"Learning to Live"

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"Learning to Live"

Post by Guest on Wed 30 Sep 2009 - 16:05

This is the first anything I've written in many years, so I'm hoping to solicit an opinion or two. I'm hoping to expand this into an ongoing story and write it from both of their perspectives.

*********************************

I wake up, and my mind still feels asleep.

Where am I? A dim, dingy room with barely enough space for the bed I’m lying in.

Who am I? I can’t… I can’t seem to remember! Oh God… What’s happening? Why am I here?
What’s going on?

I close my eyes. My body starts to shake with silent sobs.

Time passes. Minutes, or hours, or days.

I hear a click. The door swings open, startling me up into a sitting position.

A man strides in, a stranger. I don’t recognize this man. I’m sure we’ve never met before. But his presence immediately calms me. Somehow - for reasons I can’t explain - I know I can trust him.

The man walks right up to the foot of the bed and looks down into my eyes. I quickly use one of the crisp cotton sheets to wipe my tears away.

The man opens his mouth to speak, then closes it again. His emotions reveal themselves in subtle signs: his eyes widen slightly, his upper lip rises, his brows draw together… he’s unsure, and he doesn’t know what to do next.

I love him for his hesitation. It makes me realize that he’s a person I can protect.

Strange. I don’t understand these sudden feelings. How can I protect him? He’s big and I’m small, he’s strong and I’m weak. Even so, these feelings… these feelings… I know they’re right.

“My name is André,” the man says at last. His words cut through my confusion. “The two of us will be working together.”

His hand slips inside his coat and reappears with an object he holds out to me. A pistol. My mind tells me: SIG-Sauer P226. I reach up for it. The SIG seems to flow into my hands like I was born holding it.

“I want you to familiarize yourself with this weapon,” André continues. “Here’s the owner’s manual and a cleaning kit.” He places them gently on my bed. “Someone will come by with food in a few hours. The bathroom is straight across the hall.”

“Okay.”

André pauses at my response. He stares at me, unblinking. He seems to be searching my face for something, some sign, some clue, some reaction. The silence stretches on, not unpleasantly.

Finally, he sighs. “Be sure to get a good night’s rest. We start on the firing range tomorrow.”

He turns and heads for the door. All at once, fears of the unknown surge back into my brain.

“Sir!” I manage to squeak.

He stops. “You can call me André,” he says without turning around.

“André, sir… please. Why am I here? Who am I? Who… Who is me?”

“You’ll find out the ‘why’ soon enough.” His shoulders slump. “And as for the ‘who’, your name: Juliet.”

He closes the door behind him as I absorb this new information.

Juliet. Juliet. Juliet.

I sit in my small bed and clutch the pistol tightly to my chest. I’m not alone. I have my SIG. And I have my name.


Last edited by Kuransu on Wed 14 Oct 2009 - 0:23; edited 1 time in total

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Re: "Learning to Live"

Post by Kiskaloo on Wed 30 Sep 2009 - 16:12

Excellent start!

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Re: "Learning to Live"

Post by ElfenMagix on Wed 30 Sep 2009 - 20:12

Excellent POV of a cyborg.
Very well done!

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Re: "Learning to Live"

Post by emperor on Thu 1 Oct 2009 - 9:47

I sit in my small bed and clutch the pistol tightly to my chest. I’m not alone. I have my SIG. And I have my name.

I love this line.

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Re: "Learning to Live"

Post by funkmachine on Thu 1 Oct 2009 - 21:14

the POV change from most storys is good as it helps you to get in side there head better

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Re: "Learning to Live"

Post by Guest on Wed 14 Oct 2009 - 0:20

This is still a work in progress. Not much goes on. And if it feels like two almost unrelated scenes stuck together, well, it is. Heh. My inner TrielaxHillshire fanboy took over sweat The hardest part for me is how OCs are blank slates. I still haven't decided how I want to develop em. I welcome comments and critiques, no matter how scathing.

*****************************

Evening. Three days after my activation.

I’m field stripping my SIG, sitting on my bed, when I hear knocking.

“Hello? Anybody home?” My visitor sounds young and female.

I cautiously open the door. A girl stands in the hallway smiling. Long blond twin-tails trail down her back.

Her smile stretches even wider, “Well aren’t you the cutest thing! Look at those freckles, you’re like a little farm girl!”

I don’t know how to respond to this. We spend a several seconds staring at each other without speaking.

The girl snorts a laugh, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to come on so strong. My name’s Triela.”

