Bits and Parts of My Imagination

Still Alive... and Kicking :)

Sat, 07 Nov 2009 07:17:31 GMT

So, I'm still alive - it seems. The flu is avoiding me so far (or is it the other way around?), but I have another eye(s) infection. That sucks. Especially, since at work I have to read and use computer a lot. On a bright side, it's only another month and a week until my next trip home :)

That being said, let's go to the main reason for this entry: Ai no Kusabi fiction. It can be found under the cut. Hope you'll enjoy it.

Title: Nine Lives of the Cat: Life the Second
Author: chemcat
Warnings: none.
Spoilers: none.
Pairing: Raoul/Katze implied.
Rating: PG (I think)
Disclaimer: AnK belongs to Rieko Yoshihara.
Word Count: 678 (MS Word).
Beta reader: None. All mistakes are mine only.
Summary: Katze wakes up from a dream.
Side notes: Next story in the series. Links to previous installments can be found at the end of this post.

Nine Lives of the Cat: Life the Second

Cocooned in softness, Katze is dreaming; he knows it, because it’s the kind of certainty one has when asleep. He’s reluctant to open his eyes and to go back to cruel reality. Especially, when the real world is not what you hoped it would be. When a cool hand falls on his forehead, Katze whimpers and, immediately, the touch is gone. Behind his closed eyelids, the nightmares take over his numb mind.

When, several hours later, he regains consciousness again, it’s because of the smell that surrounds him - grapefruits and freshly brewed tea. Katze stirs uneasily, waiting for the smell to turn into the acrid stench of old blood. Nevertheless, nothing like that happens and, after a while, he opens his eyes. In the twilight of the room, Katze examines his surroundings.

The apartment is spacious and tastefully decorated with intricate tapestries. On a small table by the bed where he’s laying, there’s a pot on a warmer and a plate with peeled grapefruit. Katze’s mouth waters at the sight. Tentatively, he reaches hand toward the fruit, but the lack of pain makes him pause halfway. When something rustles in the corner, he turns that way. Even in the dim light, he recognizes handsome features.

Raoul Am is sleeping peacefully on an oversized armchair. His blond hairs gleam in the moonlight and cover part of his face. His hands are clasped on his chest and his bare feet rest on a soft cushion making him look comfortable and casual. Katze’s mind reels. The last thing he recalls is the dreadful, small room and Raoul’s raised hand then… then came darkness.

Why you haven’t killed me?

Katze pulls the cover up to his neck as much as he can and tries to curl up – grapefruit forgotten. Few minutes later, however, his stomach gurgles, reminding him of a delicious treat. Deciding that he has nothing to lose, he snatches a segment of the fruit and pushes it into his mouth.

“You should eat something more substantial before gobbling up fruits.”

The voice makes him choke and spit out his prize. Violent coughs shake his whole body. “There’s noting else to eat here… why nothing hurts?” He’s not aware that he’s spoken up until Raoul responds.

“That must be because you’re still on medications.”

“What?”

“Or maybe it’s the time that’s passed.”

“How long?”

“Almost two weeks. It’ll take some time for all your bones to mend, but the doctors were able to stop the internal bleedings and stitch up your wounds.”

“How long have you been watching me?”

“Years.”

“I mean, how long have you been awak—what?

“I’ve watched you for years, Katze. Waiting for you to trip and fall; waiting for you to make any mistake.”

“And finally I did, your patience has been rewarded.”

“Yes.”

Katze tries to sound brave, but his words come out as a whimper. “What do you want from me, Raoul?”

The Blondie gets up and approaches the bed. As soon as the mattress dips under added weight, Katze averts his eyes. When Raoul speaks again, his voice sounds tired. “I don’t know anymore. Not fully, anyway. I want you back on a Black Market, that’s for sure. What else? It may, no, it will depend on your health.”

“You’re not going to hand me over to the Police?”

“If I wanted to, you’d already be there. Beside, why would I have bothered to put you together if I planned to do the same damage later on?”

“I wonder.”

Katze’s words are slurry and there’s weird numbness in his limbs. As he risks a direct look at Blondie’s face, there’s something strange in Raoul’s eyes. Uneased by the stare, Katze tries to move, but his body refuses to obey his brain’s commands. He wants to scream, but no sound can be heard and Katze isn’t even sure if he’s managed to open his mouth.

What have you done to me? What have you given me, Raoul.

Terrified, Katze watches as Raoul’s face draws closer and the Blondie’s hand reaches towards his neck.

THE END

Thank you for reading.

Previous Installments:

Story 1 – Living for Another Chance

Story 2 – Losing Battle, Losing Mind

Story 3 – Business Arrangement

Story 4 – Innocence Lost

Story 5 – I’m Calling You No More

Story 6 – Destination Darkness

Back home

Mon, 05 Oct 2009 22:57:08 GMT

So, usually when I go home to Poland, I don't visit many sites (Been there, done that, besides, seeing my Family and Friends once a year is more than enough to keep me fully occupied). This time, however, I went with my Boss to visit one of our collaborators and do some recruitment. That, of course, gave us also some time to visit several places. Images are below the cut (not dial-up friendly).

Click on the image to enlarge.

We're staying in Kraków for the first three days of our visit, so I should introduce you to the city. Kraków was once capital of Poland (years 1038 to 1596) and in 2000 it was named cultural capital of the Europe. It's also listed as one of the World Heritage Sites (UNECSO). Before becoming the Pope, John Paul II was the archbishop of Kraków. I don't have too many pictures from the Churches and Towers that we've visited, but what I absolutely have to post are pictures of "Wieliczka". What's that, I'll explain in the minute. Before I begin, let me mention that if you're ever in Kraków, you have to visit Wawel Castle and it's surroundings (schedule at least two days for that) ;)

Now, onto the pictures:

Okay, so I start with something else, but the picture was taken in Kraków - me and Mr. Tin-Man (a living sculpture). There are several people like that; they are able to remain motionless for prolonged periods of time. Sometimes, however, they make exceptions.

The next couple of pictures is from the "Wieliczka" Salt Mine, which is one of the world's oldest operating salt mines. The older one (and the oldest one) is also in Poland, in Bochnia, 20 kilometers from Wieliczka. "Wieliczka" Salt Mine has been in operation since prehistoric times. All the sculptures shown on the pictures are carved from solid salt.

The salt sculpture of hungarian princess Kinga (She was named patroness of Poland and Lithuania in 1695 and in 1999, she was canonized by JP II) and her future husband, prince of Cracov, Bolesław V the Chaste. They say that the marriage was arranged and the "happy couple" was not taken with each other. Maybe that's the reason why they've remained chaste - because they did.

Here we have a device, which was used to hoist salt/people/horses/water from one level to another. It worked using the principle of balance. Basically, there were things attached to two sides of the rope swung over a pole - as one heavy thing was coming up, the other one was going down. The whole machinery was controlled/moved by people, or in some cases horses - depending on the size of the machine. On the picture, our tour guide is showing how the "device" works ;) In the background are people who got lost on their first tour and were found later on by some unlucky miner. Well preserved, right? But, they're worn out already, anyone fancy serving as a replacement?

Draining system. The white "stuff" around the ladle is recrystallizing salt. Because salt is very hygroscopic (sucks up water) moisture needs to be collected and removed. This draining system represents how it was done in earlier ages. The pipes and ladles are made of wood - no steel involves whatsoever.

The chandelier is made of wood and salt crystals only. Can you imagine the amount of work involved? Not to mention the time needed for crystallization... The crystals are transparent, but you can tell some of them start to dissolve in the moist air - because, even though there is really good ventilation system, human breath is "moist".

St. Kinga's Chapel. The most magnificent thing. Everything is carved in salt blocks. What's more, the Chapel is fully functional and services are held there every week. Supposedly, only three men did all the carvings and it took them 67 years. I know the picture is not the highest quality, but I have a crappy camera. Anyway, if you want to see the "close ups" of the Chapel, just search google for "Wieliczka".

Door to nowhere. The door is made of wood, the wall is pure salt.

Salt is recrystallizing on on the walls (actually, on the wooden logs which prevent the parts of the main from collapsing) . Looks cool, doesn't it? Basically, you can say that the main is still alive. Salt, which is not mained in the tourist-available corridors/shafts anymore, is trying to "reclaim" it's lost kingdom.

Prof. Berreau (my Boss) and Herr Goethe - where chemistry and poetry meet. Yup, traveling with Boss can be fun :)

Me and general Joseph Haller. Me - just a chemist and Joseh Haller - a famous person from the time of the First World War (I'll spare you his biography, although, it's an interesting one).

Well, that's it. Hope you enjoyed the short trip :)

WOW

Sun, 13 Sep 2009 19:34:00 GMT

Poland has JUST WON the European Championship! For the first time ever!

Forgive me as I go and have an emotional moment :)

I'm original again :)

Mon, 17 Aug 2009 02:23:25 GMT

Woah, the breaks between my posts are getting longer and longer. Well, I'm trying to keep up to date with the journal, but recently I find it hard to force myself to write. No it's not a writer's block (I'd need to be a writer for that), it's just the fact that after almost twelve hours at work I don't want to do anything... well, maybe apart from reading. Nonetheless, I've been able to write a short fic, which I want to present you with. However, before I do that, I have a question. Has anyone on my f-list has been to Mesa Verde? I'm going there for three days and I wonder whether it's enough time to see everything.

