the coast of Greece or in a pub in northern Ireland. He could be absolutely anywhere else in a heartbeat, but he's not. He's directly in the line of fire and under his calm, collected exterior his pulse is racing. If Eames is anything, it is damn good at keeping himself safe from harm if the harm is more than 60% likely to happen. And it is, in this case, a bullet right through Phillipa's skull. He knows this because he was the one to warn her.
A right big mess he's gotten himself into this time, isn't it? It's Arthur's fault in the end, manipulating him into even seeing the kids of a woe-begotten family unit torn to shreds by somnacin. He'll always be a sucker for kids, in the end.
He kept himself distant, but that wasn't enough. He should have cut off all contact, but instead he's here, squinting up at the sky next to a mother soon to be dead and an innocent baby.]
[Eames shouldn't be here, sitting next to her on a park bench. He should be far away, on a warm beach on the coast of Greece or in a pub in northern Ireland. He could be absolutely anywhere else in a heartbeat, but he's not. He's directly in the line of fire and under his calm, collected exterior his pulse is racing. If Eames is anything, it is damn good at keeping himself safe from harm if the harm is more than 60% likely to happen. And it is, in this case, a bullet right through Phillipa's skull. He knows this because he was the one to warn her.
A right big mess he's gotten himself into this time, isn't it? It's Arthur's fault in the end, manipulating him into even seeing the kids of a woe-begotten family unit torn to shreds by somnacin. He'll always be a sucker for kids, in the end.
He kept himself distant, but that wasn't enough. He should have cut off all contact, but instead he's here, squinting up at the sky next to a mother soon to be dead and an innocent baby.]
I hate the word end. [ It makes her think of a day when everything between her and Presley ends. Their partnership dissolves and one of them is dead, or both, or maybe neither and all that happened is that they grew apart (that's the worst one). It's not that she's unfamiliar with the idea, but she doesn't want it to happen. She doesn't want to think about the end because what's the point of doing anything if it all ends. ]
It's a nasty word. Makes you forget about living in the now and makes you wonder when your house of cards is going to come tumbling down. I like my cards standing up, ya know?
It's a nasty word. Makes you forget about living in the now and makes you wonder when your house of cards is going to come tumbling down. I like my cards standing up, ya know?
Can't deny I feel the same way, [ Presley says, following a moment of thought. (The thought of the hypothetical end of their partnership is one of the least appealing notions he has ever entertained.) ] But there're some good connotations to "end," too. Like, in "end of the night," y' know what I mean? You an' me, comin' home with what we've earned for the day. [ He shrugs, almost sheepish in manner. ] That kinda thing.
Kids these days have got a weird sense of romance. [ Shck, shck goes the lighter. ] Or maybe I'm just old fashioned.
Edited 2012-03-25 03:25 (UTC)
[ The inside of her mouth is full of blood from where she's bit down too hard on her tongue again. When she talks, it webs her gums and her teeth. Proof of something.
Loyalty, maybe. ]
He won't die.
[ Can't die. Semantics. ]
Loyalty, maybe. ]
He won't die.
[ Can't die. Semantics. ]
[Oh, how he would love to hear these words. He will go wherever she goes and she will go wherever he goes, his pretty bandaged up girl with his teeth marks on her skin to remind her that she belongs to him.
They belong to each other.
His fingers brush over the page. He can touch the book, a lifeless object, enough to entertain him for now. He will need her to come along for anything more.]
They belong to each other.
His fingers brush over the page. He can touch the book, a lifeless object, enough to entertain him for now. He will need her to come along for anything more.]
[ She thinks about Jessup, about her mother and her long stare. The thought sits poorly in her mind, enough to make Ree shift uncomfortably between her feet. Then she thinks about Sonny and about Ashlee too and that's when she nods, slow-like. ]
Sounds just 'bout right, I reckon.
Sounds just 'bout right, I reckon.
[ He has a child's face, a child's heart and a child's mind; a monster's gullet, and arms enough to throttle the life out of anything he touches (slithering and suckered, thin-wristed with knobby elbows). His mouth falls open, slightly agape as he breathes, attentive.
Was it a story? Would there be a happy ending? Eagerly he suggests: ]
Then don't die.
