Q1:Choose ten of your OCs. Give a brief description by each.

If you don’t have ten, add in some cool people.

1 - Runesael - [MM] A snarky, ancient Tern'Drael wizard.
2 - Niko - [TQ] A young android Druid. Sweet. Brilliant. Shy. A pushover.
3 - Arienril - [MM] A priestess of the god of Deception.
4 - Eleanor - [EINR] An eight year old orphan who has magic knitting needles.
5 - Rigel - [TQ] Leader of the Underworlders, strong, witty.. and a martyr.
6 - Kyrel - [D&D] A human Truespeaker. Hyper, likes shinies, MENSA brilliant.
7 - Arthur - [TQ] An impulsive Lycanthrope with authority issues.
8 - Morandir - [D&D] A mysterious Elven priestess of few words. (lolol)
9 - Sethrinel - [TI] A dead Bardess, former Poet Knight of Lithmore. Accused of everything but telling the truth. Determined, spirited and... um, dead? Yeah, dead.
10 - Aiana - [MM] A time-traveler and dimension shifter. Insane, paranoid and hopelessly devoted to her beloved Oz.

Q2: Four invited three and two to dinner at their house. What happens?

Niko and Eleanor would chatter merrily, while Arienril poisoned their food. EVERYONE DIES.

Q3: Nine tries to get five to go to a strip club.

LOLOL. Sethrinel would probably try to preach the gospel to Rigel and use the dancers as allegories in some way. Rigel would probably find some way to save Sethrinel's life before she knew she was going to die.

Q4: You need to stay at a friend’s house overnight. Who do you choose,

GAH. Kyrel. I wouldn't spend the night with Runesael ever.

Q5: Two and seven are making out. Ten walks in. What’s their reaction?

Niko and Arthur are making out. AHH SPOILERS. Aiana walks in and would probably be disgusted and tesser back out again, unfolding the fabric of time and space to send Niko and Arthur BACK to their own dimension.

Q6: Three falls in love with Six. Eight is jealous. What happens?

... Arienril falls in love with Kyrel? MORANDIR is jealous!? ... Okay. So the priestess of Deception falls in love with a Time Traveler, why the hell would Morandir be jealous?

Arienril is straight, this would never happ-... oh wait, no she's not. Kyrel is asexual. This would still never happen ever.


Q7: Four jumps you in a dark alleyway. Who comes to rescue you, ten, two or seven?

I get JUMPED BY AN EIGHT YEAR OLD. None of them. The only attacking Eleanor would do would be hug attacks. <3

Q8: One decides to start a cooking show. Fifteen minutes later, what is happening?

Timespace opens up and devours the audience while Runesael declares them all murderers and insignificant, ignorant children, destroying their Earth in a fit of mad, righteous fury.

Q9: Three has to marry either eight, four or nine. Who do they choose?

Arienril would chose Sethrinel by virtue that she's dead.

Q10: Seven kidnaps Two and demands something from Five for Two’s release. What is it?

Arthur kidnaps Niko!? O_o; Very possible... and demands something from Rigel? LOLOL, too awesome. Well, honestly, Arthur would probably demand Rigel stop treating him like his lesser... and and and... ;-;

Q11: Everyone gangs up on three. Does three have a chance in hell?

EVERYONE DIES.

Q12: Everyone is invited to two and ten’s wedding except for eight. How do they react?

...Niko and Aiana... BAHAHAHAHA.

Morandir wouldn't care, she hates weddings.

Q13: Why is six afraid of seven?

Kyrel tilts her dark head to one side, pigtails bobbling back and forth. She considers the question for a moment before screeching, "BECAUSE SEVEN EIGHT NINE!"

Arthur, in turn, begins to laugh hysterically.

[No really]

Q14: One arrives late for two and ten’s wedding. What happens and why were they late?

Runesael was late for Niko and Aiana's wedding because well, she was busy working on that cooking show and PUNISHING THE INFIDELS. NOW LISTEN TO HER PREACH HER TWISTED WEIRD PSYCHO MORALITY ABOUT SEXUALITY ONLY BEING AN EXPRESSION OF A PERSON'S INNER HATRED FOR LIFE AND EVERYTHING ON EARTH!!!! IT IS A SCREAM AGAINST THE COMING NIGHT, COMING NIGHT! YOU WILL ALL DIE! I WILL SEND MY ARMY OF ICE BEARS AFTER YOU!!11eleven.