Well,after this long(ish) introduction, let's get to the fiction, shall we?

Title: The Way I Pray
Author: chemcat
Warnings: priest’s m/m sex.
Pairing: Father Barthélémy /Jean.
Genre: Drama.
Rating: NC-17.
Disclaimer: Idea and characters are mine.
Word Count: 1255 (MS Word).
Beta reader: None, all mistakes are mine only.
Summary: Homosexuality was the crime prosecuted by the Holy Inquisition. But even in these dangerous times, unity of souls and bodies couldn’t be denied.
Side notes: Set in the year 1609, on the border of France and Spain.

The Way I Pray

It was pitch black. Heavy clouds have crept up onto the evening sky and made the stars disappear. The man shivered and pulled his cloak closer. The night air was cold and crisp. Somewhere deep in the forest, the owl started to screech and the thunder rolled through the night sky. He wasn’t sure how far he’d gone, or where he was. The only thing that mattered was that he was free. He hoped to cross the French border in the next couple of hours. There, on the other side of Pyrenees, other side of the horror, he’d be able to start a new life. Sighing, he dragged his feet towards the tree where, high in its branches, he planned on spending the night.

***

Year 1609 was terrible for the Pays de Labourd province in the southwestern France. Men, women, and even children were accused of witchcraft and burned on stakes. Pierre de Lancre, the main Inquisitor, knew no mercy. Friends were denunciating friends in vain hope to save themselves. The most trivial things could become basis for the accusations, for which the only penalty was death. No one was safe, not even the priests.

***

“You must run.” Father Barthélémy was speaking quietly, but forcefully, to his young companion. He knew that there would be no excuses if their secret was exposed. He knew he, himself, would gladly reveal it when taken to the torture chamber.

“But where would I go, Barthélémy?”

“Far away. You need to try to cross the French border and seek the refuge on the other side of the mountains—”

“You want me to flee to Spain? I may as well walk right into the hands of the Inquisitors. If someone catches me on the run—”

“You must try!”

“What about you?”

“If the God allows, I’ll join you come winter.”

The young man came closer and pressed his lips to the priest’s ones. Warm hands roamed the back of Barthélémy’s neck and prevented him from pulling out from the kiss. After a while, he relaxed into the embrace and kissed back. It’d be a while until he’d see his lover again… if at all. He pulled the young man closer and started to work on the knots of his robes, which soon pooled on the floor. Barthélémy pushed his lover back onto the pile of hay. That’s all they could have, the last few moments on the hard floor in a wooden shack. The priest started pressing kisses all over the other man’s exposed skin.

“Stop teasing, Barthélémy. This may be very well our last meeting for several months.”

“Always so impatient, Jean.”

“And whose fault is that?”

Barthélémy forced a laugh and complied with his lover’s wishes, pushing his thighs apart and dripping oil on his lower regions.

“Is that a holy oil for—”

“Hush, stop talking.”

“Then hurry up.”

Barthélémy untied his own robes and pushed them up only enough to be able to press himself into Jean, who hissed at him before starting to relax. Soon, both men were moving together. Jean started to gasp and tear at Barthélémy’s robes. The priest closed his eyes and concentrated on the feeling of the tightness around his cock. It was at the times like this, when he was closest to God. After all, it was heaven. As he neared his orgasm his movements become erratic – he started to move faster. Underneath him, Jean sneaked a hand between their bodies and was stroking himself in earnest, his gasps becoming more audible with every passing moment. Barthélémy shuddered and came, muffling his own moans against his lover’s neck. He felt Jean arch his back from the hay and go rigid, before collapsing back onto the floor.

The summer, afternoon sun was illuminating the shack where they were laying. Slowly, Barthélémy sat up and looked at his lover. The young man stirred and scowled at being watched.

“Toss me my robe, Barthélémy.”

“Stay like this for a moment.”

“Why?”

“I want to pray for a little longer.”

“Your idea of prayer is twisted.”

“I know, but that’s how I talk with Him.”

“Do you have to bring God into every conversation?”

“I carry him with me everywhere I go, so why cannot I speak about him freely?”

“You speak of him in your sermons, isn’t it enough? You know, I don’t understand you, but then again, I’m just a village fool.”

Barthélémy drew Jean into his arms. “You’re not. And that’s why you must flee.”

“But I don’t understand. I did nothing wrong, I only healed people. They’d die otherwise—”

“But what you did was against what Church teaches – that only God and prayers may heal.”

“Your God is cruel.”

“No, not Him - the Church.”

For the moment, Jean looked as if he wanted to argue, but decided against it. An uneducated man like himself could never hold his ground against a priest. He snuggled closer to Barthélémy and closed his eyes, knowing that he’d probably never see him again. Few moments later, the two men came apart and, after dressing up, left the shack - making sure they weren’t watched.

***

The passage through the Pyrenees was longer than he’d expected and he didn’t know how long he’d be able to carry on. Closing his eyes, he tried to pray, but the words were eluding him. He’d lost his faith several months ago, and the holy trial he’d faced only deepened his inability to talk with the God. The man forced himself to walk, but his body was growing more tired with every step. His last stop was Saint-Jean-Pied-de-Port, where he’d been given several slices of bread and piece of pork’s backfat. It was several hours ago and by now, he was getting hungry again. After few more minutes, he saw lights glittering in the distance. He mustered his strength and kept walking. The lights were much further than he expected and, at the end of his journey, he found himself crawling to the steps of, what seemed to be, an inn. His last thought was I’m dying as a free man.

***

“He’s waking up.”

“Hush, let him rest. You may go to sleep now. I’ll take care of him. Go.”

The words were spoken in Spanish, but what struck him was the familiarity of one of the voices. He opened his eyes.

“Ah, welcome back amongst living, Barthélémy.” Now, the person was speaking in French. “I wondered when you’d be coming.”

Barthélémy could only stare. In the candlelight, his caretaker looked like an angel; his young face, illuminated by a soft light, was as beautiful as Barthélémy remembered. The tears swelled in his eyes.

“Why are you crying, Barthélémy?”

“I just wanted to see you before I died.”

“You’re not dying. Not yet, anyway.”

“I’m not the same man I was, Jean. Look at me—”

“Yes, you look older. Much older in fact—”

“I was taken captive, Jean. I was tortured and forced to tell lies. I’m a broken, old man. But I wanted to see you again before—”

“You’re not dying, you’re just exhausted. Oh, and you’re not in France anymore. Besides, if I cared only about how old you are, I’d never been with you. I didn’t go far from the border, because I was waiting. You’d said you’d come to me come winter, and finally, the winter is here.”

When Jean leaned over - now old - man and kissed his lips, Barthélémy knew he’d be able to pray again.

THE END

Thank you for reading.

My first icons ever

Sat, 18 Jul 2009 06:15:42 GMT

Oh, hai!

I'm pretty much breaking my own rule of posting fictions and greetings only, but I want to share some icons. Not so long ago, I've made eight simple "tiger icons", which can be found under the cut. If you like them, feel free to use them.

Yours,
ChemCat

Caught in the Spider Web

Tue, 14 Jul 2009 05:02:19 GMT

So, I've been writing. No, seriously. I've rewritten my original detective story (because, I decided that I didn't really liked the plot) and I'm now putting a finishing touch (in other words, one/two more months and it'll be ready... hopefully). In the mean time, I finished this short story and started another original fic (am I drifting too far from the fandom(s) - for the time being I may be). Anyway, enough of this pointless (self-indulgent) blabber. Let me present you with another part of the story.

Let me only add one more thing, the reason why I like this series is that each installment can be read separately and the story can be cut at any particular part (although I plan on concluding it in some reasonable amount of time/stories). Now, onto the story and I hope you'll enjoy it!

Title: Destination Darkness
Author: chemcat
Warnings: blood.
Spoilers: none.
Pairing: Raoul/Katze implied.
Rating: PG-13 (I think)
Disclaimer: AnK belongs to Rieko Yoshihara.
Word Count: 808 (MS Word).
Beta reader: None. All mistakes are mine only.
Summary: On Larcon, Raoul finds Katze. Unfortunately, the ex-Furniture has given up on his life.
Side notes: Next story in the series. Links to previous installments can be found at the end of this post.

Destination Darkness

Where is he? Where?

Steep stairs disappearing in darkness. Silence. Sudden series of deafening explosions. Pain and blood. His hands around someone’s neck. Pleading words from his captive. Snapping of the fragile spine. Hands chocking him. Crimson mist clouding his vision. Blind grasping around. Warm, human body. Soldiers’ screams. Gunshots. Loud crash. Ease of breath.

Numbness.

Katze.

“Have you been harmed, sir? Sir? Can you hear me, sir? Sir?!”

His own, raspy voice. “What’s the situation?”

“We’ve captured all Leaders, sir.”

Exhaustion.

“Notify Larcon troops that if they do as much as lift a finger, we’ll kill their Leaders. Raise the force shields and let the rest of our squads in. I want all major objects and armories secured within the next hour.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Now leave.”

“But sir—”

“Leave!”

When the soldiers are gone, Blondie staggers to his feet and looks around. His vision is still misty and he has to fight the nausea. He’s the only one in the room – the last room in the basement – and still, there’s no Katze.

Where?

***

“You’re Imael Bronk.”

