kuribo

Seven Course Meal, first dream sequence

Notes: Fenrir gave me an idea for a story, and it might actually be something worth writing. Who'd've thought! The main plot-action takes place in the modern day, but the heroine has odd dreams that flash back to past events that may or may not have happened. I want to have another artist (preferably Boorman) do the dream sequences, kinda like Hopeless Savages, to set them firmly apart from the rest of the story, and it's obviously written with him in mind. :b I felt like posting it anyway, tho, since this poor writing blog has been neglected lately.

***

This is a night scene, so there should be lots of black and contrasty bits. The dialogue is written to give some feel for the pacing of the scene, but in the finished version it'll be written in an unintelligible pseudo-Asian script. The actions and emotions of the characters should be clearly readable even without dialogue, but since it's a dream sequence, I want it to have word balloons, just nothing actually readable.

...in retrospect, I might ditch the dialogue entirely, if it reads well enough without. It could add a bit of surrealism to the scene, but at the same time, it's probably superfluous.

The setting is also pseudo-Asian. It shouldn't be based on anything specifically, but should have a distinctly Asian flavor. Maybe try for a combination of Japanese and Chinese influences, if anything. In my head, it looks something like the intro to Guwange, and I took some screencaps for reference. It's a fantastic game. :b Great cut scenes.

Anyway.

PAGE 1
Use big, horizontal panels for this. Lots of negative space, giving it a widescreen feel. There's a building to the right, with an open porch, covered by a roof, with a wooden rail. A young woman leans against the rail. In the extreme foreground is the silhouette of a man, chewing on a blade of grass, leaning with relaxed caution against the wall of the building. The moon is just short of full, and some wispy clouds float past it. The girl is dressed in casual but finely patterned robes, with a silver circlet around her forehead. Her hair is pulled back in a ponytail with an elaborate-looking knot. She has a regal bearing, like a princess. The guard is also young, but scruffy. Unkempt sideburns, bushy eyebrows, maybe a samurai-esque top-knot. He's dressed in plain robes and loose gi-pants with sandals. A sword is tucked into the sash at his waist, designed like something between a ninji-to and a Chinese broadsword.

Panel 1
GIRL: Isn't it beautiful?

GUARD: Mmhmm.

Panel 2
GIRL: (with a playful smirk) You don't have a romantic bone in your body, do you?

GUARD: Romance ain't in my job description, hon.

Their interaction should be natural, more like they're close friends than bodyguard and client.

Panel 3
Long shot from a high vantage point across the open space from the building, like someone watching from the trees about thirty meters out. Maybe frame the panel with some leaves, to give it the feel of someone gazing out from a hiding place.

Panel 4
Looking into the trees. Deep in the shadows, perched on a branch, is a figure. His outline should be indistinct, but he should have a demonic look about him. He's got a bow, and is drawing down on the girl below. Extreme foreshortening down the arrow would be good. Try to make it look as if it's a scene lit only by moonlight.

PAGE 2
Stick with the widescreen theme, but feel free to toss things up a bit. I mean, do whatever looks best, but keep it cinematic.

Panel 1
The girl remains blissfully unaware, but the guard squints into the darkness.

Panel 2
Close-up: The guard spits out his grass.

GIRL: Huh?

Panel 3
The assassin fires his arrow. (optional: throw in a panel of the arrow flying across the open yard)

Panel 4
From behind, low camera angle. The guard leaps at the girl, tackling her safely out of the way, but taking the arrow in the chest.

Panel 5
Split panel: one side, the assassin dropping out of the trees drawing two kris knives about as long as his forearms. You've played Samurai Shodown, right? Make him look a bit like Gen-An -- hunched, bald, slightly demonic. The other side, the wounded guard pushes up and draws his sword.

PAGE 3
The battle page. If it helps the pacing or design, add more panels.

Panel 1
The two fighters rush at eachother

Panel 2
The assassin looks as if he's going to strike the guard down, but--

Panel 3
Dramatic silhouette - the guard slices the assassin in two, from shoulder to hip.

PAGE 4
Final dramatic moments.

Panel 1
The guard stands, sheathing his sword. Blood soaks the front of his robe and dribbles down his chin. In the background, the girl is standing, looking disheveled.

Panel 2
He takes a few steps back towards the building

Panel 3
But wobbles and collapses as the girl runs toward him

Panel 4
The guard coughs up blood. The girl, looking panicked, with tears running down her face, tries to stop the bleeding.

GIRL: Oh god, don't die...

Panel 5
High shot, down on the two figures, the girl crying on the guard who's obviously going to die. The severed parts of the assassin lie to one side in a pool of dark blood.

Panel 6
Wide-angle shot of the moon over the trees, with a thin cloud cutting across it, like the prologue to Un Chien Andalou.
kuribo

Bibliophile

The bookstore was crowded -- just the way I liked it. Saturday afternoons meant hordes of screeching Pokemon kids and harried parents and pissed of college students were out roaming the shelves. I crouched in the sci-fi rows, my pal Jimmy hovering over my shoulder.

"Fuckers!" I muttered, pawing through the books.

"What?"

"They're all dinged up." I waved a copy of Cryptonomicon in his face. "Look at that shit. The corners are all bent up, and the back is scuffed. Looks like it's been in someone's backpack for a week."

He sneered. "Big whoop. Not like you're collecting 'em for money or something."