Q15: Five and nine get roaring drunk and end up at your house. What happens?

Rigel and Sethrinel get roaring drunk? Ahaha, I guess it was the strip club. Rigel would accidently open rifts in time, and Sethrinel would dance naked while playing the lute. Meanwhile, I'd just go back to writing them into their respective universes. XD

Q16: Nine murders two’s best friend. What does two do to get back at them?

Sethrinel murders Niko's best friend.

Niko would fucking KILL Nel. It would be sad.

Q17: Six and One are in mortal danger. Only one can survive. Do they save themselves or one another?

Kyrel and Runesael are in mortal danger. They save one another. Or Runesael dies and reincarnates somewhere else.

Q18: Eight and three go camping. For some reason they forget to bring any food. What do they do?

Morandir and Arienril go camping. Arienril slits Morandir's throat in the middle of the night, only to find that Morandir is immortal. Duh.

Q19: Five is in a car crash and is critically injured. What does nine do?

Rigel wouldn't get in a car crash, he doesn't know how to drive. ... then again, he could totally get in a flying-crash. Sethrinel nurses him back to health and remains his tiny-loving-little-bundle-of-bard forever.

Until he starts going mad and then tells her he doesn't love her anymore.

... Oh wait, that was Vasilis. XD

Q20: The quiz is over. Tag someone.

END! YOU MUST ALL DO THIS.

My novel basically centers around a few characters, we'll call them Fox, Niko, Allicit and Torima. Their world exists solely underground for the better half of the story.

There's a couple of layers on this story.

Layer One:
----------

There is a divide between the underground world and the world that exists above ground. For lack of a better name, I've called the people who live above ground the Overlighters. The people who live below ground are known to them as insurgents and terrorists.

Sometime in the past there was a war - nuclear - , initiated by either China or Japan, I'm not sure who. During this war, seven figureheads and leaders appeared - diplomats, essentially - and eventually, some how (details in progress) brought peace. Large, incredible structures the size of megatropolis cities were erected to provide shields for the irradiated United States.

The Overlighters are brainwashed, living peaceful, meaningless lives. They have been drugged and entertained into apathy. Think Brave New World kind of control. A long process - much like the one we're undergoing now in our own government. The seven that came out of the world instated a totalitarian / socialist government that essentially provided safety, but not freedom. Eventually, drugs robbed people of higher brain function - robbed them of their free will. The process was known to the underworlders as "washing."

There were those, of course, that resisted the entire concept of a socialist government, the drugs, etc.

After the resistance realized that fighting the Commonwealth was a futile cause, they escaped the domes and ran underground to avoid radiation poisoning. The society that rose there in the darkness was one that supported freedom and liberty.

Their job is to free the Overlighters from their imprisonment.

That's basically the surface plot.

--

Layer 2, way simplified.

There was a war in a different dimension. The good guys lost, and lost badly.

The bad guys took control over the earth for awhile.

The good guys found the resistance and gave them abilities to fight the bad guys with, but not all of the resistance.

The resistance forms classes of people they call "Lightbearers" - it's the Lightbearers whose job it is to go above ground to rescue the Overlighters.

Enter in our main characters, Fox, Niko, Allicit and Torima.

Fox hates everyone except Niko. Niko doesn't hate anyone but is too afraid to stand up for herself or anyone else. Allicit hates Fox and Niko. Torima is missing half of himself. Needless to say, they don't get along.

---
Who's interested, who has questions, who wants to know more?

ASK AWAY!

Reflections on my twentieth birthday. I've had a lot to think about this year.

I had a good day today, considering everything that's happened in the last two weeks. I've felt better than I have in awhile, and I owe that to my friends. Thank you, guys. I really do appreciate it. Words are empty when you're searching for the right ones.

I've been in love this year. I've had my heart broken a number of times. I've broken other people's hearts. I've lost friends, gained friends, gone away, and come home. Here's pretty much what happened.

-

High school was finally over. Then came college. My first semester I escaped with a 3.45 GPA. Not so bad.

All of you remember when I came home, for seemingly no reason but a hurt arm.

I felt like when I came back from Jacksonville that I was Frodo, coming back from Mount Doom. A changed and different creature, no longer comfortable in the constraints of the Shire. But instead of being free from my burdens, I was Frodo as if I'd failed to throw the ring into the fire, and the curse was still looped around my neck.