I decide she means no harm. “My name’s Juliet.”

“What a lovely name,” Triela says. Her eyebrows arch, “Juliet, how’d you like to come over to my room? I’ll make some tea. And we can snitch some cookies from Claes.”

I’d like to learn more about this girl. She carries herself with such confidence.

Then I remember my pistol, still in pieces. “I don’t know if I should…”

“Aww, it’ll be fun!” She places a hand on my shoulder.

My eyes fasten on her hand. I want to break it. I want to hear her fingers snap.

I shiver. God, what’s wrong with me!

Triela watches my face closely. She says, “Juliet, I know what you’re going through. I know how confused you feel.”

“Do you?”

“All of us girls do. All of us have felt it. That’s why we gotta stick together.”

It’s her certainty that convinces me. I want to trust her.

“Okay,” I agree.

But I can’t leave my SIG behind. It’s my only tie to André. “Can you please just…give me a minute?”

“Of course.”

I dash back into my room and quickly reassemble my SIG, then slip it into my pocket.

“Sorry, I’m ready.”

“That was fast,” says Triela. “Let’s go.”

As we walk, Triela keeps a running commentary. Most of it flies over my head. I learn a great deal about strangers; she says I’ll end up meeting them all eventually. Ferro is a “cold fish”, while Priscilla is “just the nicest woman you’ll ever meet”. Alfonso and Giorgio are “sweethearts”, while Amadeo is “almost funny, but he’s trying way too hard to be”. Giuse “does his best”, while Marco “doesn’t know how to show his emotions”. Jean is “a real asshole, but also a great tactician”. It’s interesting, if confusing.

Triela stops. “Well, here we are. Home sweet home.”

It’s a large room, light and airy. A few books are strewn about, and teddy bears cover almost every available surface. Bunk beds rest against the far wall.

A voice calls out from the top bunk, “What light through yonder doorway diffuses? It is the east, and Juliet is the sun!”

“That’s Claes.” Triela waves in her direction. “Don’t mind her. She’s in the middle of a Shakespeare binge.”

I glance up to see a girl peering at me owlishly through her glasses. “Charmed,” Claes says. She smiles faintly.

“Sit, sit.” Triela shoos me into a chair and sets three cups on the table. “Speaking of Shakespeare, Claes, how’d you know Juliet’s name before I even introduced her?”

“Doctors talk too much.”

“And you never even thought of telling me? Some roommate! A plague o’ both your houses!”

“I only have one house,” Claes retorts. “It so happens that it’s your house too. Well done. You’ve cursed us both.”

“Touché.” Triela winks at me as she pours the tea.

I thank her as she slides a cup over. I smell the sharp tang of citrus. It’s too hot to drink, but I enjoy holding my cup and feeling its warmth in my hands.

Triela passes a cup up to Claes, then sits down across from me. She steeples her fingers and stares at me over them, never losing her smile. “So,” she says. “Juliet. Let’s get down to business. Claes and I invited you here for more than just tea. We need to… find out a few things.”

“Information.” Claes agrees from above.

“What… what kind of information?”

“Important information,” says Claes.

“Tell us about your handler,” Triela presses, “What’s he like? Does he treat you alright?”

“What’s his favourite food? Is he right or left-handed? ” asks Claes.

“Ah… his name is André-”

“Sounds French,” Claes interrupts.

“No, actually he was born in Italy, only-”

“He’s a prince in exile,” Claes says.

“No, he-”

“Was deported for laundering money from the French government,” says Triela.

“No, he used to-”

“Sail the south seas on a Somali pirate ship as a mercenary-for-hire,” Claes says.

“No, he-”

“Collects miniature soldiers and creates scale models of historical conflicts!” Triela declares.

“NO, he-”

“Dresses up in women’s clothing and parades around in front of his mirror,” muses Claes.

“NO-”

Triela bursts out laughing, and Claes grins from ear to ear. I stare at them, red-faced. It takes me a moment to understand. When I do, I flush an even deeper shade of red. They’re making fun of me.

I stand up slowly.

But… unbidden, an image flashes into my mind. André as a prince, cheeks flushed, grinning like a fool as he waves to an adoring crowd.

A small smile sneaks onto my mouth.

Then I imagine André, brow creased, bending over a diorama as he perfects the pose of a Prussian fusilier.

I start to giggle.

Then I imagine André, lips puckered, eyeing his own reflection as he sashays about in a shimmering silk gown.

