Nov. 19th, 2011 01:09 pm
jaebility: (random // nano 10)

Catching up on NaNo this weekend. November's been a busy month - lots of school work and other responsibilities - and now I have to contend with both Skyrim and Skyward Sword. Video games! I ask you!

This draft is awful. Maybe a smidge better than last years, but still eye-bleedingly bad. Most of the cast is nameless (I've got Name, Namer, Dickface, Name, Nambles, Name, and Name-Name), half the word count is from directionless conversation ("What do you want to do today?" "I don't know - What do you want to do?"), and I've jumped forward in time so many times that I completely lost when the story is taking place. And also while I might be able to hit the 50k, the story won't be anywhere near done. So all in all, a relatively successful NaNo! I wish I were one of those people who are able to develop perfect manuscripts, who plot everything in their heads and then merely have to let their fingers walk over the keyboard to get it all down. My method of writing is to vomit up letters and hope that words come out of the mess.
jaebility: (arch // books window)
One of the listservs I belong to is dedicated to rare books, covering all sorts of topics from new catalogs, advice, and events in book-related fields. Late last week a new member submitted a question about a recent purchase of his. I actually read the responses first, then had to go through to find the original post: He had bought a book (wouldn't say what book) from a reputable dealer (wouldn't say who) and according to his research (wouldn't say what research he did), believed that it was worth far more (wouldn't say how much) than he had paid for it. He wanted to know how to care for it until he was ready to sell, and how to go about selling said book.

The list EXPLODED. The first 10 or so replies were all indignant, some snarky. Like: "The odds of you (a neophyte) buying a book from a recognized, established dealer and 'turning' it in a short time, and making a profit, are doubtful at best. Investment has been proven over the ages to be a very poor reason to buy a book. Most of your questions like "Should I open the package?", and "Where do I keep it?" are simplistic in the extreme. Silly. And choices you can make on your own. How old are you? Ten."

More got involved, some condoning the early replies, like: "I think most of us would, and do, bend over backward to encourage genuine bibliophily. Why we should facilitate ignorant financial speculation in the world of books is beyond me." Others condemned the tone of some of the posters. And them some people started arguing if one should sell (or buy) books to make money, then a debate erupted over semantics, if "investment" is the same as "speculation."

It's like an episode of Fandom Wank. And they're still battling it out.

I've learned a lot from it though; some posted resources for beginner collectors, and I've found some helpful blogs and associations. I don't buy books with the intention of selling them later, and certainly don't expect to turn a profit. I do consider them investments however. My library is my kingdom, etc etc. I've been buying books since I first got an allowance, but I don't I really started collecting until a few years ago. And that's "collecting" in a very loose, very informal usage.
jaebility: (random // pokemans)
Bhelen Aeducan/Jowan - Save the one last dance
There is no other place in Ferelden for him to hide, so Jowan slides through the gates of Orzammar into the depths of the dwarven city to plead with the king for protection from the unyielding templar force chasing his blood. When he gets an audience, Bhelen is more amused than awed, but with a wave of his hand he grants Jowan a room in the palace and a job that surely even he can handle: entertainment. But there is also the idea that the king's enemies will be impressed by a maleficar included in court, and Jowan, gaunt and pale and taller than everyone else, is certainly strange enough to inspire concern among the nobles.

At come party, some event to celebrate Bhelen killing someone or other for something or other, Jowan stands by the throne and tries to look menacing. Bhelen grins up at him, then clamps his hand around Jowan's wrist to yank him down to eye level. "Wojech Ivo swears that you cast some sort of spell on him to lose the proving."

Jowan tries to find the warrior in the sea of dwarven faces, but the beards blend together. Bhelen grunts and his grip loosens but doesn't drop. "Spread fear, if it's easier than working magic. But I want to see what you're really capable of."

"Whenever you wish, Highness."

Bhelen stands - not that it makes any difference, it's not like he's any taller on his feet - and reaches for a cup to raise for a toast. The crowd silences immediately and turns toward him, waiting for his blessing like congregation at the chantry. Afterward when the music starts once more, Bhelen has Jowan brought to him again. "Stay until the end," he orders. "At the last dance I'll find you again and you'll tell me what you've learned. Don't mingle, but watch who you can. Maybe you can see more from your perspective."