“And you’re Raoul Am. What an honor to finally meet the Amoi leader. What’s brought you to my humble abode?”

The Blondie snarls and, without preamble, gets to the point. “You’ve killed our emissary—”

“Oh, your cat?” Bronk lets out a loud laugh. “So that’s what really brought you here, isn’t it?”

“I don’t remember owning a cat. Especially, one that could be sent as a messenger—”

“So, that’s how you call spies now? Interesting.”

“If I were you, Bronk, I’d negotiate.”

“Don’t you think you should ‘negotiate’ with Larcon Leaders?”

“I’d rather go straight to the core. I know that you’re behind their every move.”

“You have good spies.”

“I have a brain.”

“Apparently, that’s not enough to satisfy some animals. Is that why he’s run away?”

“You little—”

“And such a nice cat it is.”

Is… not was? Instantly, the Blondie snaps to full attention and grabs Bronk by the neck. “Where is he?”

“You’re chocking me.”

“Give me a reason not to.”

“You’d find out nothing when I’m dead.”

“Where is he?”

“I don’t—”

“Where?”

“Base…men…t…”

Raoul knocks Bronk out and beckons one of his soldiers.

“Sir?”

“Keep this vermin under tight surveillance. I’m not done with him yet.”

***

Where?

The Blondie leans onto the blood-covered tapestry and, accidentally, presses the handle underneath it. Opening the hidden door, he freezes.

Katze?

In the farthest corner of the dark room, the creature moves - visibly cringing in pain. As fast as his injuries allow, Raoul rushes to the man’s side and squats beside him.

“Katze?”

“I’m sorry, Raoul, I told them everything. They know everything—”

“They know nothing, neither do you. Now hush.”

“Raoul, don’t turn me in to the Police. Just kill me here—”

“I said hush.” The pain and fear in Katze’s eyes pierces Blondie’s soul.

“Just kill me, Raoul.”

Raoul grabs Katze’s arm and the ex-Furniture howls in pain. Startled, the Blondie pulls back and covers his ears. Only now he realizes the true state Katze’s in.

Katze, my beautiful Katze. What they’ve done to you?

Only now, the stench of the room invades his nostrils and makes him gag. Ends of his blond hair turn dark upon touching the dirty floor.

Is all of this blood yours?

Raoul stands up in disgust. He doesn’t realize what he’s doing until Katze’s raspy whisper reaches his ears.

“Raoul, at least give me the gun… or knife. I’ll do it myself.”

“What?”

“It’s better than being handed over to the police.”

“I don’t have any weapon on me.”

“Can’t you just break my neck?”

“I though you wanted to live.” Raoul forces himself to look straight at Katze, then, lowers his eyes to his hands. With almost no light in the room, his once white gloves appear brown. The Blondie can feel the moisture seeping through them and soaking into his flawless skin. He jerks the gloves off.

“Raoul, your hands can’t get any bloodier or filthier now. I really know no—” Katze has to pause to steady his breath. “I know nothing, Raoul, I swear. There’s nothing you’d gain from interrogating me.”

“At Amoi, they can treat your wounds.”

“We both know they can’t.”

“My doctor could—”

“So you could torture me some more?”

“Now you’re insulting me. To think that the mere seconds ago you were asking for a favor—”

Katze’s forced laugh sounds pitiful. “Only a Blondie could term it like that.”

“Only someone with nothing to lose can address a Blondie like that.”

“Maybe the death will come sooner.”

The calmness and coldness in the ex-Furniture’s voice doesn’t surprise Raoul. Katze’s always been exceptionally rational and controlled… as for a mongrel. The Blondie raises his hand and Katze closes his eyes.

I’m sorry, Katze.

THE END

Thank you for reading.

Previous Installments:

Story 1 – Living for Another Chance

Story 2 – Losing Battle, Losing Mind

Story 3 – Business Arrangement

Story 4 – Innocence Lost

Story 5 – I’m Calling You No More

Ai no Kusabi Universe got me - again

Tue, 16 Jun 2009 04:49:56 GMT

I'm sorry my f-list if I haven't commented on your posts. I was trying to stay away from my computer to help to heal my eyes, which ARE getting better now (I don't know who's happier: my Boss or me). I'm trying to catch up with the posts, but I'm sure it's going to take some time.

Today, I dug up a story, which I wrote about a month ago and like the title of my post says I was in the dark mood (apparently, it's a bonus when you start to write an AnK universe). After some refinement, I decided to ~~torture~~ present you with it. I hope you'll enjoy it. This installment is written from Katze's point of view.

Title: I’m Calling You No More
Author: chemcat
Warnings: attempted rape, torture.
Spoilers: none.
Pairing: Katze/Bronk (OMC) implied.
Rating: R (because the theme is disturbing).
Disclaimer: AnK belongs to Rieko Yoshihara.
Word Count: 669 (MS Word).
Beta reader: None. All mistakes are mine only.
Summary: There’s no hope left for Katze. No one will even mourn the death of a mongrel.
Side notes: Next story in the series. Links to previous installments can be found at the end of this post.

I’m Calling You No More

In the dark room Katze has lost the sense of time. Shackled and curled up on the bloodied, cold floor, he is listening to the noises coming from the adjacent room, fully prepared for Imael Bronk to burst through the door – laughing.

When they’d captured him, he was ready to tell them everything. He knew if he refused, they’d drug him up and get what they want anyway. However, they’d never asked any questions, only beat him unconscious. Day after day, the same routine followed: several hours of peace and then beating until he couldn’t feel his own body anymore. Enough to hurt, but not to kill.

Why?

Several days had passed like this before a thin, dark man entered Katze’s confinement cell. Through the feverish haze, the ex-Furniture noticed the syringe - he didn’t even have strength to fight. He told the man everything: his purpose for coming to Larcon, the name of his contact person, the communication codes.

Katze curls up tighter and shivers at a particular memory.

“So, you were ordered to seduce me, eh?”

“That’s not what I’ve said, Bronk.”

“You did… in a roundabout kind of way. However, why should I bargain for something I can have for free?”

Bronk’s hand slides down Katze’s torso and briefly dips under the waistband of his pants.

“You’re still pretty, Katze. Even if you’re an ex-Furniture and a beaten up captive, you’re still so damn pretty.”

The man touches Katze’s thigh and kisses his dirty neck. Katze shivers in disgust and Bronk mistakes it for a sign of excitement.

“Well, maybe you will end up in my bed, after all.”

“Never!”

“Such spirit! I like it, but mark my words: I’ll break you, Katze. I’ll break your spirit, along with your loyalty to the Amoi leaders.”

“No!”

“Oh, I will.”

“Go to hell!”

“Think about it, pretty boy, just say ‘yes’ and the beating, the cold - all of it will be gone.”

“No.”

From that day on, Bronk was present during Katze’s every ordeal, each time repeating the offer. And each time - Katze refused. He also refused to take in any food or drink, but after beating him unconscious, his torturers had no troubles feeding him intravenously.

He wasn’t even allowed to die.

Over several days it all has become a grim routine - up until yesterday. Katze still feels sick at the memory.

“Your time’s up, Katze.”

“So, you’ve finally come to kill me?”

“Don’t get your hopes up, I’ve just run out of patience. I don’t need your permission to have you.”

Katze is too numb to fully register the meaning of Bronk’s words. Only when he feels hands grasping his hips, he snaps to his senses and starts trashing. By some weird twist of fate, in his desperate struggle the back of his head crushes Bronk’s nose. The grip on his hips disappears instantly.

The beating he got was worse than ever. It left him lying in the pool of his own blood and with more than several broken bones. Now he wonders why he was fighting so desperately. He has no pride to preserve and there is no escape from here. No one will wait for his return, or mourn his death. He also knows that Bronk will get what he wants - with his consort… or without it.

Katze closes his eyes. Even if he knows he should wish for death, the only thing coming to his mind is a face of a man.

Raoul.

The noise in the adjacent room intensifies. Suddenly, there’s a series of short explosions, then, someone screams. At the same time, a heavy object crashes with the door, making them bulge dangerously. Moaning in pain, Katze crawls to the farthest corner of his cell and curls into an even tighter ball, wishing he could disappear. Soon, the handle starts to turn. However, when the door finally opens, the man entering the room is not Imael Bronk but a blood-covered, tall blond with wild, green eyes.

THE END

Thank you for reading.

Previous Installments:

Story 1 – Living for Another Chance

Story 2 – Losing Battle, Losing Mind

Story 3 – Business Arrangement

Story 4 – Innocence Lost

Shorter than short

Tue, 26 May 2009 03:30:28 GMT

I was browsing through my HDD and found this very short snippet. It's already betaed, so I've decided to post it before I forget about it again,

Hope you'll enjoy it.

Title: When We Run Out of Time
Author: chemcat
Warnings: none
Spoilers: none
Pairing: Klaus/Dorian
Rating: G (I think)
Disclaimer: Klaus and Co belong to Aoike Yasuko.
Length: 79 (MS Word)
Beta reader: wonderful mprice . Remaining mistakes are mine only.
Summary: Agent Z watches the Major.

When We Run Out of Time

Agent Z was always watching his superior from afar – admiring him and loving him in secret. Jealously, Z watched as his Major became closer to a certain thief. Grudgingly, he witnessed as the Major and Eroica grew old – together. And long after both of them were gone - lying side by side - Agent Z looked back to see that his whole life had been lost on a dream. A dream he never had the courage to act upon.

