Writing challange

[narcasse]

Since I’ve reached 100 Trinity Blood fics at Sunsets, it’s Nuit Blanche, I’m meant to be writing pr0n and we’re into the countdown to International Narsus Month: drabble/ficlet/maybe even something longer requests are open. Prompts such as fandom, character, prop or location are welcome or name a genre, a point in the canonical storyline etc. Crossovers are fine too: I’ll see what I can do with them.

Fandoms I can probably write in at the current time being: Meine Liebe, Trinity Blood, The Matrix, Sherlock Holmes, Yugioh AU, Sunshine, Batman, The Hellbound Heart, Stargate, XXXholic, Greek myth, Saiyuki. There may be more that I’m missing from that list too so try me.

Not limited to one request per player since I’m in the mood to be writing.

Comments

[shu-maat.livejournal.com]

Well... if the meme is still open and if a pair of suggestions from your semi-lurker are not unwanted... I drop you these:

- Trinity Blood. Suleyman, Seth: hieroglyphics
- xxxHOLiC. Clow/Yuuko: the mystic's dream (Loreena McKennitt's song not necessarily involved)
(and what about Kuroshitsuji...? It's not in the listed fandoms but I seem to recall you wrote some things about this fandom...)

But most important... compliments for the 100 TB fanfics goal! You're incredible! *_______________*

xxxHOLiC. Clow/Yuuko: the mystic's dream

[reichsfreiherr.livejournal.com]

Loreena McKennitt's song works as rather good inspiration. I’ll try answering all these prompts but it may take some time. So far, here’s the first.

---

The weaving of magic is like a dance.

He prepares himself with ritual and observance, washing in the light of the full moon, cleansing himself of all earthly impurities, all mortal concerns. He clothes himself with the robes of a mystic, of the Other. He becomes more than man, something different, detached from all that is human.

In another place she performs her own, similar, ritual. She gathers to herself the cares of the world, the concerns of mortality. She embraces them, absorbs them, understands all that they are and will become. She robes herself as the High Priestess, and yet a priestess who reaches down to mediate, to touch the very Earth.

The room the meet in is already prepared, the way has been readied for them. The braziers burn full of heavy incense and strange perfumes. The candles light their way across the circle: the pattern of magic already glowing bring under their feet.

As they approach each other the seals, the marks of their magic intersect, warping, dissolving, reforming until they will meld into something new.

He holds his staff out as he breaches the circle’s boundary, a guide in the growing mist. She steps lithely over the barrier striking her staff against the ground only when she has crossed. His arms extend, angular, geometric motions invoking the industry of man. She steps softly, on dancer’s feet, the span of her arms forming perfect arcs of movement. Now he lowers his staff to touch the ground, a drum resounding against the earth. She smiles, lowering her staff so that it hangs parallel to the resounding earth. She swings her staff wide, a wind sliding across the lands and the he steps back, turning, whirling as if at last giving himself over to the dance.

The shadows gather at the boundary of their circle, the flames burn bright. But they dance on, gathering, turning, melding the power of flesh and bone with dream and fantasy.

The gathering of their powers takes an entire night, a night of whirling, exhausting dance. And upon the morrow they will simply lie still, exhausted beneath corpse white sheets. It will take at least a day for each to recover and then another to grasp their own reality again. But once that is done, once they at last understand their place in the firmament again they will come together, simply, innocently, as mortals do. And here, beneath common bedsheets they will clumsily remember what it is to be human.

[reichsfreiherr.livejournal.com]

I’m still puzzling out your hieroglyphics prompt but in the meantime was there a specific prompt for Kuroshitsuji?

And thank you. That’s just 100 uploaded to the archive though, discounting the AUs and extremely silly pieces that I just post to LJ.

[shu-maat.livejournal.com]

God, you are amazing... your piece about Yuuko and Clow is so fascinating... I could see the images in my eyes -lights, flowing hair and garments, fire in the braziers- and hear the song in my mind while reading, the crotales ringing in my ears. I cannot thank you enough for accepting my little suggestion, and turning it into this! I'm truly honoured...
"Many years later" is magnificent, too...
(about Kuroshitsuji, mmm, I was wondering about a little chat between Sebastian and Elizabeth. I know it's strange and perhaps you don't like her character, or maybe it's just me that I'm not much into yaoi... but I was just wondering about it, don't mind it if it's not intresting.)


PS: maybe Levy has already asked you about it, or I'll tell her myself, but... how do you feel about translations of your fanfictions? I love your stories so much I think it's a pity that they aren't know a bit more. Translating your deep, intricate and elegant style would be such a sweat and maybe it's not for me ^^' but first of all I'd like to ask you about it. Sorry if you have already discussed it with Levy!