I felt as if I'd failed at becoming the great musician that everyone wanted me to be. It was a dream I had as a child that did not last into adulthood. What it boils down to, is that I left Jacksonville because I had to know who I was when I wasn't playing music. I needed my friends. I needed the man who loved me. I needed love very desperately, and I needed support. In some ways, I received it. And in other ways, I was very much alone. Who but an artist understands the kind of existentialism another artist feels when they're faced with a life-defining question. I think we all find it sometime. "Who am I when I am not doing fill-in-the-blank."

I failed, over the last thirteen years of my musical career, to hold relationships together. I failed to keep friends. I was self-absorbed and self-reliant to the umpteenth degree. While I charged ahead, eyes squeezed shut to possibility and to love, others simply cleared out of the way and waited to watch the implosion that inevitably brought me home at the end of my freshman year of college. I was talented, passionate, dedicated, and so very determined that all I needed was an instrument and sheet music. I was very wrong.

I lost my sense of purpose, mid-stride.

For those of you who've known me for years upon years, you know that one thing I never lacked was an undeniable sense of purpose. A sense of duty, a sense of moral and nearly spiritual devotion to the path of a musician. Music was my god, was my lover, was my faithful companion and friend. And it was not enough. All the time while I pursued an illusive goal of success and fame, I lost would-be friends. I lost opportunities to grow as a human being. I shoved my emotional maturity, my ability to change and grow, my childhood, my teen-hood, my self-worth and my sense of being into a box for thirteen years and did the only thing I thought I was ever worth existing for. Otherwise, I was nothing. I was a bad attitude, a bad GPA, and a wreck of a human being. I could forget everything when I was playing music. I could forget I was alone. I could forget I was molested. I could forget everything about myself that I could not live with. All of my demons cowed behind the bars of a ledger line.

Then doubt crept its way in, quietly, in the middle of the night. In practice halls, in my dorm room, late in the morning. The whispering voice of reason came to me, and sat next to me when I was alone. One night, in Jacksonville as I recorded an admittedly horrible cover of Rufus Wainwright's "Hallelujah", I slammed down the cover of my trusted friend, the ancient Steinway piano, and said to the voice of reason, "Why am I here, and why are you wearing that stupid bunny suit?" ... and the voice of reason answered me, and said, "Why are you wearing that stupid musician suit?"

Alright, maybe not. But it really did go something like that in my head.

Admittedly, finding this out my first semester of college was terrifying and disconcerting. It wasn't something I got over until very, very recently. Until I got a job at a Barnes and Noble, having to communicate on a very basic and civil level with more than a hundred strangers a day.
Until I took a figure drawing class and suddenly remembered what it was like to be creative and free again. Until a certain young man left my life because he didn't understand exactly what had happened to the girl he fell in love with.

There were a number of things I feel I've failed at this year. I've failed to be a faithful friend in some manners, I've failed to live up to my own moral codes, and perhaps the worst sin, I've failed to be true to myself. I feel as if I've failed the best man I've ever met in my life and ruined our relationship by fearing fear itself. I failed him, and by extension, I failed his son.

I don't know. Maybe my birthdays always have me a little glum - a little existentialist. Another year has gone by in my short, short life, and already I feel as if it'll be over before I've had a chance to say anything. I've really always had that sense of impending end. Ever since I wasa very small child. Eighty years is enough to say a very short phrase in the grand cosmic spectrum of time. Something like, "Hi!" or "I love you." ... or even, "Fuck you!" And those of us who do manage to scream something short like that over and across time are really few and far between. It's like we're writing, "so and so was here" in the bark of time's ever growing and ever entrophying tree. Time outgrows us and leave us wondering what happened to those simpler days, when love was a carving on a tree and a box of Valentine's Sweet-tarts.

Sometimes, truthfully, I feel like I'll never get the chance to say anything worthwhile. That all I'll ever have been was a burden to people while I figured out my complicated and bizarre artistic self. People - friends strange enough to stick around, picking up the shattered wreckage of my life and piecing me back together every time I fall in and out of love with music or art - the wreckage of me, or the mess of the human being I cast away in favor for greener grass. So those who know me are left sorting through the shards of glass splintered off a person who keeps shedding skins like a chrysalis, wondering just where their friend went this time - and who she will be when they finally find her.