THE END

Thank you for reading.

Ai no Kusabi Universe is dark

Mon, 11 May 2009 03:00:51 GMT

Out of several started stories, Ai no Kusabi ones seem to progress fastest (or maye I'm just in the mood for writing dark fictions). Let me, then, present you with the outcome of my latest idea. Hope you'll enjoy it.

Title: Innocence Lost
Author: chemcat
Warnings: mention of death.
Spoilers: none.
Pairing: Raoul/Katze implied ever so slightly.
Rating: PG-13 (I think)
Disclaimer: AnK belongs to Rieko Yoshihara.
Word Count: 587 (MS Word).
Beta reader: None. All mistakes are mine only.
Summary: Katze was send to planet Larcon with a mission. Unfortunately, he’s failed.
Side notes: Next story in the series. Links to previous installments can be found at the end of this post.

Innocence Lost

When the information comes, Raoul is still on the meeting with his Generals. The words hit him and leave him reeling, but he has to keep up appearances.

“Did he manage to find out anything useful? Who was his contact person?”

“I was. Last time we talked, Katze mentioned he was being suspected of something. I have no idea how that could be—”

“Find it out. I don’t care how! There can be no leaks or mistakes. We cannot allow anyone to get the minerals. Especially, not the rebels.”

“How much did Katze know, Raoul? What could they have found out from interrogating him?”

“Not much, only that on Larcon there are deposits of silicon and titanium, and that we want them.”

“Did he know anything about plutonium and our attack plans?”

“Not unless you gave him new set of files and never notified me about it, Marcus.”

“No, no I didn’t. What do you want to do, Raoul?”

“I will think of something… Apparently, Katze wasn’t the most appropriate person to go to Larcon.”

“It’s such a pity. Even you have to admit it, Raoul, Katze was the best Black Market dealer.”

At that, Raoul gets up, sending his chair flying across the room.

“He was a mongrel! What are you now?! A low-life lover?!”

“Raoul? Curb your anger—”

“You won’t be the one to tell me what to do, General Marcus.”

“We need to think how to proceed now. From the information that came, we know Bronk is willing to negotiate with us—”

“I wonder why that is and what could he possibly want? Or offer. This just doesn’t sound right.”

“Maybe he thinks he has a new card to play. I wonder what’d that be, since Katze knew virtually nothing. Nonetheless, maybe he’d made up something good before they’ve killed him.”

Raoul smashes his fist onto the table.

“Enough! I will personally go to Larcon – to lead soldiers. Right after the meeting, I’ll appoint the troops I want to accompany me. I won’t be talking with traitors. We need to accelerate our attack plans before they catch up with what’s going on.”

“I’ll go, Raoul. You’re our leader, we cannot risk having you assassinated.”

“I won’t sit around while someone destroys Amoi, Marcus. Right now, I won’t have any discussion about that. I want you to gather all information about the case and notify Larcon officials that the diplomatic delegation is coming. Make them feel secure and in charge.”

“When do you want to go?”

“I’ll leave the day after tomorrow. That should be enough time to mobilize the troops. This meeting is over.”

When, after few hours, Raoul gets back to his apartment, he locks himself in the bedroom, cutting short all questions from his Furniture.

Why?

The Blondie repeatedly smashes his fist onto the floor until blood starts seeping through the white glove. When the pain finally registers, Raoul presses hand to his mouth to keep the scream at bay.

Katze.

Uninhibited, tears start trickling down his cheeks. Even though Raoul’d known it could end like this, it still came as a shock. He was hoping against all hopes that Katze would come back, that Larcon’s spies wouldn’t be effective enough to intercept him. He had such plans for the ex-Furniture.

He didn’t know anything.

Paradoxically, now that Katze is gone, Blondie’s feelings are allowed to come to the surface.

Whoever did that, must pay!

Not even once does it cross Raoul’s mind that Katze’s death is his fault.

THE END

Thank you for reading.

Previous Installments:

Story 1 - Living for Another Chance

Story 2 - Losing Battle, Losing Mind

Story 3 - Business Arrangement

Prequell... not the first one

Sun, 03 May 2009 21:11:48 GMT

I've caught myself doing that quite often. I mean, writing fictions and then thinking how and why I put the characters in one situation or another. Well, at least it gives me an excuse to write. I hope you'll enjoy this one.

Title: Here in Heaven
Author: chemcat
Warnings: swearing
Spoilers: none
Pairing: Kenren/Tenpou
Rating: PG-13 (I think)
Disclaimer: Kenren and Co belong to Minekura Kazuya.
Word Count: 445 (MS Word)
Beta reader: None. All mistakes are mine only.
Summary: It’s all about trust… and ones deepest fears.
Side notes: Remember Time’s Up? This is how the misunderstanding started.

Here in Heaven

There’s nothing the humans cannot get over. There’s only one problem… we’re not humans.

Tenpou is looking out of the window of his library. Suddenly, the papers on the floor rustle.

“What are you thinking about, Tenpou?”

“Kenren? What are you doing on the floor?”

“I was cleaning up—”

“You were not.”

“Shut up. Like I said, I was cleaning up and have fallen asleep. It’s not my fault you’re so absent-minded that you haven’t noticed me.”

“You’re lucky I haven’t stepped on you.”

“I bet you’d do this with pleasure.”

Kenren grumbles some more, gets up, then bends down and picks up his sword. His black leather coat is torn in several places.

“What did you do to your coat?”

“Huh? Oh, this. I had a, shall we say, encounter.”

“Silly me.”

“What was it, Tenpou?”

“Who was it?”

“Who was what? Are you all right?”

“I’m merely asking, because I’d like you to finally admit it.”

“Admit it?”

“That you get around quite a lot.”

“Don’t take me for a whore, Tenpou!”

“Half of the Heaven’s done you, the other one was done by you.”

“Are you on something?”

“No, just tired of sharing.”

Kenren is hurt. He usually laughs the accusations of, but this time he isn’t going to back off.

“You have no proof for that, Tenpou.”

“An open secret is not a secret.”

“You don’t have a proof.”

“I don’t need one.”

“Who do you believe, Tenpou? The rumors, or me?”

“Do I need to answer that?”

By now, the General is seething. He thinks that if it was only his pride that was hurt, he’d be able to get over it.

“I got into a fight, Tenpou, but you aren’t going to believe it anyway.”

“I have no basis for that.”

“But you do have basis for accusing me?”

When the Marshall doesn’t answer, Kenren throws his sword on the floor. The sound startles Tenpou.

“What are you doing, Kenren?”

“I was kicked out from the Eastern Army; I thought could resign for a change.”

“You’d have to file your resignation with Commander Goujun.”

“Yes, sir.”

The General whirls around and marches out of the office. However, just before closing the door Kenren turns around. “I never doubted you, Tenpou. Think about that.”

Tenpou is shocked. He thought that the General would take the argument like he always did, that he’d laugh it off and promise to behave. He never truly believed Kenren would leave. That he’ll lose the one he took for… granted. Within seconds, Tenpou’s immortal soul goes cold.

Is he really gone? How come I’ve never noticed how empty this place is without his smile?

THE END

Thank you for reading.

Ai no Kusabi fic

Fri, 17 Apr 2009 04:35:56 GMT

This fic has been sitting on my hard drive for a while. I was constantly changing it until I decided it's decent enough to post.

Hope you'll enjoy it.

Title: Business Arrangement
Author: chemcat
Warnings: none.
Spoilers: none.
Pairing: Raoul/Katze implied.
Rating: PG-13 (I think).
Disclaimer: AnK belongs to Rieko Yoshihara.
Word Count: 1024 (MS Word).
Beta reader: None. All mistakes are mine only.
Summary: In business, there’s no place for feelings.
Side notes: It’s a companion piece to Living for Another Chance and Losing Battle, Losing Mind.

Business Arrangement

At the sight of Raoul, Katze gets up. He’s never thought that he’d find himself in this situation again. Not after Iason’s death.

“I’ve prepared the documents you’d requested. Is there anything else you require of me, Raoul?”

“Have you noticed anything strange about the transaction?”

Raoul wastes no time and gets straight to the point. Katze thinks carefully before answering. He’d thought that there was something unusual about the transaction with Larcon, but being unable to put his finger on it, he dismissed it. Now, he wonders whether it has been a set up, whether he’s missed something important. Or maybe he was so absorbed in his own masochistic thoughts that he’s became too distracted. Will he have to pay for his carelessness now? In a matter of seconds he has to come up with an idea.

“Now that you’ve mentioned it, there is something strange. To me, the terms of the exchange are not as clear and complete as they should. However, since I wasn’t the one negotiating them, I assumed that it was a closed deal.”

“No, it wasn’t. We’ve purposefully left out several things from the agreement to have a reason to send someone to Larcon for, let’s say, negotiations. We’ve made a preliminary arrangement under the pretence of exchanging the architectural software, as their designers are said to be the best in this part of the Universe. They were to provide us with the samples for testing and then we’d deposit the payment. However, there was a corruption in the files they provided. Luckily, Iason discovered it on time.”

That takes Katze by surprise. He wasn’t aware that the transaction had been prepared when Iason Mink was still alive. As if reading his thoughts, Raoul provides answers to the unasked questions.