Kuroshitsuji- a little chat between Sebastian and Elizabeth

[reichsfreiherr.livejournal.com]

I should thank you for recommending the music. It just worked perfectly to the extent that that piece more or less wrote itself.

I really don’t have anything like a grasp on Elizabeth’s characterisation and I managed to misread your prompt as Ciel and Elizabeth which didn’t really help so instead you get this:

+++++

She’s talking but he can’t bring himself to listen. Not because it is aimless prattle but because she’s talking about their wedding day, the future of a happy marriage, of the light and beauty she will bring to their home. He doesn’t want to listen. She is talking to him of a future that can never be.

He is also only twelve years old after all.

The next time she brings up the future that lies between them it has less to do with childish delights and there is, though never improperly, the hint of a more adult touch to their promised union. She will, she is telling him, bear children to carry on the Phantomhive name and that alone troubles him.

He is fourteen at the time.

Generalities are becoming specifics by the time she broaches the topic again. She talks of the alliance that will form between them, of the great joining of their noble families.

He is sixteen.

Now at last her speech has taken on a touch of urgency to it. They are not yet wed and they have been betrothed for far too many years. The sweetness of a lingering courtship is turning into scandal in the eyes of the world.

He will be eighteen for only a month longer.

She takes his hand, the hand upon which he hears that cursed ring, and smiles sadly. “You’re not going to marry me.”
“Elizabeth…”
She lets go of his hand and turns away.
He starts to reach out to her but then remembers why he cannot. She is right after all.
The sunlight lights up her golden hair like a halo, the window frames her as if she is walking away from him on a shimmering pathway to Heaven itself.
“I…”
“You’re going to run away with that silly butler of yours, aren’t you?” She’s laughing but he still can’t see her face.
She’s given him an excuse. He’d be a fool not to take it. “Yes.”
“I thought so. Ciel, I know this isn’t what you want to hear and I promise I won’t ever say it again but-“
And then she is in his arms and his kiss is full of desperation and despair because he daren’t say it himself, that he loves her too.

He has just turned twenty-one.

She leans over the coffin, smiling sadly, uncaring of propriety.
“I wish…” Then she shakes her head and gently brushes her lips against his instead of indulging in fruitless dreams.

Elizabeth Middleford is only twenty-two.

That Sebastian hasn’t aged in the slightest doesn’t surprise her, not does the carefully worded promise of being able to fulfil any wish she might make.
“You can’t bring him back.”
“Madam, if you so desire I can-“
She laughs, an echo of the childish laughter of the past. “Even a Duke of Hell cannot return the dead to life. I know you, Rhadamanthus, and I will not accept your contract.”
He bows low and seems more amused than angry at being discovered. “As you wish, my lady.”

She is ninety-two and on the eve of her next birthday she will die.

+++++

As long as I’m notified I have no problem with translations at all, though mostly it seems to be Russian fandoms that tend to broach the topic.

Re: Kuroshitsuji- a little chat between Sebastian and Elizabeth

[shu-maat.livejournal.com]

Blessed be misreads, if they lead to this....
Dark, touching, perfect. Elizabeth's characterization eludes me too, but that's why I was curious about how a great writer could handle her. And the hypotetical growing-up of her and Ciel is something I wonder a lot about. So I couldn't have asked for more. Thank you, thank you for granting us such jewels....

Re: Kuroshitsuji- a little chat between Sebastian and Elizabeth

[reichsfreiherr.livejournal.com]

I’m glad you liked it. I don’t know how well I’d qualify as ‘a great writer’ though since just about the only impression I have of Elizabeth is of a rather cheerful little girl who’d like her fiancé to happier. She’s too young to really have much of an understanding of Ciel’s duties to the Queen yet and since we never get to see her in a private setting there’s nothing else to really go on. I would speculate that she might worry about Ciel more than is apparent and that because the reader only ever gets to see her around Ciel (and at a ball) she’s likely to put up a good front of being cheerful on those occasions, especially around Ciel because she’s trying to cheer him up. Even when she’s trying to make him wear ‘cute clothing’ she’s probably basing that on a combination of the fact that wearing something bright and pretty makes her happy so she’s trying the same solution out on him and because she’s already being an attentive fiancé who wants her future husband to look his best. That particular scene at first glance seemed to be a case of her being annoying but once I thought about it, it really does seem to be more a case of Elizabeth wanting to be helpful and cheer Ciel up. And her actions at the ball regarding the dress seem to corroborate that she enjoys pretty things.