Jowan murmurs that he will, of course he will, but Bhelen's attention is already elsewhere. He adds absently as Jowan is waved away, "You'll be spending the night with me, of course. So don't grow to attached to anyone."

Later, as dawn breaks outside, Jowan comes to Bhelen with his cache of secrets and spells and they walk in companionable silence to the royal chambers. He is surprised when Bhelen has the guards strip him - for the king's safety, they explain as their swords rip through his robes. He is surprised, but not much. Conversation progresses as normal, as if all Bhelen's discussions are done in the nude, until the guards are dismissed and Bhelen commands, not unkindly, for Jowan come to him. Even on his knees, Jowan is too tall, so Bhelen orders him to lie prostrate on the bed. By the time the guards return to announce that court will soon be in session, Jowan has solidified his place at Bhelen's side.
jaebility: (Default)
Avernus/Ser Thrask - Stand Up
The Knight-Commander had overstepped her bounds again, sending Thrask to Ferelden to investigate a maleficar. She had said the mage was too close to the Free Marches, too dangerous to be ignored, too powerful for the weaker Fereldan templars to handle. She had done it to get rid of him, he suspected. Thrask had accepted for his own reasons, surviving the sail across the Waking Sea and the march through the mountains by prayer and stubbornness.

Getting past the traders who'd made camp at the decaying castle had been difficult, his armor and joints creaking in the freezing wind. He'd found the mage, as tainted at Meredith had promised, but too smart, too human to be a true abomination. Avernus talked, Avernus reasoned, Thrask was tired, Thrask was cold. He drew his sword and cleansed the magic miasma from the room, but Avernus in Warden colors instead of a robe continued wielding his quill, ignoring the staff collecting dust in the shadows and Thrask's arm aching under the weight of his shield shivering in his armor.

That night Avernus lit candles and tossed Thrask a bottle that was more vinegar than wine. The mage didn't sleep but lay beside the templar with a wheezing laugh. In the morning, Thrask woke up and stood up alone, then walked past the surprised traders and back down to where a ship waited to take him home.

Cailan Theirin/Finn - no one else to turn to
"I don't know," Finn said as he pulled another robe from the cabinet. "I think this is a bad idea. And by bad, I mean terrible."

"Stop worrying. No, this one doesn't fit either." Cailan yanked the robe down his arms and tossed it into the rapidly growing pile on Finn's bed. "Maker's breath, you mages are almost pathetically puny. I don't see why the templars are so afraid of you."

Finn glared over his shoulder, but Cailan's smile softened the insult. Finn sniffed disdainfully; the man had no right to make unkind remarks when he needed Finn's help to impersonate a mage to play a trick on the visiting, unforgiving Mother Perpetua. He was also stripped down to his smalls, which should have made him feel at least a smidgen ridiculous.

Not that he looked ridiculous. In fact, he looked rather marvelous.

Mistaking Finn's silence for a sulk, Cailan clamped his massive hand on Finn's shoulder (possibly breaking a bone or to there; maybe he really was puny). "Come on, old boy. I didn't mean to offend. You're the only one I could turn to. Imagine if I'd asked your enchanter Wynne? Or that one who looks like he's swallowed a lemon... Torrin."

"Try this one," Finn mumbled as he flung another robe over Cailan's thick arm. The hand on his shoulder squeezed gently and Finn could feel the warmth of it through the thick velvet of his own robe.
jaebility: (da // hawkward)
They were almost the same age - or at least looked almost the same age, since no one could get the Anders boy to divulge any of his personal information - so even though the apprentices and the recruits were instructed to remain in their separate quarters of the tower, he ran into him on occasion, both drawn to the few activities and places in the Circle that promised some modicum of fun.

Cullen was in the kitchen the first time, standing over a platter of cooling rolls and feeling the weight of guilt on his shoulders even though he hadn't even touched one yet. There was a snort at his side and before Cullen could grab the wooden sword strapped to his back, the Anders boy had his hands all over the bread, stuffing the rolls into pockets and pouches.

"They're for dinner," Cullen said in an astonished sort of voice that was too high to be impressive. "You can't do that."

"Course I can!" The Anders boy shoved another one down his boot, of all places. "I'm hungry now. Dinner's not for ages."

"If the cooks catch you-"

"They won't, not if you don't tell."