“The purpose of the corrupted files was to override our defence program and disable the force shield. We didn’t need the software, but we wanted to find the contact with Larcon’s main programmer. His name had come up several times on different occasions and we’d suspected he wanted to overthrow Iason, but we didn’t know the reason for it. After all, Larcon was never our vassal planet. The software exchange was a cover to allow us to investigate everything. The corruption in the files has also provided us with a proof of Larcon’s true intentions.”

“Were they trying to form a union with rebels from other planets?”

“No, although that was our first guess as well. The truth is they were trying to protect their natural resources. There are large deposits of silicon and titanium on Larcon. The main programmer, along with the officials I imagine, was concerned that if we discovered the deposits we’d attack their planet. Paradoxically, we hadn’t known about those until we discovered the faulty software and started to look deeper into this matter.”

“Why are you telling me all this, Raoul?”

“Because you still may be useful to me, Katze. I think this assignment will suit you, don’t you think?”

The ex-Furniture stiffens. Not so long ago, he thought there was nothing important about the transaction, that it was only Raoul’s whim. How foolish he was. Now, all the hopes he’d had, hopes that Raoul could be interested in him and not his skills, have been crushed.

“What do you want me to do?”

“I want you to go to Larcon, Katze. I want you to do exactly the same as you were doing for Iason and what are you good at - be a Black Market dealer.”

“You want me to finalize the deal, or is there something else you want me to do?”

Katze has a hard time pulling himself together. Over the years, he’s learnt to deal with humiliation, but crushed hopes remain far harder to get over. His sad eyes follow Blondie’s movements, as Raoul puts documents on the table.

“Here you’ll find everything we’ve collected on the main programmer so far. His name is Bronk Imael. You’ll approach him. As I’ve already told you, he’s the grey figure behind Larcon’s leaders. You’ll convince him to work for Amoi and to hand over those minerals on a proverbial plate. By any means necessary.”

“What if he refuses?”

“By any means necessary, Katze.”

“Are we really that desperate for the minerals?”

“The deposits are large enough to be concerned about. Think what would happened if the rebels got their hands on all this silicon and titanium. Can you imagine the technology they would have in hand?”

“They would need someone to design and operate this technology.”

“We all know that the real pearls are grown in darkness, don’t we?”

The allusion is all too clear to Katze and he cringes.

“But why do you want to do it behind the scenes, Raoul? If you want to send the message, wouldn’t it be better to do it officially?”

“And let everybody know what’s on the planet? No, Katze, we need to do this as quietly as possible. We need them to mine the ores and ship them to Amoi. It’s up to you to arrange that.”

“What if the threats don’t work on Imael?”

“Seduce him. You shouldn’t have problems with that.”

The words are like a blow to Katze’s head. Raoul’s cold tone pierces the ex-Furniture’s soul. If it wasn’t for the survival instinct, Katze would have hit Blondie.

“I’ll let you know about the outcome, Raoul.”

“You’ll need to use a coded channel for communication. You’ll find the codes in the files, along with all the information you’d need. After reading them, destroy them.”

“What about the documents which I’ve prepared?”

“You’ll take them with you. Even if we’re doing this offstage, we need to at least pretend that we want to strike a two-sided deal. And Katze, I won’t tolerate any mistakes.”

After that, Raoul dismisses Katze with the wave of his hand. The ex-Furniture nods and reaches to the table for the files. His movements are observed by a pair of cold, green eyes. Eyes, in which there is a grim determination to remove anything and everything that would bring the Blondie closer to being a human.

THE END

Thank you for reading.

Easter

Sun, 12 Apr 2009 06:06:32 GMT

Happy Easter Everyone!

There is a tradition in Poland to celebrate the Easter Monday as well. Click below if you want to know how.

Easter Monday is also called Wet Monday (Lany Poniedziałek in Polish), or Śmigus-Dyngus. It supposedly comes from the pagan times and is a celebration that came from merging Śmigus and Dyngus festivals. Supposedly, because it's hard to track its origin beyond XVth century, when the first nptes about this tradition come from. However, since water was always a part of the pagan tradition (along with fire and other forces of nature) it's safe to assume that the roots of Śmigus-Dyngus are in the "old times".

Śmigus (a word that probably comes from German Schmerckostern or Schmackostern - beat/slap + Easter) was a custom of slapping women calfs with willow's branches. A girl, who didn't receive any slaps was worried, as it meant no boys were interested in her (please, remember that we're talking about Middle Ages, when such things were a big problem for women).

that must have hurt

The word Dyngus comes from dyng, which in old Polish language meant buyout. It isn't totally clear how that word relates to the pagan times, but in the middle ages, Dyngus was a custom of offering goods (mainly eggs) in lieu of not being "bathed" in cold water. Later on, Dyngus meant just pouring buckets of water on sleeping women (or spraying them with water early in the morning).

When the two customs merged, the new celebration basically came down to pouring buckets of water on women - doesn't matter the reason, or the time of the day.

The custom is nice if the weather is good and you are young enough to enjoy being completely wet. However, in recent years it became bad (and believe me, bad). Nobody remebers the tradition anymore, but all boys just want to have fun. Doesn't matter the weather, buckets of cold water are poured on enybody, who happens to be unlucky enough (women, elders, small children).

Let me finish the post with a piece of humour:

Have a Happy Holiday :)

Cat-ish fiction

Sat, 04 Apr 2009 01:23:01 GMT

I'm still alive. Recently I've been on a conference, so I didn't have much time to check the LJ. How has everybody been recently? I'm trying to catch up with the f-list, but it may take a while, so please forgive me. As a bribe, let me present you with an original ficlet.

Hope you'll enjoy it.

Title: Cat
Author: chemcat
Warnings: suicidal thoughts
Pairing: two unnamed men
Genre: drama
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Idea and characters are mine
Word count: 238 (MS Word)
Beta reader: none
Summary: It’s the small things that keep us alive.

Cat

He was lying on the bed, moist eyes fixed on the dark ceiling. The tears have stopped flowing, but the ache in his chest only intensified. Like snapshots, the images were appearing in his mind. His lover - laughing. His lover – painting. His lover – leaving. He tightened grip on the knife and brought it to his wrist. No one would mourn his passing anyway.

“I’m sorry. You’re a cutie and it has been wonderful two years, but… I don’t think I love you anymore.”

“How can you say that? Do I really mean nothing to you?”

“That has nothing to do with that. I just don’t want to be with someone I don’t love.”

“So, you’re going to find yourself another lover? And then another? And if you don’t find the one you’re looking for?”

“At least I’ll be able to say I’ve tried.”

He never thought that his lover may be that heartless. That cold.

Suddenly, a furry ear appeared in front of him. Then another. Warm, fluffy tail touched his cheek. The cat lapped at his, still moist, cheek and shook its head to get rid of a salty taste.

“Hey you.”

But of course there was no answer. The animal only curled up next to him and started purring. The knife’s fallen out of his hand as he reached for the cat. And he thought that if he died, there would be someone who’d mourn.

THE END

Thank you for reading.

Meme and a fic

Tue, 17 Mar 2009 04:52:38 GMT

I usually don't do memes, but I was tagged by micaela_a and this time I decided to join the fun. Under the first cut you can find meme.

1) Write your lj username
2) Write your two favourite bands/artists at the moment (not overall, just currently)
3) Draw a heart
4) Write the name of your favourite person of all time
5) Write down your current favourite pairings (tv, anime, whatever)
6) Tag 4 people to do this meme

My answers:

Under the second cut, you can find very short Eroica story. Hope you'll enjoy it.

Title: In Focus
Author: chemcat
Warnings: none
Spoilers: none
Pairing: Klaus/Dorian
Rating: PG (I think)
Disclaimer: Klaus and Co belong to Aoike Yasuko.
Word Count: 237 (MS Word)
Beta reader: mprice . Thank you for everything! Remaining mistakes are mine only.
Summary: Klaus is not one to be easily distracted.

In Focus

When Klaus Heinz von dem Eberbach was just a lieutenant, he was far busier than anyone could have guessed. After all, there was all the training and new weapons to keep him occupied. Amongst it all, occasional pangs of desire were easy to dismiss, as no person could hold Eberbach’s interest for long and the one-night-stands were inappropriate for someone of his breeding. His nights were filled with refreshing sleep, since even the most beautiful faces of strangers had been removed from his memory long before the “Mary had a little lamb” had even begun.

When he was around thirty, Major Eberbach started to doubt if anyone would hold his attention at all. His dangerous lifestyle and dedication to missions took all his concentration and he couldn’t afford to get distracted. However, when he met a certain blue-eyed son-of-a—thief, he had no other choice but to divide his attention.

When General Eberbach was retiring, he did it with a feeling of a life well-lived and doubted that his tremendous difficulty with focusing was solely the effect of his old age. That night, lying in a bed with Dorian sleeping peacefully beside him, Klaus decided that contrary to everybody’s beliefs, his attention span and ability to focus were always exceptional. After all, he’d been sharp and alert for nearly thirty years, as it took incredible amounts of concentration to not let Dorian slip out from his arms.

THE END

Thank you for reading.

Birthday Fic :)

Tue, 10 Mar 2009 00:23:55 GMT

moshesque , I hope you spent your Birthday Happily and amongst the loved ones!

As a gift, I have a little fic for you.