Admittedly, I ought to get back to the manga at some point so there may be more evidence of her personality to be found but from what I’ve read those are the conclusions that I’ve come to.

[levy.livejournal.com]

..and I intrude in the conversation just to say, I had actually planned to do some, and I've already done two - your meme piece about Paula and Andrea and Delilah - but never get to a really satisfactory translation and kinda drop the duty there... but if it's still okay for you, Narsus, we can try to run your translations account four-hands, Shu, how about it ?
:)

[shu-maat.livejournal.com]

Levy, it was exactly what I was thinking about... *_______*
It would be a honour to me, if Narsus is okay with it!

[levy.livejournal.com]

Deal done. Make a list of pieces you wont to translate then, I'll do mine ASAP, and then we'd start to plan the job, okay?

[shu-maat.livejournal.com]

Roger, o captain, my captain!!

Trinity Blood. Suleyman, Seth: hieroglyphics

[reichsfreiherr.livejournal.com]

This has been a very long time in coming so I apologise for the delay.

---

The Empress is a study in forms, of gestures and symbols beneath an obscuring veil. Hers is a language of non-verbal forms: the gesture of a hand, the fluttering of slender fingers. The tilt of her head speaks volumes, the sway of her gown indicative of the great wheels of state turning. Her voice, her speech is misdirection and those nobles who flounder are those captivated by only her words.

“Duke of Tigris, we ask you to perform this task.” Her hand turns over, flat palm turning to face the sky.

The gesture would make her words an offer if it came from anybody else but from the Empress it is not the open palm that is the indicator. When he bows low in acceptance her hand remains a moment facing the unsullied sky and then her fingers contract as if suddenly gone lax. She does not offer him the task so much as withdraw her mercy from those she would have him hunt. She no longer cares how he will spill their blood.

When he returns, his task accomplished, she cares little for the report and instead her attention is fixed on other matters. But her gaze lingers. Even as she begins to pronounce upon the other affairs of state that veiled face lingers as if she keeps her eyes on him. The hand that released a handful of extremists to his care now rises slightly in his direction before sweeping back towards her body to her heart. He has done well: she is touched by his loyalty.

The Empress is a study in forms set in strange and almost unnoticeable gestures. Each pose contains a meaning, a sacred writing written in the air. He can chart the rise and fall of other nobles in those gestures. He watches the Empress’ hands contract and then falter before they can form fists when a fourteen year old becomes Inspector General, sees her hand flutter at the hem of her gown when the Marchioness of Kiev gives her report of the Outer, watches them still when his treachery is uncovered.

She is not as unreadable or unreachable as she would like to believe, and when at last he lies in her arms waiting only for death to claim him he knows that it is the language of gestures, the sacred and the profane that will be her undoing. All it takes is a touch, the skin of her cheek against his palm and it is enough. The hour has not yet come but in a simple gesture he has planted the seed of her downfall.

The Empress is not the only one who understands the language of forms.

Re: Trinity Blood. Suleyman, Seth: hieroglyphics

[shu-maat.livejournal.com]

There's nothing to apologize for... instead, I really thank you for thinking so long about this and actually writing it down.

It's so difficult to put into words how much I appreciated this piece. Let me say that it stands up amongst my absolute favourites of what I've read from you, and that I cannot define in any other word but perfect the way you used the prompt. So thank you. I hope I'm not sounding overdramatic or anything, I mean it wholeheartedly.

The ending particularly stroke on me beacause just recently, with a drabble, I had considered that Suleyman's rebellion could have moved a gear, changed something in Seth's destiny, forcing her to reveal herself... well, so I'm glad it wasn't an irrelevant idea. You expressed it perfectly with that sentence.


I'd like to translate also this and the Clow/Yuuko piece in the "Narsus Translation Project" if that's okay with you... in this case, would you also like to add a title?

Re: Trinity Blood. Suleyman, Seth: hieroglyphics

[reichsfreiherr.livejournal.com]

I’m glad you liked this. I still don’t feel as if I’ve quite done the idea justice and eventually I’ll hopefully be able to rectify that with a longer piece in keeping with the same continuity as Pathway.

I’ve had a look at your drabble and if I’ve understood it correctly the imagery of Süleyman pulling away Seth’s veil really works wonderfully. She’s uncovered her face already but the idea of the veil tearing is easily loaded with symbolism and certainly makes me think of the Biblical veil of the temple tearing (where it may even have been the Temple of Solomon IIRC).

Feel free to translate this and the other piece. Title-wise I’m tending towards something a little pretentious like “Hieros gamos” for this piece though the title could have worked for the Clow/Yuuko piece too. In which case, in keeping with that theme “Chymical Wedding” would work for the other.