Cullen knew that he should. There were a whole lot of shoulds that he'd been memorizing. Duty was a list of shoulds and honor was a list of should nots. But for some reason, he couldn't think of any of them. The Anders boy's initial look of wariness was replaced with amusement as he waited for Cullen's delayed response, until finally he took of a bite of the last roll and said through a mouthful, "Bread magic is almost as bad as blood magic, you know. Ooh arrgg I'm turning into a pastry abomination."

"That's not funny," Cullen began but then the Anders boy shoved the roll into Cullen's hand and spun on his heel fast as a rogue.

"Arrgg," he said cheerfully, waving over his shoulder.

The roll was still warm enough to be appetizing, even with the bite mark and missing chunk. Cullen frowned at it, at the empty platter, and the door that Anders boy had already slid through. When voices from the back of the kitchen grew louder, Cullen backed away from the table and hurried out the way he'd came. It'd be silly to put it back and wasteful to throw it away, so he stuffed it in his mouth as he jumped down the stairs. He hadn't stolen it - that had been the Anders boy - so he didn't have to feel guilty.

It was possible that mages weren't all bad. But they weren't all good either.
jaebility: (random // rebel without a cause)
Got the two Dragon Age books. Read them. Bout one of the limited edition DA prints from Bioware. Just now bought jakface" amazing calendar. I love love love her art and this calendar looks hilariously sexily awesome.

I've been doing cool things, too, I swear!

...Played a good 15 hours in my f!Brosca DA game this weekend. She's incredibly awkward, telling jokes that know one gets, not getting the jokes everyone else tells. Cousland was a sweet-talker, Brosca has no persuasion skills. I was joking with The Boy about it - I had to pry Leliana off Cousland during my first play-through; now that I'm wooing her, she doesn't give my poor lonely character the time of day. Half-way through the game and Brosca only just got her first kiss, one that she had to initiate herself after stumbling through one of the most awkward conversations ever. Apparently DA characters only like you when you're hard to get.

Edit: New DA2 DLC announcement tomorrow! Sorry work, sorry school, I have important matters to attend.
jaebility: (da // hawkward)

"Right," said Garrett, and his merry gang of miscreants turned as one to look at their fearless leader, breaths inhaled expectantly. On the run for four days already, it was beginning to become obvious even to Merril that a new plan for survival was necessary. "Right," he said again and some of his merry gang of miscreants exhaled sighs, "Anders, let's get married."

The collective stares turned toward Anders, who stopped shoveling stew into his mouth and gawked back. In the few moments it took him to not choke to death and swallow half-chewed dinner, his mind came up with the ingenious response of, "What?"

"And that allows us to escape the army from Starkhaven how exactly?" Aveline rolled up the map of the Free Marches and tucked it into her armor. "But, well, I suppose congratulations are in order."

"What?" said Anders.

Varric pounded the Warden on the back. "Make an honest man out of him, Anders. If that's possible. Not sure where you'll find a Chantry willing to let you in the door, let along hitch you, but we can worry about that later."

"What?" said Anders.

"Ooh, think about how handsome you'll be in marriage robes." Merril squeaked happily. "And clean! I've always though that you look much better when you're not covered in mud."

Anders pondered that observation and nodded in serious agreement, adding to the conversation his own ideas on the subject, "What?"

"I thought you were supposed to be the smart one," Isabela said as she and Varric hauled the mage to his feet. "Oh, don't give me your wounded-kitten face. Just kiss him already and we can get a move on."


Apr. 29th, 2011 01:32 pm
jaebility: (ffvii // cheeky)
Just changed from jaetion to jaebility here at DW. And changed my Twitter name from jaebility to sminkingofgin. Beatle fans should get the reference.
jaebility: (holmes // irene)
Watching Sherlock Holmes episodes while doing homework. Just finished "The Copper Breeches," starring the late Natasha Richardson, and it was deliciously gay. Holmes and Watson have a spat about the artistic flair of Watson's case summaries, which dissolves into a Holmes' pity-fest. As he whines and bemoans his fate, Watson stand behind him with a "there, there, dear," face on. So good.

Good mystery, too. I love the ones that feature old estates out in the country.
jaebility: (beatles // paul's sex face)

Ok, this is the greatest skit and song ever, even without the awesome that is Paul McCartney.

And on a related note, I have successfully converted Pete, who now is rapture of Paul McCartney's sex appeal. Oh you foxy grandpa you. It makes me so happy that Paul's still a goofball.


jaebility: (Default)
a jar of jae

November 2016


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