Title: Time’s Up
Author: chemcat
Warnings: swearing
Spoilers: none
Pairing: Kenren/Tenpou
Rating: PG (I think)
Disclaimer: Kenren and Co belong to Minekura Kazuya.
Word Count: 662 (MS Word)
Beta reader: None. All mistakes are mine only.
Summary: Tenpou lost Kenren.
Side notes: written for moshesque ’s birthday.

Time’s Up

In the World Down Below, Tenpou is sitting with his head hung low. His eyes are closed. Drops of cold rain are sliding down his face. Tenpou sighs and thinks that it’s not supposed to rain now, it’s supposed to be sunny and warm. The sunlight should warm up his cold heart and brighten his battered soul. It should. The Marshal hides face in his palms and chews on the lower lip, trying to stifle the scream rising in his throat. When the lightning strikes, however, Tenpou lifts his face towards the angry sky.

“Why don’t you hit closer? Why don’t you hit me? I’m here!”

His shouts are lost in the thunder. Once more, he presses hands to his face, as the sobs start wrecking his body and it seems that he’s not going to calm down anytime soon. Amongst the howling wind and cutting rain, he’s the lone figure – shaking from cold and despair. He decides he doesn’t care anymore, because his purpose in life has disappeared along with certain black-haired General.

“Are you done yet?” Familiar voice startles Tenpou from his reverie. “I asked, whether you’re done yet?”

“What are you doing here, Kenren?”

“I decided to fetch you home before you catch cold. Though, they say that idiots don’t catch cold. Get up.”

“You don’t have to do that, you know. I’m quite comfortable here.”

“And I’m a virtuous monk.”

“You’re not.”

“Neither are you, Tenpou.”

“I’ve never claimed I was.”

“Idiot. Now get up and we’re going back to Heaven, before His Highness, Stuck-Up Commander Goujun beheads me for failing in dragging you home.”

“He’d do nothing of the sort.” Tenpou is hurt by the fact that Kenren didn’t come for him on his own will. Even if that could have been expected.

“He would. He’s even told me where he’d put his sword to make me suffer more during the execution. To his credit, however, I have to say that this time he managed to put a double meaning behind these words.”

Kenren laughs, pulls Tenpou to his feet, and drags him several meters away. The next lightning strikes exactly in the spot, where the Marshal was sitting just a few seconds ago.

“Now, see, Tenpou. It’s the highest time to hightail from here. And I certainly do hope you’ll treat me to some very nice dinner for saving your ass.”

“What makes you think I wanted to be saved?”

Kenren blinks and cocks his head. “You’ve missed me that much, eh?”

And Tenpou wants to deny it. He wants to tell the General that he’s an idiot and that soldiers are supposed to know better than to get attached to one person. He wants to tell Kenren that even the gods can be killed, leaving others to mourn.

“You don’t have to answer that, you asshole. Now move it before I freeze my ass of.”

“I’m sure there’ll be quite a crowd offering to de-freeze it for you.”

“Oh, kiss my ass, Tenpou.”

“I don’t remember offering.”

“Is that a no?”

“Was that a proposition?”

“Of a sort. But you don’t have to start kissing that low, Tenpou, you know.”

“You’re a perverted bastard, Kenren.”

“And you’re a conceited asshole. Now, that we have this established, can we go? I think we’ve talked enough for one day, now, it’s the action time.”

Tenpou cannot believe his ears.

“You’re coming back to me?”

“The Hell I am, if you pardon the expression. On the other hand, I’d have to leave first, don’t you think?”

“You did.”

“Did not. Or maybe I did, but without you it wasn’t fun anymore.”

With that, Kenren marches away from Tenpou, creating a suggestive display, as his soaked pants cling to his firm buttocks. When the General turns back for the moment, he catches Tenpou staring.

“Well, Marshal, about the kissing part…”

Tenpou smiles and walks toward his General. After all, Kenren was always a man of a very few words.

THE END

It's a birthday story

Sat, 28 Feb 2009 03:08:11 GMT

Well, recently, it seems like I'm never around. I'm so far on my f-list that probably I should bow to the ground to properly apologize *bows*, but the life has been hectic. Hope you can forgive me guys.

The important part of this entry, however, is that micaela_a has a birthday!

Happy Birthday micaela_a ! May all your wishes and dreams come true!

I have a little fic for you. Hope you'll like it.

Title: Floating
Author: chemcat
Warnings: swearing, allusions to sex.
Spoilers: none
Pairing: Gojyo/Sanzo.
Rating: PG-13 (I think).
Disclaimer: Gojyo and Co belong to Minekura Kazuya.
Word Count: 325 (MS Word).
Beta reader: None. All mistakes are mine only.
Summary: In a forest, Sanzo encounters an opponent, against whom he cannot win. Will anyone come to his rescue?
Side notes: written for a birthday girl – micaela_a , for whom Gojyo/Sanzo is the only OTP.

Floating

Sanzo is floating. Colours are dancing behind his closed eyelids. His head is spinning.

***

When he’s left their camp and ventured into a forest a couple of hours earlier, Sanzo knew he was being followed. He was well aware of the eyes observing his every movement – when he was lighting the cigarette, when he was loading the gun.

“How long are you going to lurk there?”

“I’m not lurking, Sanzo. Were I doing it, you’d never noticed me.”

“Hmph.”

The hand has fallen on his shoulder. It was big and strong, and warm. Soon, the hand has shifted and started sliding towards Sanzo’s throat, making it hard for him to breath. His head had already been spinning when it was brutally pulled backwards, exposing pulsing vein on his neck. Sanzo’s numb fingers have long lost grip on his gun, letting it to fall to the ground. He was roughly pushed onto the nearest tree - its hard bark bruising patches of delicate skin on his exposed arms. Sanzo’s will to fight back was waning, as the world around him started to spin faster and faster.

***

When Sanzo finally opens his eyes, high above him the sky is already painted purple, indicating dusk. Hard, ragged rock is digging painfully into his lower back. Cold, forest air is condensing on his body, dampening the skin and causing goose bumps. Sanzo shivers. Soon enough, the night will fall and the demons will come out and bring along the nightmares. Soon enough, the killing will start again.

“Time to go back to the camp.”

“You think they know?”

“Hakkai is bright enough—”

“Unlike that chimp of yours.”

“You’d be surprised, Kappa.”

“Oh, Sanzo-sama, I didn’t know you have so much faith—”

“Fuck you!”

“I remember it differently, oh, the Great One.”

“Remember whatever the fuck you want… silently.”

When he joins Hakkai and Goku, the warmth of Gojyo’s body is still fresh in Sanzo’s memory.

THE END

Gojyo/Sanzo? Impossible!

Mon, 09 Feb 2009 00:51:00 GMT

I want to write a longer story (or finish the ones I've already begun), I really do. And it's a half of a success, or so the say. The other half is time, I guess. Now, how should I explain this to my Boss, hmm? She may not like the conclusion ;P Anyway, I've promised a short (how fortunate) Gojyo/Sanzo story to micaela_a .So, here it is. Hope you'll like it.

Title: Jerk
Author: chemcat
Warnings: swearing
Spoilers: none
Pairing: Gojyo/Sanzo implied
Rating: PG (I think)
Disclaimer: Gojyo and Co belong to Minekura Sensei.
Length: 85 (MS Word)
Beta reader: None. All mistakes are mine only.
Summary: Sanzo hates Gojyo, doesn’t he?
Side notes: Written for micaela_a . I’m sorry such a short piece took me that long.

Jerk

His first meeting with Gojyo was one of the least pleasant things in life and that he admits freely. What Sanzo cannot admit aloud though is that meeting Gojyo was also one of the very few blessings in his life. It has opened Sanzo’s eyes to many things, many kinds of touches. Touches, he dares not to repeat with anyone else.

“I need nicotine.”

“So?”

“Don’t be a jerk, Sanzo.”

“Screw you, Kappa.”

“You wished, Monk.”

BANG!

And Sanzo’s learnt this wish will come true.

THE END

Thank you for reading.

Shorter than a drabble

Sun, 01 Feb 2009 05:21:53 GMT

Amongst working, reading, and revamping original stories, sometimes an idea comes to my mind. My latest fascinations are drabbles and very short stories that are able capture important moments/feelings, so I decided to try to write it too.

Hope you'll enjoy it.

Title: Dedication
Author: chemcat
Warnings: none.
Spoilers: beginning of the series, Gojyo/Hakkai meeting.
Pairing: Gojyo/Hakkai.
Rating: PG (I think).
Disclaimer: Gojyo and Co belong to Minekura Sensei.
Word Count: 77 (MS Word).
Beta reader: None. All mistakes are mine only.
Summary: During the journey, Gojyo reflects how things haven’t changed.

Dedication

When Gojyo held Hakkai in his arms for the first time, it was to carry him home and attend to his wounds. Back then, Gojyo was scared and disoriented, yet determined to see Hakkai living through another day. Sometimes Gojyo reflects on this particular first time and ponders how nothing’s changed, because still, every time he holds Hakkai and touches his skin, there’s fear and there’s blood. And the resolution to keep Hakkai alive for another day.

THE END

Thank you for reading.

Let's go original... huh?

Fri, 16 Jan 2009 05:39:22 GMT

So, I've been back in Logan for two weeks now. The jet-lag's over, the flu is over :) and, unfortunately, so is the free time. The piece I'm about to present to you was written during my stay at home, but I've been fiddling with it for a while.