Suddenly I’m laughing, and I can’t stop.

I don’t want to stop.

I never knew that something so simple could feel so satisfying.

“Juliet,” Triela tries to catch her breath. “You… haha… should’ve seen the look… on your face. Indignation doesn’t even… haha… begin to describe it.”

I try to answer her, but every time I open my mouth, more laughter keeps bubbling up from my belly.

“Good thing she didn’t pull an Elsa,” Claes puts in. “That was a waste of a good table.”

“Yeah. Heh.” Triela wipes her eyes before turning back to me, “But really, how is he?”

I smother the last of my giggles and think back on the past few days.

“André’s very nice to me,” I say at last. “Only… I get the feeling he doesn’t really know what to do with me. I think we’re both learning new things.”

“Well, at least we don’t have another Jean on our hands,” Triela says.

“What about your handler, Triela?” I ask.

Her mouth quirks at the corners. “Hillshire. Well. Sometimes, he can be the world’s biggest pain in the ass. Other times…”

“True love never did run smooth,” Claes quips.

Triela groans. “You and Shakespeare can both stuff it!”

I smile. “And what about you, Claes?”

“I never did have a handler. In a way, I’m like the company guinea pig.” She smiles that faint smile of hers. “It’s not as bad as it sounds. I have so many books, and so many things to do. My days are full and fulfilling.”

A sudden pounding on the door interrupts our newfound camaraderie.

“Triela!” A man’s voice. “Are you in there?”

Triela puts a finger to her lips. “Shhhhhh.”

“Yes she is, sir!” Claes calls out.

Triela shoots her a murderous glare. She quickly shifts to an innocent smile as the door opens. Into the room stalks six feet of muscular, masculine anger.

“Hillshire!” exclaims Triela. “Is something wrong?”

“Don’t play innocent with me, miss,” Hillshire growls. “You’ve been avoiding me all day. You're supposed to be translating financial reports into French.”

“But sir, I’ve been doing my best to uphold our esprit de corps!” She points at me, “Meet Juliet, the newest member of our team. Juliet, Mr. Hillshire. Mr. Hillshire, Juliet.”

That catches him off guard. Recognizing my cue, I stand up and curtsey for him. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir. Triela has told me all about you.”

“Uh. Nice to meet you, uh, Juliet,” Behind him, Triela grins and gives me a thumbs up.

Face darkening, Hillshire turns back to her. “Don’t worry Triela, I’m quite comfortable with scolding you in front of someone else. The whole Social Welfare Agency could be here for all I care.”

I edge away from the argument brewing. “I think I should leave,” I whisper up to Claes.

She scoffs, “Are you kidding me? This is first-class entertainment!”

Triela’s voice rises, “You dump your demands on me whenever you feel like it!”

Hillshire bites off his words; he’s trying not to yell. “These were important documents. And now they’re going to be late.”

Her eyes flash. “I’m your partner. I’m not your lackey.”

“When you’ve been given a task, Triela, you’re expected to complete it.”

She clenches her fists. “So that means someone can saunter on up to me, point to a stack of papers, and say ‘chop chop’?”

“We can’t always do fieldwork! We have other responsibilities to deal with!”

“Is that why Henrietta and Rico are up in Genoa hunting Padania? While I’m stuck here playing secretary?”

“We both know that only two girls were required for that mission.”

“So why wasn’t I one of them?!”

“Jean and Giuse have several contacts up north. They understand the situation better.”

“That doesn’t explain why I’ve been on standby for the last month! Sir, Angelica’s seen more action than me! Angelica!

“We’re needed here!” He hisses in frustration. “We’ll return to the rotation soon enough!”

“When? When will we?” she taunts. “Bet you won’t answer.”

“Soon!” He runs a hand through his hair. “Triela, I don’t want you in harm’s way if you don’t have to be.”

“And there it is,” Triela exclaims in triumph. “You always do this to me.”

Hillshire flushes, “Don’t you deserve a break? Don’t you want one?”

“I want you to stop sheltering me! I want you to stop pretending I’m a normal girl!”

He flinches at her words. “These reports are-”

“Anyone can translate these fucking reports!”

“Triela-”

“I was made to kill! I was made to protect you!” She screams, “Let me do what I was made to do!”

“THAT’S NOT THE POINT!” Hillshire roars.

From screaming to silence.

I glance at Claes and even she seems shocked.

Triela stands motionless as tears leak down her face.