[ They all die in the end, all but his very favorites, and even they aren't allowed to go without leaving something of themselves behind to cherish. ]
Was it a story? Would there be a happy ending? Eagerly he suggests: ]
Then don't die.
[ They all die in the end, all but his very favorites, and even they aren't allowed to go without leaving something of themselves behind to cherish. ]
[He'll answer whenever the hell he wants to, thank you very much. Said answer will have to wait until he's done lighting his pipe, so. Enjoy that scent (or stench, depending on your taste). Brows arched and lips pressed in thought, Blanchard sounds unusually nonjudgmental when he finally states an apparently obvious fact:]
No more than a easy way out.
No more than a easy way out.
[ He stares long and hard, like he's trying to remember something though — in the end — he doesn't. ]
I don't think she'd want me to die for her.
I don't think she'd want me to die for her.
If you love someone, you must love them enough to to live for them and see them avenged.
[ But I surely would have died for him if I could have and a part of me no doubt died with him. Words left unsaid but held close to his heart, beneath the cage of bones that contained it. ]
In the end, perhaps we are reunited. [ A foolish, maybe even naive thought, but a common one even if it's not often voiced. ]
[ But I surely would have died for him if I could have and a part of me no doubt died with him. Words left unsaid but held close to his heart, beneath the cage of bones that contained it. ]
In the end, perhaps we are reunited. [ A foolish, maybe even naive thought, but a common one even if it's not often voiced. ]
[ She is a queen, twice widowed and thrice crowned, but Margaery has no illusions. Her marriages have never been about love — only convenience and station, the mingling of names. If love is honey, burnt black over the fires of loss, it is a sweetness and a bitterness she herself has never tasted — though knowing her brother's sorrow is more than enough.
He keeps it hidden, sure enough, though Margaery is the Queen of Thorn's granddaughter and has learned how to make windows into men's hearts (and, more importantly, their guts). Loras is no exception. If anything, she knows him best of all, having been wed to his lover for a time.
Her hand is small but not delicate as she slips it into the crook of his elbow, fingers sliding across the white enameled scales of his armor. (They'd both traded kings, in the end. Her as a wife, him as a knight. ]
I love you, brother, [ she says in a tone that looks to spare him the heaviness of the words. Although a Tyrell may not marry for love, it does not mean they to not know what love is. Loras is proof of that and Margaery — she looks after her own. ] I live for you now, as I live and breathe.
He keeps it hidden, sure enough, though Margaery is the Queen of Thorn's granddaughter and has learned how to make windows into men's hearts (and, more importantly, their guts). Loras is no exception. If anything, she knows him best of all, having been wed to his lover for a time.
Her hand is small but not delicate as she slips it into the crook of his elbow, fingers sliding across the white enameled scales of his armor. (They'd both traded kings, in the end. Her as a wife, him as a knight. ]
I love you, brother, [ she says in a tone that looks to spare him the heaviness of the words. Although a Tyrell may not marry for love, it does not mean they to not know what love is. Loras is proof of that and Margaery — she looks after her own. ] I live for you now, as I live and breathe.
An' in an ideal world ya'd both avoid the dyin' part.
[ It'd be a slightly naive statement, were it not for the tiredness apparent in her smile. She's had enough close brushes with death to last her a long while, and so have the people she holds dearest to her; she would never wish such a fate onto them. ]
[ It'd be a slightly naive statement, were it not for the tiredness apparent in her smile. She's had enough close brushes with death to last her a long while, and so have the people she holds dearest to her; she would never wish such a fate onto them. ]
That supposed to be romantic or something?
[ The thing is that to her it's not. What it really is to her is a show of loyalty. (Yeah, I'd want to die because you make a shitty life worth living. You're worth something to me.) It's nice knowing you got that degree of loyalty next to you. ]
Because if it is, your ass missed the mark by a whole universe. You're looking at someone who's pragmatic here, none of that bullshit for me, thank you very much.
[ The thing is that to her it's not. What it really is to her is a show of loyalty. (Yeah, I'd want to die because you make a shitty life worth living. You're worth something to me.) It's nice knowing you got that degree of loyalty next to you. ]
Because if it is, your ass missed the mark by a whole universe. You're looking at someone who's pragmatic here, none of that bullshit for me, thank you very much.
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