I hope you'll enjoy it.

Title: Slightly Mad.
Author: chemcat
Warnings: death and suicide are mentioned.
Pairing: Eugene/Gillighan.
Genre: Drama.
Rating: PG-13.
Length: 459 (MS Word).
Beta reader: None. All mistakes are mine only.
Disclaimer: The idea and characters are mine.
Summary: Eugene has mental problems, Gillighan is there to help him.

Slightly Mad

I lie in a dark room, watching as the ray of light seeps slowly through the small window in the door. My mind drifts back to the times when it all happened… when I’ve lost my mind. Seven months ago I lost my second half. In the matter of seconds, one drunken driver had obliterated my sense in life. Back then, I’d been watching helplessly and I’ve been lost ever since. I’ve been drinking heavily and tried to commit suicide. Finally, my repeated attempts landed me in a mental hospital. I’m not locked up, just… observed – constantly. I’ve been struggling to get back on my feet – in vain. Or maybe, I just wasn’t trying hard enough? One way or another, it’s the highest time for me to give up on this existence. To try, once again, to drown my misery in something redder and thicker than liquor. Something more substantial. Hoping that I’m not watched, I reach my hand to the nightstand in a futile search for a knife.

“Looking for something?”

My head turns towards the source of voice. I haven’t even noticed anyone was in the room. Especially, not him - the only reason I’ve even tried to get better. I know I have to tread carefully now. “But I don’t expect to find it.”

“Maybe you’re not searching hard enough.”

“Don’t start treating me as if I was mentally—”

“You are depressed to begin—”

“And not mentally ill.”

“You’ve been misusing alcohol and you still have suicidal thoughts. What else do I need to treat you—?”

“Maybe it’s the highest time someone put me out from my misery, then?”

“You selfish asshole.”

“Excuse me?”

“You’ve heard me.” Suddenly, I feel the cold steel pressing into my hand. The knife I was searching for. “You’re right, Eugene. Put yourself out of the misery. After all, nothing else matters.”

With these words my guardian exits the room, leaving me on my own. He was never so angry with me. Scratch that, he was never angry with me to begin with; always patient, caring. He was never treating me like a patient in a mental institution. Will I miss his voice, soft touch, his care? Will I meet him in the other world?

I close my eyes.

***

“Can I talk with you candidly, Doctor?”

“Of course, Eugene.”

“The man who died in the accident was mine… everything…”

“Eugene, there’s always something—”

“My life, my friend, my… lover.”

“Your…what?”

“Do you think less of me now, Doctor?”

“No, Eugene, I… I don’t... I couldn’t.”

***

The knife slips from my fingers, making a cut in my thumb. I run after my guardian.

“Doctor Gillighan, Doctor Gillighan, wait for me. I need to talk with you.”

THE END

Thank you for reading.

2009

Thu, 01 Jan 2009 00:16:29 GMT

Happy New Year Flist!

ChemCat

P.S. In Poland, I'm already in 2009.

Drabbles, novelettes, and such

Tue, 30 Dec 2008 23:41:38 GMT

Since I always have problems with naming my writings (according to their length and genre), I decided to make myself a small cheat-sheet, which can be found under the first LJcut (definitions taken from Wikipedia). If I’ve missed something, please, let me know, because it’s highest time for me to learn this terminology (damn, and I thought I could run away from it).

A drabble is an extremely short work of fiction exactly one hundred words in length, although the term is often misused to indicate a short story of fewer than 1000 words.

A novelette (or novelet) is a piece of short prose fiction. Work of at least 7,500 words but under 17,500 words.

A novella is a written, fictional, prose narrative longer than a novelette but shorter than a novel; having a word count between 17,500 and 40,000 (or 80,000 words, depending on the source).

A novita (borrowed from the Italian word for novelty) is a novel that consists chiefly of stand-alone short stories arranged in a manner that serves the overall movement of plot and character development, though the genre tends to emphasize character development or the depiction of a community, an era or an event more than plot.

A sketch story, in older usage, is a piece of writing that is generally shorter than a short story, and contains very little, if any, plot (is it where the PWP belongs, I wonder).

A snippet, defined as a small piece of something (wow, such a specific definition).

A Story Pun (also known as a poetic story joke or Feghoot) is a humorous short story or vignette ending in an atrocious pun (typically a play on a well-known phrase) where the story contains sufficient context to recognize the punning humor.

An essay is usually a short piece of writing. It is often written from an author's personal point of view.

Fiction is an imaginative form of narrative, one of the four basic rhetorical modes.

Flash fiction is fiction of extreme brevity. While there is no universally-accepted word limit, generally flash fiction is a short story of less than 2,000 words.

Flash prose, also known as flash literature, is brief creative writing, generally on the order of between 500 and 1500 words.

Novels (from the Italian novella, Spanish novela, French nouvelle for "new", "news", or "short story of something new") are a popular form of literature, in which fictional depictions of life and events are described in written prose. In modern usage, novels can be distinguished from other forms of fiction as long written, fictional, prose narratives, which are usually published in book format. A work of 40,000 words or more, though typical novels have + 80,000 words.

Short prose is a generic term for various kinds of very short fictional prose; short prose may or may not be narrative. Short prose pieces are considerably shorter than a short story, i.e., usually less than c. 1,000 words.

The short story refers to a work of fiction that is usually written in prose, usually in narrative format. The Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers of America defines short story length as having a word count of less than 7,500.

Vignettes are short, impressionistic scenes that focus on one moment or give a trenchant impression about a character, an idea, or a setting (can someone, please, tell me how to pronounce vignette?)

Uff, that was long.

Under the second LJcut you’ll find an Eroica snippet (I think).

Hope you’ll enjoy it.

Title: There’s Always a First Time
Author: chemcat
Warnings: none
Spoilers: none
Pairing: Klaus/Dorian
Rating: PG (I think)
Disclaimer: Klaus and Dorian belong to Aoike Yasuko.
Length: 156 (MS Word)
Beta reader: Fabulous mprice . Thank you!
Summary: Dorian’s evolution from egoistic hunter.

There’s Always a First Time

Dorian was used to chasing dreams. After all, he was born to be a hunter - always looking for a new prey. He was also a fighter and as such, he was carefully planning and considering his options. There were things that were logical and predictable. Like when he met Major Klaus Heinz von dem Eberbach. Dorian fully expected the man to be pain in the ass. He also expected the Major to be wary of him and refuse any advances. These were easy guesses, which made sense. What Dorian hadn’t expected though, was that the Major would ever give in. So, when it finally happened, Dorian started panicking. He wondered if the returned love would ever be tiring, stale, boring. Nevertheless, when Klaus was severely wounded and taken captive, Dorian found himself fighting to get his lover back and to keep him forever. And that was newer and fresher than anything he’d ever done before.

THE END

Thank you for reading

Holidays

Tue, 23 Dec 2008 22:58:10 GMT

Happy Holidays Everyone! Whether religious or not, I hope the Holidays will bring you warmth and love!

ChemCat

Under the cut is a small trivia about one of my favourite, traditional, Polish dish

The above is a beetroot soup with mushroom pockets (a loose translation of the original name). Beetroot soup - barszcz, borscht - is a traditional Polish dish. In general, the taste is sour/tart, but there are variations to that. Sometimes, you may come across the barszcz, which would be made from fresh beets and then it would be sweet-ish (great with sour cream and boiled potatoes). Pockets - uszka - are small dough dumplings with various fillings e.g. meat, mushroom, cabbage, cheese (you may think of variation of ravioli). They can be eaten with soups or alone (great when fried with onion, or when you slick them with butter).

If you have some time to spare/waste you may try to make the dish - there are many recipes in the internet.

In my home the preparations start approx. 3 weeks before the Christmas. You have to peel beetroots and pour water over them. Add bay leaf, garlic, pepper, and let it stand in the warm room for around three weeks (yes, it does taste sour/tart after that, but it doesn't mean it went bad, it's just how it's supposed to be). Separate the beets and seasonings on a strain to get a clear soup. Next, boil wild mushrooms (champagnes can be also used), filter them on a strain, and add the mushroom-water to the beetroot concentrate. Boil it.
For the pockets filling, the boiled mushrooms need to be sliced, salted, and mixed with fried onion. Add a bit of pepper. Prepare the dough by stirring the hot water into the flour then mixing in the egg. Cut the dough into 5cm (2 inches) squares. Place a small amount of the filling onto the squares of dough and fold over on the diagonal to form triangles. Seal the edges together. Wrap the triangles around your finger, sticking the 2 bottom tips together to form a ring. In a large pan boil water with a bit of salt. Add mushroom pockets, bring to boil, and boil it for additional two or three minutes. Drain.
Pour hot soup over the mushroom pockets.
Bon appetite.

Hope you enjoyed this bit of Christmas trivia.

Greetings from Poland

Tue, 16 Dec 2008 21:56:59 GMT

Hi everyone. I'm finally back home and (unfortunately) still dealing with jet-lag. I just wanted to show you a picture drawn by micaela_a for my birthday. If you like it you may want to vistit micaela_a journal and search for other gems.