I admit. I've been hard to be around - perhaps intolerable. No, erase that. I've been fairly insane this year. I've been childish, but I've been under fire. And that, unfortunately, is the true test of character - how a human reacts under pressure, under fire. In some things, I have stood the test of the flame and come out stronger, and in others, I have snapped, worthless as pot metal. To my defense - and it's a poor one, some people do not realize that they still exist when they stop doing the things they do. That is why grown men have mid-life crisis. This is why people end their lives when their careers suddenly stop. Because they have no purpose outside of the things they /do/. This will never happen to me. I have learned my lesson, and learned it early.

In the last year, I've grown. Like steel, I've begun the tempering process that will lead into the rest of my adult life. I'm lucky, maybe, in that I've started it earlier than others - it doesn't mean it's any less painful or horrific in some ways. But it means I'll be there on the other side, waiting for those who've been crazy enough to follow me this far.

Eric told me that steel is made by taking a useless lump of iron, folding it into another metal (bronze?) and beating the shit out of it, and putting it to the fire, dousing it in cold water, and then repeating the process a number of times. This has been my tempering year. Realizing that I am me without him, me without music, me without all of the things I did and people I knew. Even though I always knew these things, I needed reminding. I needed the impurities folded from the person I am going to become.

I am not a musician. I'm not even an artist. Those are things I do. I don't have labels stuck onto me anymore - autistic, intellectual, fighter, rebel, lover. Those are loose terms that might be applied if someone else fancied me as such. Neither am I the occupations that I filled for a time - musician, artist, student. I have, this year, developed my own morality, my own sense of purpose, my own sense of being.

I don't know what I'll be doing in five years, or next year, or next month. I don't know who I'll be with - I simply know who I'd very much like to be with on the way. If I'm lucky, I'll get another chance, and if I'm not, then I will continue on as I have.

So today, I am twenty years old. Not very old at all, but I still feel as if I have a very small amount of time to say what I want to say. There are a few things I know as if they are axiomatic: I exist simply for the sake of existing. I exist to help others. I exist to create. Ars gratia artis. I need no more explanation than that.

Happy Birthday to me. I have emerged, phoenix from flame, for yet another year. Better for the wear and still, as ever, indefatigable.

I remain faithfully at your service, my friends.

Will that be all, Mr. Stark?

So, in the last two weeks, I've undergone two people dying, my boyfriend leaving me, and then a whole string of events concurrent to those things. I'm done, okay? I give up, I'll just leave well enough alone. Every time I think things could be getting better they end up falling in around my head. I'm done. I give up.

There's only so long I can fight for something and I've reached my limit.

Fuck you guys. Fuck you all.

Updating from the new computer, Serenity. I CAN TALK TO HER AND SHE LISTENS. And does stuff. I can even write emails with her by dictating from across the room. It's fairly amazing. Que Iron Man! She doesn't talk /back/ yet, but we'll figure that out as time goes on. ^^

It's fairly amazing. 17 inch monitor. All kinds of neat stuff. Is my birfday present from my parents, pretty much. I paid for half of it, of course, but the keyboard is really nice and springy and spread out. It's a bit bigger than Geist and the display is amazingly bright and vibrant. Dual core ATI processor - and it won't explode, guys.

Stuff otherwise still really sucks. Eric ended our relationship on Thursday, I lost a dear mentor of mine this last week, and pretty much everything else I've tried to do has come out like shit. No art, no music, no writing. For what will be six days tomorrow. It's kind of driving me a little crazy... maybe he'll call and things will be okay again, but I guess until then I'm going to have to wait for awhile. Bide time, maybe colour some things I've had long overdue to people.

My birthday is May 30th. I'll be 20. That's kind of depressing, too. I should be a lot better at everything I do right now, and I'm not. *sigh*

God, love is stupid. I wish I had a choice. I love him. I do. I thought that he could be someone I could spend if not the rest of my life with, a considerable portion of it... and now it's like everything we had doesn't matter, it didn't happen, and I'm faced with the very real possibility that I'll never have him back... and that scares me. I can't just be his friend. I can't just be held at arms length when I want to be in them more than anything. Really, that's all I want for my birthday. I just want him in my life as mine again... I'm really doubting I'll get that, and it hurts tremendously.

Sorry to bitch at you guys, but well, what are journals for?

-Jia

Edit: Oh wow, 10k hits. Thanks guys.