Hillshire tilts his head back. He takes a deep breath and, for a long moment, closes his eyes.

“Enough of this,” he says. “Triela. After supper tomorrow, we’re going to the outdoor range. Bring your NVG’s. I’m sure we’ll be there for a while.”

He hesitates. He wants to say more. He takes a step towards her. He raises his hand and reaches for her face, maybe to comfort her, maybe to apologize to her, but none of us will ever know, because he stops himself.

He leaves the room silently.

Triela still hasn’t moved. She’s standing there, shattered, and so alone.

I take a shaky breath. I don’t think about it. I walk across the room to her, slip my arms around her, and hold her tight.

Triela stays stiff.

I keep holding her. I don’t know what else to do. I just want her to be okay. I just want her to talk and joke and laugh with me again.

After what seems like hours, I feel her shudder. She starts to whisper. “He makes me so weak. He never understands. He never understands that I want to be strong… for him.”

I exhale. I don’t know what to say. So I listen.

“When I killed Pinocchio… he held me. I thought… after that… things would change.”
She sighs. “I thought… maybe… he’d hold me again.”

Her eyes close. Her body softens as her muscles relax. Is she imagining Hillshire’s arms around her?

“Juliet?”

“Hmmm?”

“Thank you.” Triela hugs me back.

We stay like this, locked in each others’ arms, for a very long time. Outside, the air grows colder and the shadows lengthen.

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Re: "Learning to Live"

Post by Danjo3 on Wed 14 Oct 2009 - 12:21

Kuransu wrote:I keep holding her. I don’t know what else to do. I just want her to be okay. I just want her to talk and joke and laugh with me again.

After what seems like hours, I feel her shudder. She starts to whisper. “He makes me so weak. He never understands. He never understands that I want to be strong… for him.”
This is some pretty moving stuff you got going here. Keep at it.

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Re: "Learning to Live"

Post by Alfisti on Wed 14 Oct 2009 - 12:46

So... you've made me break my self-imposed ban on reading stuff till the end of semester... well done Razz

Nice writing mate, I'm impressed by the range of emotions you manage to cover and that you switch between them so easially... and it's always fun watching the TrielaxHillshire fanboy take over.

Heh, I know what you mean about not knowing which way to develop OCs as well. Thinking you've got it, then another idea presents itself and you twist and turn it around to see if it'll fit with what you've got. Sometimes it does, sometimes it doesn't... and if it doesn't do you drop it? Or is it good enough to change the character for? If you think it is good enough to change the character for, is that because it actually is, or is that just the excitement of the moment? Frustrating doesn't even begin to describe it. Frustrating, but fun in a masochistic sort of way.

Personally, it probably takes me at least 18 months for any OC to reach a resonably stable state of being... which I guess explains why I tend to draw rather than write sweat
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Re: "Learning to Live"

Post by Guest on Wed 14 Oct 2009 - 23:24

Thanks for the kind words guys.

I know what you mean about not knowing which way to develop OCs as well. Thinking you've got it, then another idea presents itself and you twist and turn it around to see if it'll fit with what you've got. Sometimes it does, sometimes it doesn't... and if it doesn't do you drop it? Or is it good enough to change the character for? If you think it is good enough to change the character for, is that because it actually is, or is that just the excitement of the moment? Frustrating doesn't even begin to describe it. Frustrating, but fun in a masochistic sort of way.

THIS.
I have a bunch of random plot threads thought out. But when I imagine them all coming together, they don't mesh so well. AGH xD
I reckon I oughta retch all these ideas up and see what surfaces out of the sentential sludge. lol

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Re: "Learning to Live"

Post by Danjo3 on Thu 15 Oct 2009 - 1:17

Take your time. Not every chapter needs to be earth shattering. I would continue to introduce and develop your characters. Stories are a lot like houses – if they have a weak foundation they tend to fall down. I know there’re a lot of people out there who pass on stories that don’t feature at least three gunfights per chapter, but true GSG connoisseurs aren’t like that. We gravitate towards character driven stories.

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Re: "Learning to Live"

Post by Alfisti on Thu 15 Oct 2009 - 6:01

Kuransu wrote: I reckon I oughta retch all these ideas up and see what surfaces out of the sentential sludge. lol

...it's called "mind mapping" Razz

Seriously though, just grab a big-arse bit of paper (I like A2, good balance between size and transportablility... or just a roll of butchers' paper), slam all your ideas onto it, then start making links between them or alternately, start with a core idea and work outwards. Hey, it works at the start of design projects so why not fan-fiction?

