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Words In This Update - 2115
Total Words So Far - 45121
Or so I'd thought. Seems things don't come that easy, and sometimes hearts do stay mended. There's probably something cheesy to be said here about love on the battlefield, but fuck, like I can be arsed to remember such a thing. I may be going a bit soft in my old, or rather middle, age here but I'm not about to add enough sugar to rot your teeth out about now. You can save that for the fairy tales and the bards and their squeaking, which I'm expecting them to do any minute now is write a song or ballad about me becoming a huge pansy over this and ugh, the thought makes me sick to my stomach. Again. I already wasted precious lemonade once today, I don't want to waste anymore! Recycling is only good when it results in more parts for more planes and cannons, not when I fertilize a cactus with the half rotten contents of my guts. That would be one fucked up cactus that grew out of that, let me tell ya. The world is not ready for such things, nor should it ever be.
When I came to, about an hour or so had passed according to Lock. Yeah, before you ask, of course she was there defending my honor against her kin that had come and surrounded us and the crash site so rudely and brazenly. One by one they dove at her, maybe getting a lucky swipe or two in, but the smell of her own blood just drove her further, cracking bones and snapping wings as one would tear pages out of their sketchbook, tossing them aside and into each other for good measure. She looked battered and bruised, but a smile persisted on her face, laughing all the while. One tried throwing a shell from our cannon that had landed nearby at us, entirely missing her and leaving them open to a violent knee blow to the gut. The desert had never been more openly painted with vomit before in its entire existence, I'd bet. If I gambled. None of that stuff, please. The only thing I bet on around here is my own brain; my ducats only fund whatever fever dreams it comes up with now.
When all looked clear and good, she picked me up and tossed me back into the pilot seat of the Lock Mark I. It was still largely intact, save for a couple gouges in the wings. Had I not been still wondering quite what was happening and why my mouth tasted so sour, I'd have been impressed by how strongly I had built that fucker. Instead, I'll be amazed now. Though holes are still holes, and she wasn't going to fly well. Another sputtering at best, and we'd be down in the dunes again. I didn't know what she was thinking then, telling me to start the engine back up. “Just trust Lock on this one, boss.” she said with all the smugness in the world. I'd really no time to argue as another group was closing in on us. Seems they'd called reinforcements. Of course those bastards did. But as foolish as it sounded, I nodded, firing it all back up and gulping hard.
It was then she did something amazing. Stupid as absolute fuck, too, but definitely amazing. She climbed up between the wings, above the engine, tail resting on my head, spreading her own wings and giving us the boost we needed to stay on path just a while longer. She could flap for a speed boost, steer us, and help us dive and loop around as needed. Just aim, she told me. Pull out that dapper son of a bitch I used to snipe her down with originally and fire. We were low on ammunition for both the cannon and the flamethrower, but The Marshal still had plenty where it came from situated upon my belt, and I could reload him fast enough that it'd not be concern. There would be a minor delay between bullets as Lock bat me around with her tail in excitement, blood still slowly oozing down her, tongue out and slurping her lips, but it was the best method of attack we had at the time. Maybe if I yanked down on that tail she was thwaping me with, I could use her as a makeshift flame cannon, but it'd probably be best not to enrage your pilot. Our roles reversed, me now on the offensive and her on the defensive, we took back to the skies and proceeded to fight over ownership of them.
This was to be my domain. Not theirs, not anyone else either. Oh, how I'd wish we could make it free, but given how everyone clamored and breathed at us, burning our hairs and scales, someone would have to rise up and take command of these rowdy blue skies we called our freedom, and ensure it stayed that way for others. Just as land and sea were conquered and divided, paths made for travel and for misadventure on both, carved deep into Nnon's memory, so would I do the same for the Realms of Light that oversaw us all. Maps would be made, routes would be planned, weather itself would be conquered and guarded against, all by my direction. All that stood between me and it now was a rowdy pack of dry, scaled leather. And you know what? Under Lock's seamless control, being swooped to and fro, I'd never in my life felt freer. There was a vastness to my soul, as if realms beyond us in the stars existed, begging for me to reach out for them. Someday, I could travel through clouds, to stars, beyond, and grasp Laeshann in the holy, barely censored crotch herself. And it was all thanks to my own ingenuity and a rogue that helped turn the tides, spirits united in one final flash in order to ensure that these landless territories would stay without borders forever.
