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Post by Elmira Val on May 3, 2007 20:09:08 GMT -5
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Post by Blue but beautiful on May 4, 2007 17:58:58 GMT -5
Yay, glad you decided to post the link  I love how she gets into the whole 'coruscant in regeneration' scene. |
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Post by Elmira Val on Jun 7, 2007 20:44:18 GMT -5
I have a chapter in progress, eh *needs inspiration*.
Horace was hoisted by a pulley elevator to the household of his relatives, tapping his right foot for the waste of precious minutes of his fleeting life. He saw the yearling cousins looking down at him, grunting through their upturned beaks from using theirs for a similiarly unintelligible purpose.
From the fourteenth floor of a rusty apartment building the Blumly family perched, their home open to the constant breeze. They must of thought it very brave and death defying, as it was highly
uncomfortable up there. Despite the romantic exaltation of sticking appendages into high,
windy places by many a Holodrama, the reality was quite contradictory. The four Devlikks
huddled around the burnt remains of a spiced hawk-bat; they must have thought it very trendy, as it was becoming increasingly distasteful to eat them. Local liberal Vongforming enthusiasts would look down on him.
However, like illegally downloading Agamarian sparkle-bop, any discrepancy in the hawk-bat population was generally shrugged off as socially acceptable by most normal Coruscanti that had relocated to the planet due its vast array of profitable tourist attractions and the vast array of financial incentives to breed and repopulate.
Most accredited missing hawk-bats to the feeding of contraceptive pills to control the booming population.
Horace sat down, wondering how the members of his family who were still alive managed to
snag the creature. He also wondered why they had not been evicted yet. He owed it to a gigantic intuition field that surrounded the neighborhood, cast by a hairless aquatic mantis eater
two stories down to the east. His life was short enough: he believed most anything he found
casting an aura of non violence and self-discovery.
His most recent devotion was to Yun-Yammka, the newly adopted God of angry holologgers and black-clad operatic metal singers. With a feat of neuron hopping much faster than an Ortolan could behold, Horace conjured the images of the past hour. They were hazy, as memories usually were, but he shared them enthusiastically with the three other Devlikks.
It might of appeared mind boggling to the viewer, but he expressed himself in such fluid and fleeting vocabulation; it superficially sounded like he only warbled a nonsensical tune five times faster than a sentence of Basic, but Horace's siblings knew better. It was a complex paragraph expressing the phenotype and fashion taste of his religious leader, Grizhabel'd, and the modern definition of Yammkachure.
They joined him in warbling, and offered him a leg of hawk-bat. Tearing off his portion, Horace savored the flavor, as he did with all food. Despite his briefness of communication, he loved to eat slowly. It was all relative; he devoured much faster than a Sarlacc, but much slower than flesh eating bacteria found in remote parts of Ithor.
Horace Blumly watched the scene outside, witnessing the many-rayed sun drag itself a bit quicker than he usually deigned to notice. The sky was blue-a shade that would signal artistic incompetence on its own, but the clouds were orange, like a fleshy fruit. He pretended the hawk-bat tasted like the sweet, saccharine-coated pills suspiciously linked to Qelah Kwaad. It had been earlier in the week that had dragged by like a month that he had found spiritual guidance in the confectionary bar. He stringed out another message to his relations, this time asking to set aside time to buy new clothes.
Orid Blumly, an inch taller and a feather ribbon extra of Horace, was the first to respond. She got up from her moss encrusted seat around the fire circle, and as if by telepathy, the room was brought in array. The Blumly family stood and strapped on their traveling bags.
Through the windy opening of their dubiously acquired home, they lept fourteen stories with their parachutes in hand. Air friction and experience propelled them into a gentle descent, landing them with a faint plop against the closest semblance of a ground. Yris Blumly was only one year of age, but landed most gracefully on the vast ferrocrete plateau; the residence of the Blumly family overlooked a gaping canyon a hundred meters off; in reality their home was at least hundreds more stories above the ground.
The last Devlikk from the hundred twentieth floor of Circling Apartments was long landed; it wasn't long before the last parachute was automatically collapsed via a convenient mechanical control. Horace would have to hide this from certain sentients he would met along the way. He turned to Orid, who replied curtly, if Ortolan ears could understand,
"I do think there are a variety of interesting and alternative shops down in the canyon. We should visit them now and refit our fashion sense with something Yun-Yammka and all his fetishionists would approve of, even the ones in striped stockings with too sharply defined patterns in unnatural colors. Why, we live very close and we can dart across the canyon like stuntbirds do and avoid using any elevators that happen to be functional in this time period. Come to think of it, we won't even have to use them when all of the elevators are repaired. Let's go down."
Orid blinked, and pawed at the red plumage ribbon she had tied on her head for the sake of identifying herself as female. In translation, she said
"...I could go without sleep tonight. Make it an all-night refitting."
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Post by Blue but beautiful on Jun 16, 2007 6:08:37 GMT -5
It's an interesting analogy between Yun-Yammka and the operatic metal singers, I can actually see that quite well. For some reason it conjures up the image of shapers taking on that roll, their headdresses seem like a living tribute to Yun Yammka  |
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Post by Elmira Val on Jun 18, 2007 19:13:15 GMT -5
Ai, I updated over at the Jedi Council forums.
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