Haha, I know where you're coming from though, when used to write what I generally wound up with was a bunch of scenes, very loosely linked by badly written in-between chapters sweat
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Re: "Learning to Live"

Post by Guest on Tue 20 Oct 2009 - 1:03

First of all, thanks a bunch for the advice Danjo and Alfisti. Woulda done so sooner but I dinna like bumping my own stuff without any content, heh.

Second, ladies and gentlemen, we have some semblance of a plot cheers

Third, I dunno if I wanna keep the last line or not. It changes everything. lol.

Fourth,

The consultation room smells like stale cigarettes. I sit in a high-backed chair that’s seen better days, swinging my feet. Waiting.

I just want to get this checkup over with. Afterwards, André and I are heading down to the rifle range.

A doctor breezes in, clipboard in hand, and settles into a stool facing me. His nametag reads ‘BIANCHI’. He spends a moment arranging his papers before asking, “So, miss, what do they call you?”

“…Sir?”

“Your name, your name,” he snaps.

I blush. “Oh, sorry sir. Juliet. Is my name.”

“Juliet.” He grimaces. “You seem a bit slower than the others were at this stage.”

I frown. Easy for him to say. He hasn’t been hacked apart, then reassembled with different pieces.

“Tell me Juliet, have you felt any abnormalities during the last few days? Any aches or pains? Any dizziness or vomiting?”

“No sir.”

“Have you experienced any hallucinations?”

“No sir.” Other than waking up in a strange room, to a strange life, where everyone’s a stranger.

“No adaptation sickness, good,” Dr. Bianchi grunts. “Now touch your index finger to the tip of your nose, and then bring it to my finger here.”

I do what he tells me. Next he has me tap each of my feet on the ground, quickly . Then I have to walk in a straight line while standing on my toes.

He nods. “Your coordination is good.” He opens a desk drawer and pulls out a stack of flashcards. “Let’s test your conditioned memory.”

He holds up a card.

I recite, “FN P90. 5.7x28mm cartridge. 50 round magazine. Effective range-”

“Good,” he cuts me off. “Next.”

I answer the next few cards as easily as the first.

But when we reach seventh card, I notice that Dr. Bianchi, despite his apparent indifference, leans forward.

Interesting. The answer to this one must be important.

It’s a man’s face. Middle-aged, dark-haired, and bearded. A scar cuts across his left cheek and turns his smile into a sneer.

My eyes lock on to that scar. My mind surges; it doesn’t feel like the smooth surfacing of conditioned information. My breath catches. I know this man! I’ve seen him before! I swiftly scan his photo, searching for clues, for hints, for anything else that’ll help me remember how I recognize him.

I clench my teeth. It’s like I’m trying to light a match, scraping it over and over again, and it just refuses to catch fire. I can’t come up with the answer. I know, but I don’t.

“I don’t know this one, sir.”

“No? Are you sure?”

“Yes sir.”

Strangely, Dr. Bianchi seems satisfied. He places the card face down on his desk. “Well, let’s continue.”

We work our way through the remaining cards.

“Your recall is excellent,” Dr. Bianchi says. “You’re recovering quite nicely.”

My mind’s still buzzing. I want to ask him about the man on card seven. I want to ask him why he’s happy that I don’t remember the man’s face.

“That’s all I have for you today. If you have any questions, now’s the time.” He puts a cigarette between his lips and lights it.

I say nothing. Can I trust him? Or would he just put me under the knife again?

He takes a deep drag, then breathes out slowly, creating a cloud of smoke. “You’re a quiet one, aren’t you,” he says.

“Sorry sir.”

“To thine own self be true,” he says. Inhale. Exhale. “Let me be honest with you, Juliet. Your life won’t ever be easy. You’ll have to do things and experience things that’ll be both scary and terrible. But once you grow comfortable with your body, once you learn to interact with the people around you, once these things happen, it will get easier.”

I’m a little touched by his words. They’re the first kindness I’ve been shown by someone other than André. I stand and curtsey for him. “Thank you, doctor.”

He sighs. “Same time next week. Stay out of trouble. You’re free to go.”

I flee Dr. Bianchi’s smelly room, escaping to the comparative freshness of the hallway.

André puts down his magazine and stands up. “Everything went well?”

“Everything went satisfactorily, sir,” I lie.

I don’t want to tell him about the man with the scar. I don’t want him to worry. I don’t want my problems to become his problems.