Wait. Shit. I thought I wasn't supposed to be getting fucking poetic and sugary up in here. I apologize to any future scholars reading this and suddenly finding themselves missing a tooth or three. I don't know what came over me. I could be lame and say the moment and feeling overtook me, but we're not going to indulge in any more sappiness. Then again, it's my journal, you all could just use it as brilliant inspiration for yourselves when you need to be emboldened. I can write what I want, where I want. You all are going to be remembering me as a gritty, hardened hero anyways, may as well say a few sappy words now and again. It's a job requirement, I hear. Well, consider that quota filled, then! Besides, as I said, my territory, you can't make fun of me. I bet your own diaries contain far dumber passages. Don't judge me!
The look in their eyes as we hunted them down one by one and took them out, not killed, but incapacitated and humiliated instead was one I will never forget and one I will never not secretly delight in. Knees, ribs, horns, shoulders, wings, tails, all shot and filled with lead hotter than their own flames. Blood splattered against us and the body of the plane, painting it a most interesting red. Bones cracked and splintered, making them shout the most interesting cries that rang true in our ears. If it weren't for the fact that I was trying to not hurl again, I'd be laughing, if only to dispel this nervousness that still washed over me. At least it wasn't as head pounding or as sour tasting as last time, and easier to keep down. At the time, I'd just figured it a bad batch of lemonade on top of a bad case of the nerves. It was much easier to deal with than anything else like implications of poisoning or fear of death looming over my head. Of course, dents were made in our own plane, but nothing that would ground us just yet. So long as Lock had will to move and will to lift, we'd stay aloft, at least gliding, her teeth bared and giving them a fright as we swooped on by.
I do wonder form time to time how they felt having to fear one of their own, fighting on the other side like this. I suppose that's something that's of no matter to me, though. Maybe part of me was feeling bad for having snatched their hottest woman from them, never to be sullied by their claws, but only by my fingers and tongue from here on. Maybe part of me was still feeling woozy and wondering why I had not trusted Lock enough earlier and felt she had betrayed me. I was and am still new at this accepting thing, and it's really starting to show, I think. Feelings are hard, sharing them and refining them are harder. When all was clear, though, we landed as safely as we could in our condition and took a bit to calm ourselves, relaxing and breathing.
I'd asked if that was it. “That was about as many as were in Lock's encampment. When they want to raid like this, everyone is forced to go, regardless of comfort or skill level. That's why so many of them had a look of nervousness to them. Lock's a veteran, but many of them weren't. They'll recover, if you'll let them, boss, and not attack you any longer. That's one thing we Flintsteel kin will do. We are proud warriors, and if one bests us, we will back down.” her words had not a hint of malice or sarcasm to them. She was serious. Any of them we downed did in fact stay down and just tend to themselves, not willing themselves back up, even if they were capable. I looked around a while, watching them, the weight of having disbelieved Lock on my mind, weighing heavily. Almost as if she knew what I was thinking, Lock put her hand on my shoulder and kissed my cheek. “You didn't hear what Lock was saying. Boss passed out too easily. Lock said Sorry, boss. Lock didn't mean to miss that guy over there.” I took her hand in mine and just nodded, nuzzling it. Some part of me knew it was true, deep down. Perhaps my body and ears had heard her finish saying this as I passed out, or perhaps I was just growing to know better than to instantly deny the truth of anything anyone has to say that's not me. Still, if only there was some way to have this confirmed by a third party. Then I could truly rest and begin to clean this mess up and head back. We'd need to leave Razan a while as a tribe, and regroup. A couple decades with the lamias being coffee tree shakers would do us all some good.
There's a saying about being careful what one wishes for. I know I normally ragged on idioms in these times, but this one unfortunately rang strong today. Just as I leaned in to give Lock a kiss in return, we heard a hard shot fire, nailing Lock right in the chest. Everything went into a haze after that. It was bizarrely quiet, everything looked as if it was moving slow, and my body completely froze as I watched her plant face first right into the sand instead of my lips as our gesture intended. A sole dragonkin stood before us. It was Yukina, holding a bastardized version of one of our rifles.
“Yeah, you did miss me, Lock, dear sister, and that is what would be your big mistake! First you betray us, then you fall in love with a fucking shortear, then you start fucking her enough to fill her, now Yukina sees you attacking us and siding with her? A disgrace to us Flintsteels all!” said the assailant, raising the muzzle up, aiming at my face. “Your precious little boss will be next, too, and there's nothing you can do to stop it! Feel my pain, dear sister!”
I can safely say I'd never felt so cold and empty in my entire life. It's never easy being the once facing down the barrel, especially one as cruel and ugly as that. Death never looks as gnarled or twisted as when it takes the form of dragon steel. Yukina licked her lips, watching the lock and breech get into firing position, a click echoing between us.
“Any last words, you little pissant elf?”