Best regards,
ChemCat

Sun, 07 Dec 2008 07:49:08 GMT

Ufff, the year is finally coming to an end, my projects are almost finished, and I'm going home next Saturday (I already cannot wait). In any event, I decided that the journal needs an update and found a fiction, which was written some time ago. Hopefully, I'll have much more time to write (and finish all these unfinished stories and snippets), but right now, let me present you with an Eroica fiction.

I hope you'll enjoy it.

Title: Paragraph 175
Author: chemcat
Warnings: swearing
Spoilers: none
Pairing: Klaus/Dorian
Rating: PG (I think)
Disclaimer: Klaus and Co belong to Aoike Yasuko.
Length: 879 (MS Word)
Beta reader: mprice (thank you!). All remaining mistakes are mine only.
Summary: Another mission causes Major Eberbach and Lord Gloria to run into each other. As usual, the officer tries to avoid any contact with his nemesis and – as usual – he fails. This time, it seems, the Earl is determined to get what he wants.
Side notes: Takes place outside of Bonn. A paragraph 175 (Section 175 in English) iwas a part of a German Criminal Code that defined the sexual intercourse between males as a crime. The German Criminal Code was modified in 1969 (in West Germany); the second time the policy has changed in 2001 (the paragraph 175 did not exist at this point). So, the story is set somewhere in the era of a cold war. If you want to know more about the German Criminal Code, you can find it HERE.

Paragraph 175

Dorian was staring at the pages of the German Criminal Code, §175 StGB, and couldn’t believe his eyes. Of course, he knew that the law was modified in 1969. However, the “changed” code didn’t give much more freedom either. Slight alteration in the interpretation of a crime wasn’t erasing it completely. In fact, if one wanted to look at it objectively - nothing has changed in the German law.

***

“Agent A, I won’t repeat myself.”

“Yes, sir.”

Agent A straightens. The Major’s calm voice is too much to take. He’d rather be yelled at.

“Dismissed.”

As A turns to return to his position, he’s stopped dead in his tracks. Lord Gloria is sauntering in their direction with a book in his hand.

“Major, we need to talk.”

“Shut up, you idiot, and get lost! Agent A, what the fuck are you still doing here? I said dismissed!”

“Yes, sir. I’m sorry, sir.”

Lord Gloria waves to Agent A, then turns to the officer.

“Major? It’s really important.”

“Just tell it quick and get lost. I don’t have time for your idiocies.”

“It’s banned, not changed, right?”

“What’s banned?”

“Paragraph 175, Major. Tell me it is banned.”

“It’s not—” Eberbach goes pale but tries to keep up appearances “—and I hope they’ll uphold it.”

“Major?!”

“Now get the fuck out of here! I’m working!”

***

The evening finds the Major in his hotel room - with a bottle in his hand. He doesn’t drown his miseries in alcohol— usually. Today is an exception.

“Paragraph 175, Major. Tell me it is banned.”

He hadn’t been lying when he’d said that it still exists. Modified – yes, but the changes aren’t significant. The law remained… condemning. Especially, if someone had one enemy too many. Make that several enemies. When the Major hears knocking, he considers not letting the person in and almost gives into temptation.

“Who’s there?”

“Agent A, sir.”

“Come in.”

The agent brings the bad news – a Soviet spy that they were to intercept and interrogate is dead. Poisoned.

“Fuck! That idiot! To be killed so easily! Figures he was a bloody commie!”

“I have another bad news, sir.”

“What?”

“The microfilm he was carrying… Lord Gloria… That is Eroica… He…”

“What the fuck are you trying to say, you incompetent idiot? That you’ve allowed that fop to steal the microfilm?”

“I’m sorry, sir.”

“As you fucking should be! Find that microfilm! You have six hours, or you all will find yourselves calling Alaska your new home!”

Agent A is gone as fast as he can. Alaska has always been the place he’d rather avoid.

“Bloody idiots! All of them! Why the fuck do I have to do everything by myself?”

“Because you’re such a strong and manly man?”

The new voice is like a silk on a fresh wound – equally smooth and painful. The Major whirls around to face the intruder.

“You’re too hard on your subordinates, Major.”

“You want them? Say the word.”

“I’m afraid I wouldn’t intimidate them the way you do, Major.”

“What do you want?”

“To talk.”

“Is that why you stole the microfilm, you fucking queer?”

“Yes.”

“Bloody idiot!”

The officer launches himself at Eroica, who steps aside and watches, with amusement, as the Major loses his balance.

“Major, are you drunk?”

“You did that on purpose!”

“Yes.”

“I’ll pummel you anyway!”

The thief sighs and strolls to sit on the bed. Eberbach glares at him.

“Don’t make yourself too comfortable here!” The Major reaches for the phone. “Put me through to the police.”

Lord Gloria panics.

“Wait, Major!”

“Eberbach here—Give it back, you fucking thief!”

“I just want to talk, Major. I swear to give the microfilm back.”

“Your word means jack! Now give it ba—”

Dorian yanks the phone cord out of its socket.

“Now, let’s talk.”

“You’re very determined. Hand over the microfilm and I may consider talking to you.”

“No. I know you well enough, Major. The moment you get the microfilm, you’re going to beat the daylights out of me.”

The Major sighs.

“Fine. What’s so pressing?”

“Paragraph 175 of the German Criminal Code—”

“Turn the fucking page!”

“Let me finish, Major, please. Like I said, is this paragraph the reason that you’re avoiding me?”

“No. I just can’t stand you, you fop!”

“Ah, for a moment, I had hoped.”

Dorian’s eyes shift nervously, before the well known mask falls into place.

“In any event, I think I shall keep the microfilm. It may come handy.”

“I knew that your word is bullshit.”

But the officer does nothing to recover the microfilm…The thief waits…The Major stares…

“Here, Major. I think I will give it back.”

Eroica presents the Major with an oval case, nestled on the palm of his outstretched hand, and for a moment, time seems frozen as neither man moves. Finally, the officer takes the microfilm; his fingers brush the Earl’s wrist as he does so. Not even once does he look the other man in the eyes.

“Do you think they will ever change the law, Major?”

The smile that appears on the Major’s face should be cruel, not regretful.

“I don’t think so.”

Before closing the door as he leaves, Lord Gloria looks again at the Major.

“I’ll wait nonetheless.”

THE END

Thank you for reading.

Update... you must be kidding me.

Sun, 09 Nov 2008 07:32:33 GMT

It takes me such a long time to write anything these days. Although my fingers are itching to write (especially my Detective Kasztan's story), I'm afraid I won't be able to do that up until 4th December. However, I've found several moments to write down an idea that was following me around for quite some time.

Hope you'll enjoy.

Title: Before I Go Insane
Author: chemcat
Warnings: swearing, allusions to sex.
Spoilers: Saiyuki Vol. 5.
Pairing: Gojyo/Hakkai.
Rating: PG-13 (I think).
Disclaimer: Gojyo and Co belong to Minekura Kazuya.
Length: 377 (MS Word).
Beta reader: None. All mistakes are mine only.
Summary: Gojyo can’t stand Hakkai’s presence anymore.
Side notes: Takes place during the three years when Hakkai and Gojyo were living together.

Before I Go Insane

Hakkai was sitting at the kitchen table, rooted to the spot. Gojyo’s words left him reeling.

“I think it’s time for you to move out, Hakkai.”

Hakkai knew the dream couldn’t last forever but had hoped that it’d take it a bit longer for it to crumble down. Apparently, he was wrong.

“Yes, Gojyo.”

“Don’t make such face, Hakkai. It’ll be better like that.”

“I know.”

Now, everything made sense. Gojyo’s prolonged stays in pubs, his constant sleeping around. His quietness.

“Would you mind, Gojyo, if I stayed until tomorrow?”

“Dude, you don’t have to move out immediately, you know?”

“I’d rather do that quickly. It seems that my presence was bothering you for some time already, Gojyo. Why haven’t you said anything?”

“What would it change? And your presence bothered me from day one.” Gojyo was looking Hakkai straight in the eyes.

“I see.” Hakkai briefly closed his eyes and started to get up, when a hand on an elbow stopped him.

“You okay, Hakkai?”

“How can I be okay, Gojyo, after what you’ve just told me?”

“Dunno. It was a stupid question, right?”

“No, Gojyo. It was just you being yourself. I’m sorry, I have to go and pack.”

“Hakkai, I… it sounded bad. That’s not what I meant, man. I didn’t want to hurt you.”

“What makes you think you’ve hurt me?”

“Your attitude.”

“I admit, it… surprised me—”

“You don’t want to know why?”

“Because I’m a bother, isn’t it?”

“No. Because you’re a distraction.”

“Excuse me, Gojyo?”

“I can’t stand you, because you’re so close and so far away… I guess, I don’t make much sense.”

“No, Gojyo, you don’t.”

“I fucking want you, Hakkai.”

Hakkai’s head was almost spinning from the impact of the words. Before he had time to think, however, a warm hand shifted from his elbow to the nape of his neck.

“It’s better you moved out, Hakkai, before I lose a friend. If I haven’t already.”

“This is the first and last time I bring a dude to my bed.”[1]

“You said you didn’t sleep with men.”

Indirect as it was, Hakkai realized that he’s just given Gojyo permission for more than just talk.

“That’s not what I said, Hakkai. Besides, who’s saying anything about sleeping?”

THE END

Thank you for reading.

[1] Saiyuki Vol. 5, page 20.