"That's not the point," I said, slamming the book back into its place and grabbing another. "I don't want other people's scuff-marks. I want to know that when it gets all rankled up, it's because I did it." The second copy had a thick crease running diagonally across the back cover, so it got tossed back, too. I grabbed a third. "It's like... personalization."

"You're weird."

"It's books, Jimmy. I'm allowed to get weird about books." I finally found an acceptable copy. It went in the stack with the other couple of paperbacks I'd nabbed.

Jimmy just shrugged. "You 'bout done? I wanna get something to eat."

"Yeah, that's the last one."

He glanced around the store like a hunter marking his prey, then sauntered with practiced casualness over two aisles to snicker at the romance novel covers. I quickly checked over my shoulder to make sure I wasn't on camera and quietly slipped the books into my bag. Divide and conquer.

Striding confidently, I passed the register clerk, who smiled at me and wished me a good day. I did the same. It's good to be friendly with fellow minimum wage monkeys. A faint thrill went through my bones as I passed the security detectors, but the alarms didn't sound. On one level, I knew I was clear because I'd checked and double checked that every security tag was off, but on another, deeper, level, I always feared getting caught. Maybe it's because nobody's ever managed to catch me.

The cool air outside filled my lungs with life, and my heart finally began to still. Mission accomplished. Jimmy fell into step beside me a moment later. "What'd ya get?"

"Cryptonomicon, a couple of Sharon Shinns, and the Hellsing manga."

"Sweet." He lit up a cigarette. "Next time, you oughta gank me some manga, too."

"Do it yourself, pussy."

***

Notes: Meh, this is just something random that popped into my head. Nothing special. Just a character/dialogue/scene study of sorts, I guess. Might as well write something for this blog, right? ;b

The anti-scuffed-books rant was something I was going to write in my LJ, but I liked it better as part of a story.
kuribo

Random comic bit

Continuation of some of the stuff written here. I decided to write this part in prose instead of script form because I prefer prose. First draft, distinctly rough, written late at night, and not proofread. Comments and criticism entirely welcome.

***

"PROP ME UP WITH ANOTHER PILL"

I knock twice, pause, knock again, pause, knock knock knock. Someone on the other side of the door grunts, throwing the locks aside and pulling it open. The air wooshes outward due to positive pressure, because this guy is just enough of a nutcase to care whether airborne germs and pollutants are squeezing into his office. Not that he cares what chemicals he puts into his system voluntarily. I guess the difference is that the enemy you know is less painful than the enemy you don't know. Or something. My head throbs too much to let me think clearly.

"Hola," I say to the guard. A scowl cracks his round face, but he says nothing. I walk past him, into the wolf's lair, my throat going dry with painful anticipation.

"Ey, hombre," he greets me. He doesn't stand, but lounges on a bed of silk covered pillows, all bones and strings and not much else. He shoots his chemical of choice deep into his veins, and it keeps him lean. I swallow mine. It hurts less that way, and I like that since the whole point is to kill the pain in the first place. They don't make me skinny, though, which is a shame. "You got the money yet?"

I pull the bills out of my coat pocket, wincing again as Sandra's fiery touch grazes my mind, and toss them onto the table. Remus snaps his fingers, and one of his many henchmen lurches out of the shadows to count the money. He nods, Remus nods, he leaves the room with the cash. I wait, slowly rocking from heel to toe to heel to toe to pass the time. The henchman returns, looking to his boss for a nod before handing me a small baggie with a dozen and two small capsules resting inside. I take it from him gently. He wears gloves, so his dirty mind isn't all over them.

They're small, bi-colored, with one end translucent red and the other translucent piss-yellow, and inside is a hundred or so tiny grains of sedatives and anti-psychotics and painkillers and other goodies. Fourteen is enough to keep my brain turned off for a week. Good enough.

"Don't be late with the payment again, hombre," Remus says. He grins at me with teeth covered in copper traces, like ivory PCBs. "I don't like having to punish my regulars, y'know? It's not so good for business."

I pocket the capsules, staring at my ragged shoes. "Sorry. It won't happen again."

"I'd hope not." I can feel his stare on me, so I let the leash out a bit, trying to sense his intentions. I mostly get a messy jumble of things, but I do manage to glean that he doesn't want to kill me this time around. Good enough. I turn without a word and find my way to the door. "Ey, be good, kid," he says, but I'm only half listening. The only thing on my mind is getting home and getting stoned before I go mad again.


The neighbors are fighting again. I can feel it through the walls. I'm sure the other neighbors, the ones without telepathic empathy, can too, since their fights tend to shake the entire building. She's scared that he'll kill her this time, but she always thinks that. He never does, though once he put her in a coma for a week. I think in some sick way, he loves her enough not to fuck her up that badly. If he killed her, who would he use as a punching bag?

I swallow a capsule with a double shot of bourbon, neat. It burns on the way down, but that's just the alcohol. I feel it dissolve in my stomach, infusing my tissues, leaching into my blood stream, working its way to my brain to do its miracles. The world begins to blur around the edges, and the edges in my brain begin to smooth out. Perfect. I curl up in the middle of my bed with my pillow and prepare to sleep a beautiful, silent sleep.

(no subject)

of course. Start daily writing blog, Get writing block.

Its not so much that i have no ideas, rather i seem incabalbe of spilling them onto the page. screen. whichever. even alcohol has been unable to help. how odd.

perhaps tomorrow.

(no subject)

testing testing?

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