Total Words So Far - 45121
Or so I'd thought. Seems things don't come that easy, and sometimes hearts do stay mended. There's probably something cheesy to be said here about love on the battlefield, but fuck, like I can be arsed to remember such a thing. I may be going a bit soft in my old, or rather middle, age here but I'm not about to add enough sugar to rot your teeth out about now. You can save that for the fairy tales and the bards and their squeaking, which I'm expecting them to do any minute now is write a song or ballad about me becoming a huge pansy over this and ugh, the thought makes me sick to my stomach. Again. I already wasted precious lemonade once today, I don't want to waste anymore! Recycling is only good when it results in more parts for more planes and cannons, not when I fertilize a cactus with the half rotten contents of my guts. That would be one fucked up cactus that grew out of that, let me tell ya. The world is not ready for such things, nor should it ever be.
When I came to, about an hour or so had passed according to Lock. Yeah, before you ask, of course she was there defending my honor against her kin that had come and surrounded us and the crash site so rudely and brazenly. One by one they dove at her, maybe getting a lucky swipe or two in, but the smell of her own blood just drove her further, cracking bones and snapping wings as one would tear pages out of their sketchbook, tossing them aside and into each other for good measure. She looked battered and bruised, but a smile persisted on her face, laughing all the while. One tried throwing a shell from our cannon that had landed nearby at us, entirely missing her and leaving them open to a violent knee blow to the gut. The desert had never been more openly painted with vomit before in its entire existence, I'd bet. If I gambled. None of that stuff, please. The only thing I bet on around here is my own brain; my ducats only fund whatever fever dreams it comes up with now.
When all looked clear and good, she picked me up and tossed me back into the pilot seat of the Lock Mark I. It was still largely intact, save for a couple gouges in the wings. Had I not been still wondering quite what was happening and why my mouth tasted so sour, I'd have been impressed by how strongly I had built that fucker. Instead, I'll be amazed now. Though holes are still holes, and she wasn't going to fly well. Another sputtering at best, and we'd be down in the dunes again. I didn't know what she was thinking then, telling me to start the engine back up. “Just trust Lock on this one, boss.” she said with all the smugness in the world. I'd really no time to argue as another group was closing in on us. Seems they'd called reinforcements. Of course those bastards did. But as foolish as it sounded, I nodded, firing it all back up and gulping hard.
It was then she did something amazing. Stupid as absolute fuck, too, but definitely amazing. She climbed up between the wings, above the engine, tail resting on my head, spreading her own wings and giving us the boost we needed to stay on path just a while longer. She could flap for a speed boost, steer us, and help us dive and loop around as needed. Just aim, she told me. Pull out that dapper son of a bitch I used to snipe her down with originally and fire. We were low on ammunition for both the cannon and the flamethrower, but The Marshal still had plenty where it came from situated upon my belt, and I could reload him fast enough that it'd not be concern. There would be a minor delay between bullets as Lock bat me around with her tail in excitement, blood still slowly oozing down her, tongue out and slurping her lips, but it was the best method of attack we had at the time. Maybe if I yanked down on that tail she was thwaping me with, I could use her as a makeshift flame cannon, but it'd probably be best not to enrage your pilot. Our roles reversed, me now on the offensive and her on the defensive, we took back to the skies and proceeded to fight over ownership of them.
This was to be my domain. Not theirs, not anyone else either. Oh, how I'd wish we could make it free, but given how everyone clamored and breathed at us, burning our hairs and scales, someone would have to rise up and take command of these rowdy blue skies we called our freedom, and ensure it stayed that way for others. Just as land and sea were conquered and divided, paths made for travel and for misadventure on both, carved deep into Nnon's memory, so would I do the same for the Realms of Light that oversaw us all. Maps would be made, routes would be planned, weather itself would be conquered and guarded against, all by my direction. All that stood between me and it now was a rowdy pack of dry, scaled leather. And you know what? Under Lock's seamless control, being swooped to and fro, I'd never in my life felt freer. There was a vastness to my soul, as if realms beyond us in the stars existed, begging for me to reach out for them. Someday, I could travel through clouds, to stars, beyond, and grasp Laeshann in the holy, barely censored crotch herself. And it was all thanks to my own ingenuity and a rogue that helped turn the tides, spirits united in one final flash in order to ensure that these landless territories would stay without borders forever.
