Bad moon, bad! *waves newspaper threateningly*
Well, if fanfiction.net will stop hiccuping and simply cough up whatever is annoying it so, I have a new chapter to Bad Moon typed up and ready for postin'. Look for it soon.

In other news - eh. I'm a mad, mad lady. Oh, and I'm one of four Jocelyn/William fans [A Knight's Tale] on the web. Take that, world.

-Palla.

Blood of My Blood [Prologue]
"Dust thou art, and unto dust thou shalt return..."
-Genesis 3:19

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--

The man was tall, not exceptionally muscular nor slender like many tall people were, but a lean height as though the body could not decide to be wasted or bulked; it was not something most noticed, though, not with the pale eyes of ice that flickered blue and then red with a burning that brought chills to one's spine when looked directly into. Tangled blonde hair - limp and moderately thick, locks that brushed his thin, long shoulders - a bright yellow that shone like cornsilk, and a smug manner of walking, one that spoke silently of his confidence in himself, all hid the almost sheltering way he positioned his arms.

He drew attention, yes, with the way he appeared to be a man in spite of the plaid overshirt and the jeans with a slashed hole in the knee, little things that were a teenager's sign of rebellion; and it was only when one looked closely at the youthful curve to his cheeks, the hale and overwhelmingly young glint of his shocking eyes, that it was clear he was not a man, not entirely. When he smiled, it was bold and freely sensuous, but also dark and hesitant, as though he was not used to the sunlight in all its radiant heat. Certainly he was pale enough in the colors of his skin to be a recluse, someone who feared the light and stayed in darkness, but it was testified often amongst the gossipers that he could be seen nearly every day in the park or the track, on one of those hideous damned motorcycles or racing with whatever child dared him to.

He was free, it seemed, but also shackled; tall and bold, but hiding a deep fear; everything and at once nothing.

And then she came into presence, glowing like sunlight though her manner as she boarded the trolley was that of one new to a land unvisited - had she moved, then? - and in the back of the trolley, in the last seat where he could dig his fingers in the mess of chocolate melting in the summer heat, he stared at her. It was a shock, a perpetual jolt of electricity that stabbed him cruelly in the spine and lanced up, twirling in his skull and causing him to hesitate, fingers motionless as he watched her sit down. He had lived long enough - a bittersweet silver eternity, caught in the half-realm of life mingled with death - to recognize the scent of innocence, something that existed in rare spurts here and there in the bold, immoral world of the now.

Red-blonde hair and skin as pale as his, a sickly shade of white like that of one who has spent many days indoors with illness, and a gentle look to her face so unlike his brother's cool, apathetic expressions; she smelled of virgin blood, too, a distant flesh that was not pierced and a heart that shooed the untainted blood of her essence along the corridor veins. Rarity, then, that had stepped unknowing on the territory of that which was unsafe, of fresh blood that did not have from time long past the taint of his kind; she was still pure human, and pure in the greatest sense of the word.

He stared at her, absently licking the gooey chocolate from his fingers and wrapping the foil back over it, and though he felt a foreign and thoroughly unneeded ache in his body, he wondered how long that innocence would last.

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End! {of the prologue}
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Ambiguous. ;] Ya know ya love me.

-PallaPlease.

Blood of My Blood [Foreword]
"The persons who turn vampires are generally wizards, witches, suicides, and persons who have come to a violent end, or have been cursed by their parents or by the church..."
- Encyclopedia Britannica

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I've long been frightened by the concept of vampires, moreso than any other child I knew, for whom t'was monsters that lurked under beds or in closets, mummies that felt nothing and so could not be stopped, and zombies rising from graves. I read an abridged form of Dracula at the age of seven and was traumatized by it: it wasn't the bloodsucking or the undying demonic things that frightened me, not so much as that horrible 'absolute control' thing he could do.

I *hated* that.

But, of course, Buffy came along and two years ago I found vampires no longer scared the bejeezus out of me - not when they were so *stupid*! (Or angst-ridden, for that matter. Or rock fans. Gotta love Spike.)

This, however, has nothing to do with any of the above; my best friend - dear Beckna-chan - and I found a deep love for Mars the month it came out, as she purchased the first volume and all but forced me to read it. She noted before I had chance to comment that there was this one panel - just a brief thing - that had made her think of vampires (this would be Rei licking Kira's cut), which I immediately agreed with, and now we're both writing Vampire Rei fics. *sweatdrops* Hers is much better, by the way...

The setting of this story is not in Japan, mostly because, like most American teenagers, I have yet to have the opportunity to visit that country; I have a moderate grasp on the modern culture and so forth, but not enough for me to feel comfortable writing it. Also, regardless, vampires are featured more often in American and European literature (as well as legends, urban or otherwise), so this is set in the make-believe town of Winchester, New York.

Probably the only thing I'm having to argue with myself about is whether or not to change the names, which could benefit to make it more realistic for an American setting, but...urgh. Let's see, right?

Anyway. Enjoy?

-PallaPlease.
07/12/03.