But I've lied to him. I've lied to André. I rub my stomach. I feel sick.

André notices my consternation. He kneels down in front of me and his blue eyes bore into mine. “Is everything alright, Jules?”

He’s the only person I can trust. He’s the only one in the world on my side. I whisper, “Sir… do you know where I came from? Before I became a cyborg? Do you know who I really am?”

He smiles. “Is that all? I have no idea.” He stands up. “C’mon Jules, let’s get to the range. I thought you wanted to try the big guns!”

“Yes sir.”

It’s not the face of the man with the scar that keeps me awake tonight. It’s André’s face, my André's, able to lie to me so easily.

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Re: "Learning to Live"

Post by Alfisti on Tue 20 Oct 2009 - 8:29

First: no worries, glad to be of some use around the joint.

Second: Plot is good. I'm quite intrigued in that she still has some recognition of "scarface", even at this stage when there should be minimal, if any, degredation in her conditioning.

Third: I say keep the last line. It's interesting, it gives us an insight into her as a person... I assume she's fairly intuitive when it comes to people going by that? Also possibly another sign of a slightly bodged conditioning, well that's how I read it anyway sweat

Fourth: I'm really enjoying your writing, you really manage to shape the characters well. It's also intersting to Jule's interactions with the adults of the SWA compared to the children, more stand-off-ish, still professional and somewhat devoid of warmth... I like it a lot.

Great stuff, look forward to the next one.
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Re: "Learning to Live"

Post by Danjo3 on Tue 20 Oct 2009 - 12:20

Kuransu wrote:It’s not the face of the man with the scar that keeps me awake tonight. It’s André’s face, my André's, able to lie to me so easily.
God, I think I’m going to rip that off for my next story.

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Re: "Learning to Live"

Post by Guest on Sat 24 Oct 2009 - 2:11

Thanks to y'all for reading.
Third: I say keep the last line. It's interesting, it gives us an insight into her as a person... I assume she's fairly intuitive when it comes to people going by that?
Ah! I'm glad you picked up on this Alfisti... I've been thinkin on how to spell it out more clearly but nothing's come to mind yet.

God, I think I’m going to rip that off for my next story. Laughing
Razz Twas readin your story that gave me the desire to write my own.

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Re: "Learning to Live"

Post by Alfisti on Sat 24 Oct 2009 - 10:20

I dunno man, I think personally that that sort of hint is all that's really needed, few more of those and people will definately get the idea. Maybe it's just a personal thing, but I sometimes feel that if you hit people too hard over the head in-story with character facts they loose some appeal... clumsy perhaps... if something needs to be spelt out.

Fine line to walk sweat
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Re: "Learning to Live"

Post by Danjo3 on Sat 24 Oct 2009 - 10:22

Kuransu wrote:Twas readin your story that gave me the desire to write my own.
Well it’s nice to hear that Britney's finally good for something.

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Re: "Learning to Live"

Post by Kiskaloo on Sat 24 Oct 2009 - 10:49

@Danjo3 wrote:Well it’s nice to hear that Britney's finally good for something.

Oh she definitely seems to be good for something... Wink. Wink. Nudge. Nudge. Know what I mean?

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Re: "Learning to Live"

Post by zarien85 on Wed 25 Aug 2010 - 20:09

nice keep it up

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Re: "Learning to Live"

Post by ElfenMagix on Wed 25 Aug 2010 - 21:06

Unfortunately, to me, it seems like this story writer got banned and deleted the account. When the User name and Title both say "Guest", this is usually the case.

Thus, as nice it as it was, there will be no updates unless he posts on FF.net.

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Re: "Learning to Live"

Post by Kiskaloo on Wed 25 Aug 2010 - 21:46

I expect I purged their user account for inactivity.

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Re: "Learning to Live"

Post by Professor Voodoo on Wed 25 Aug 2010 - 23:40

Look to the quote in Danjo's last post. The author's name was Kuransu. Searching FF.net turns up this author...who has posted no stories of his/her own.

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Re: "Learning to Live"

Post by Danjo3 on Thu 26 Aug 2010 - 1:43

It’s a shame the guy bailed. I think he was really on to something.

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Re: "Learning to Live"

Post by Alfisti on Thu 26 Aug 2010 - 7:15

@Danjo3 wrote:It’s a shame the guy bailed. I think he was really on to something.
Amen. I remember enjoying the first few bits that he wrote...

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