Wait. Shit. I thought I wasn't supposed to be getting fucking poetic and sugary up in here. I apologize to any future scholars reading this and suddenly finding themselves missing a tooth or three. I don't know what came over me. I could be lame and say the moment and feeling overtook me, but we're not going to indulge in any more sappiness. Then again, it's my journal, you all could just use it as brilliant inspiration for yourselves when you need to be emboldened. I can write what I want, where I want. You all are going to be remembering me as a gritty, hardened hero anyways, may as well say a few sappy words now and again. It's a job requirement, I hear. Well, consider that quota filled, then! Besides, as I said, my territory, you can't make fun of me. I bet your own diaries contain far dumber passages. Don't judge me!
The look in their eyes as we hunted them down one by one and took them out, not killed, but incapacitated and humiliated instead was one I will never forget and one I will never not secretly delight in. Knees, ribs, horns, shoulders, wings, tails, all shot and filled with lead hotter than their own flames. Blood splattered against us and the body of the plane, painting it a most interesting red. Bones cracked and splintered, making them shout the most interesting cries that rang true in our ears. If it weren't for the fact that I was trying to not hurl again, I'd be laughing, if only to dispel this nervousness that still washed over me. At least it wasn't as head pounding or as sour tasting as last time, and easier to keep down. At the time, I'd just figured it a bad batch of lemonade on top of a bad case of the nerves. It was much easier to deal with than anything else like implications of poisoning or fear of death looming over my head. Of course, dents were made in our own plane, but nothing that would ground us just yet. So long as Lock had will to move and will to lift, we'd stay aloft, at least gliding, her teeth bared and giving them a fright as we swooped on by.
I do wonder form time to time how they felt having to fear one of their own, fighting on the other side like this. I suppose that's something that's of no matter to me, though. Maybe part of me was feeling bad for having snatched their hottest woman from them, never to be sullied by their claws, but only by my fingers and tongue from here on. Maybe part of me was still feeling woozy and wondering why I had not trusted Lock enough earlier and felt she had betrayed me. I was and am still new at this accepting thing, and it's really starting to show, I think. Feelings are hard, sharing them and refining them are harder. When all was clear, though, we landed as safely as we could in our condition and took a bit to calm ourselves, relaxing and breathing.
I'd asked if that was it. “That was about as many as were in Lock's encampment. When they want to raid like this, everyone is forced to go, regardless of comfort or skill level. That's why so many of them had a look of nervousness to them. Lock's a veteran, but many of them weren't. They'll recover, if you'll let them, boss, and not attack you any longer. That's one thing we Flintsteel kin will do. We are proud warriors, and if one bests us, we will back down.” her words had not a hint of malice or sarcasm to them. She was serious. Any of them we downed did in fact stay down and just tend to themselves, not willing themselves back up, even if they were capable. I looked around a while, watching them, the weight of having disbelieved Lock on my mind, weighing heavily. Almost as if she knew what I was thinking, Lock put her hand on my shoulder and kissed my cheek. “You didn't hear what Lock was saying. Boss passed out too easily. Lock said Sorry, boss. Lock didn't mean to miss that guy over there.” I took her hand in mine and just nodded, nuzzling it. Some part of me knew it was true, deep down. Perhaps my body and ears had heard her finish saying this as I passed out, or perhaps I was just growing to know better than to instantly deny the truth of anything anyone has to say that's not me. Still, if only there was some way to have this confirmed by a third party. Then I could truly rest and begin to clean this mess up and head back. We'd need to leave Razan a while as a tribe, and regroup. A couple decades with the lamias being coffee tree shakers would do us all some good.
There's a saying about being careful what one wishes for. I know I normally ragged on idioms in these times, but this one unfortunately rang strong today. Just as I leaned in to give Lock a kiss in return, we heard a hard shot fire, nailing Lock right in the chest. Everything went into a haze after that. It was bizarrely quiet, everything looked as if it was moving slow, and my body completely froze as I watched her plant face first right into the sand instead of my lips as our gesture intended. A sole dragonkin stood before us. It was Yukina, holding a bastardized version of one of our rifles.
“Yeah, you did miss me, Lock, dear sister, and that is what would be your big mistake! First you betray us, then you fall in love with a fucking shortear, then you start fucking her enough to fill her, now Yukina sees you attacking us and siding with her? A disgrace to us Flintsteels all!” said the assailant, raising the muzzle up, aiming at my face. “Your precious little boss will be next, too, and there's nothing you can do to stop it! Feel my pain, dear sister!”
I can safely say I'd never felt so cold and empty in my entire life. It's never easy being the once facing down the barrel, especially one as cruel and ugly as that. Death never looks as gnarled or twisted as when it takes the form of dragon steel. Yukina licked her lips, watching the lock and breech get into firing position, a click echoing between us.
“Any last words, you little pissant elf?”