Fwoot! Sorry, quick update - hiya, Beckna-chan!! - and then I'll be out of the way. Firstly, this story is dedicated to Beckna-chan/Spazsailor (I'm in Egypt, silly! Remember?), and secondly, the title was taken from a Scottish blood-bond (detailed in the Outlander books by Diana Gabaldon). Many thanks. ;]

The Peach Girl fanfic of doom, or something like that.
Weeell, in spite of my having been a Momo/Kairi 'shipper for well over a year now, I do have to grant a concession to being a Kairi-x-Misao fan, and have been for that same length of time. But that is not the idea. The idea, actually, is a Momo/Sae fanfic, the title gratitiously stolen from that accursed tAtU (or TaTu, I don't really know which; not interested enough) song "All the Things She Said" as it repeatedly manages to get stuck in my head, and it isn't half as smutty or bitchy as my blog's piccie would suggest; it's more of a redeeming fic--

Even Sae can be redeemed, and that's the basic idea for the whole thing.

I've asked Krissy-dear to beta-read it, so *fingers crossed!* I hope she agrees. With a couple that could very easily result in my being flamed - and after my experience in the ZOIDS section, I don't need that - I want to have *everything* in tip-top perfect condition. If anyone is actually out there and would be interested in also beta-ing, I'm available for messages at WolfHowlN2@aol.com.

Meanwhile, I'm going to track down someone who'll be willing to beta/edit my semi-smut The Mummy fic, 'Promises of Darkness,' which is Rick/Evie-riffic. I adore that coupling so.

I plan on posting arguments for my favorite 'ships soon (Rick/Evie - TM&TMR, Momo/Kairi and Momo/Sae - PG, Rei/Kira and Harumi/Tatsuya - Mars, Draco/Ginny - HP), so stay tuned.

Also be on the lookout for *dramatic pause* - the first part of my Rei-be-vampire fic! Or the prologue, at least.

Yep.

-Palla.
Curse you, tAtU/TaTu, you and your demonic catchy dance club music! I want my Nat King Cole CDs. *pouts*

Disgruntled (and alarmingly pleased)
<<
Mars Logs
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Let's hope it works, shall we? And if it doesn't, it's meant to be the code for ((mars logs)), a wonderfully fun community for blogs of fans of the manga Mars (visit http://www.tokyopop.com for more info). Right. Anyway, for the pleased bit I mentioned in the title:

http://www.msnbc.com/news/931774.asp

Now, I haven't a fig if this will show up tomorrow, or, even, if the URL will show up in my blog at all, but the MSN tagline was as follows: "Rowling; 'Potter' may not make it to adulthood." Firstly, I'm as suspicious and alarmed by this tidbit of knowledge as anyone (but my fears are soothed by the fact that she was apparently speaking in a jesting tone), but I have to confess, my initial reaction was more along the lines of, "see! I was RIGHT, by God!"

Before I'm flayed in public, I need to make it clear there is a perfectly reasonable explanation for my heresy of feeling victory that Harry might die. See, The Ashley R. H. (a close, HP-obsessed friend of mine I love dearly) and I were guessing which important Harry Potter character was to die and, based on the fact that Cedric wasn't an overwhelmingly important character 'til about halfway through the fourth book, we decided it was to be someone else. (Anyone who has read the fifth book now knows; close your eyes and think happy thoughts. If not, I have tissues and I'll share.)

Ron, we discounted, as everyone seemed to be guessing Ron or Hagrid, and Hermione would probably not die, seeing as she was vital to Ron and Harry's ability to not kill themselves by accident. Dumbledore, she surmised, and I thought, well, what if Harry gets killed off in the end of the seventh book? After all, she's said countless times the last word of the last chapter of the last book (repetitious, no?) is currently (and has been for the past four years) 'scar.' It could be foreboding, I pointed out; she could kill him off after having finished her obligation of seven books.

But I was really joking at the time (our next gag: Why Voldemort Attacked The Potters; her theory, James pissed off Voldemort's illicit lover, Snape, while my theory was Harry was Voldemort's love child with Lily - again, joking), so after my surprise and elation - purely reflex, mind you - at possibly having hit the nail passed, I was horrified.

By God, if Harry is killed, who will be best man at Ron and Hermione's wedding?! |lol|

And now for the ANGTSY! part of the blog bit, which means all those with brains should run for the hills about now (those in the hills are urged to remain there):

Why do I try to write fics with meaning? I mean, deeper meaning, as in something important under the surface veneer. It always seems as though my crap fics (ie, the fics that last, like, three pages and have no purpose other than people snoggin') garner countless readers and tens upon tens of reviews, where my better fics are ignored. Really, it's painful.

I understand nobody reviewing my Sei poem (it's a poem, it's a minor character, and it isn't overwhelmingly good), but my ReixKira fic, 'Ebony Touching' - that hurts. Not to say I haven't gotten a reviews (I have), but it's painful, y'know? I wrote 'Ebony' in one sitting and nearly sprained my wrist with how fast I was typing, and then it seems people are universally ignoring it.

Erm. Like most things, it'll probably pick up AFTER I whine obnoxiously. Cripes! (For those interested, it's at fanfiction.net; the Mars section isn't very large, so it'll be near the top.)

Hmm. That's it, I think.

-Palla.
"Well - that was...new."