In Which Kat Is Scary

Here's your daily fan fiction, dearies. I'm so proud of this, so Goddamn you, you'd better read it, or I will rip out your bloody throat. No, I'm not tempermental.

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Erik is dead.

"Of all the news to get on a Sunday morning." Raoul let out a deep, shuddering breath and took another pull of gin. He grimaced at the taste and reached for a glass of water which lay across the desk he was sitting at.

His old friend, Edouard, son of an English father and a French mother, not to mention owner of the aforementioned desk, looked at him with a measure of sympathy. "Poor Ro. What's the ballet rat done now?"

"My God, Ed!" Raoul exploded, jerking his arm recklessly and knocking over the water glass. "You call her that one more time and I swear, I truly will do something that I will regret later and repent for terribly!"

Nonchalantly picking up the shards of glass, Edouard asked casually, "Hand me a rag, would you, Raoul? Or your hankercheif, yes, that'll do wonderfully…" Raoul stared at him, almost unbelieving, and fell back down into the chair, staring at his friend, who sighed and said lowly, "Look, mon ami. I don't know you lately. Dashing about with divas, yapping about opera ghosts…"

"Excuse me?"


"Don't be so demonic, chum. Here. Ring for the butler, would you? He's named Henrietta or Rabbit Ears or Fluffy Feet or something. We've had him for four years and I haven't been home in France long enough to learn the fellow's name…" Ed said. He had been unsuccessful in his attempts to mop up the water with his coat tails.

"Shut up." Raoul snapped. "I've gotten married, my brother's died…my brother's died, and all my dearest friend has to say about it that I've been acting odd lately. Oh, well." He groused, taking a moment of self pity.

Leaning back in his chair, Edouard rang for the butler and yawned. "Well -" he began, his voice fuzzy with the yawn, "well, suppose you tell me really what happened down there, underneath that house of high pitched squeaking misleadingly called Opera. I absolutely do not believe that story about you pushing Phillipe into the lake -"

"I beg your pardon?!" Raoul's face dissolved into horror. "My God," he murmured, "is that what they're saying?"

"More than that. They're saying you were fighting over the ballet ra - Mademoiselle Daaé." Ed watched his friend's face as this was processed.

Raoul wanted to cry, but then the sound of the butler, whose name was Chipmunk Tail or Arabella or Bald Squirrel, announcing something cut through all this. They barely heard and did not answer. Spotted Deer or Ferret Rump let their guest in, and in a moment they were Ed and Ro, the roguish pair always in trouble, caught in another one of their scrapes. The broken glass and water trickling over Ed's important papers suddenly seemed terribly noticeable.

A trickle of water dropped off the desk in the silence.

Nadir Khan, their guest, bowed shortly and said in his deep, clipped, precise voice, “Hello, Monsieur le Vicomte. Monsieur Edouard Verioun.”


“Hello,” Raoul said automatically, turning to the Persian. And then, “Hello!” As he recognized the small dark man. “The Persian!”

“Er. Yes. I am the Persian.” Nadir nervously twisted his thumbs in his sleeves. “And I need to talk to you about Erik.”

“Erik? But why –“

“Because he’s dead.”

“Well, I knew that.”

“That’s all very well for you!” The Persian burst out angrily. “I know, I put the advertisment in –“ He stopped suddenly, calming. He shut his blue eyes and said in a low voice, “I’m sorry. I am much distraught.” The eyes opened again, and now they seemed clearer, more focused. “I’m afraid Erik was a friend of mine.”

The effect on Raoul was electric. He stood up sharply, nearly knocking the desk over. “How can you stand there and just say that!” He yelled, lunging aggressively in Nadir’s direction. The daroga jumped nimbly out of the way, and Edouard grabbed Raoul around the waist. Nadir watched the two men scuffle with an expression of increasing alarm, before edging to the bell, ringing it, and calling for the butler.

The butler, whose name was not Henrietta, Fluffy Feet, or Chipmunk Tail, but Moncrieff, came in promptly, the expression of supreme apathy that marks all good butlers on his face. “What is it that you need, Monsieur?”

“It would appear,” said Nadir politely, “That the Messieurs –“ he gestured at Raoul and Edouard, who looked as though they might seriously hurt each other, “are having a disagreement. Perhaps you could –“

Moncrieff looked coolly at the Persian. “No,” he said shortly. “This happens more than you might think, Monsieur Khan.”

The daroga looked on helplessly. Moncrieff left.

Eventually, Raoul won the struggle and charged towards Nadir, looking furious. “How can you profess to be a friend of a man who nearly killed me, and who scarred my fiancée for life, and who killed my brother? How can you, Monsieur? Even when you, yes, you sir, betrayed him? The man who killed Buquet and terrorized Messieurs Moncharmin and Richard, and –“

“And killed my son, and caused me to spend five years in prison, and murdered more times than I can count or know? Oh yes, Erik did those things too. But how can you be friends with this man?” The Persian gestured coolly at Edouard. “Monsieur Verioun is, if you’ll forgive me Monsieur, a well known gentlemen of pleasure. He has gotten more women with child than I can count, he has not paid his Opera bill in fifteen years, and he has, at present, three mistresses. Not to mention a wife. You think he is a good man? There are no good men, Monsieur de Chagny. You propose to call Erik a villian. Well, he is a villain, and I am a villain, and you are a villain, and Monsieur Verioun is a villain. We are all villains here.”

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Quotes of the Day

"What a frighteningly addictive little phrase."

- Ben

"Mustard! Don't let's be silly! Lemon, now that's different."

- The Mad Hatter

NOW HEAR THIS!

We're playing a game in the comments. Yayness. It goes like this. I'll post five questions. The next person will answer them, then post five of their own, and so on. We'll carry on until it just gets too silly and we spontaneously combust.

1. Who let the dogs out?

2. Who the hell do you think you are?

3. WTF?

4. What would you do-oo for a Klondike bar?

5. How many licks to get to the center of a Tootsie roll pop?

I remain, gentlemen, your faithful and obedient servant,

J.G.

Warning! This post is damn hard to follow!

We all have the crucial few years of our lives when we grow from impulsive and selfish small children whose main focus is ourselves, to young people who have a mature realization of their impact on the world around them and their responsibilities thereof.

Heavy stuff, no, guys? That is the opening sentence of my To Kill A Mockingbird essay. Take that, Mr. M. The essay I am currently trying desperately - desperately! - to write. Gah.

Harper Lee's modern classic, To Kill A Mockingbird, describes the experiences during these all important years of one Scout Finch, a girl growing up in the rural Southern town of Maycomb.

My head hurts from the schoolishness. I can't write for more than a few words like that without getting a severe headache. Let's take a break and post some lyrics.

The New Marguerite, a Phantom inspired song, by Iced Earth. . .Yes, I have indeed been on a complete and total lyrics high lately, thank you very much for asking. And now, presenting Kat's list of requests. . .yes, I am trying very very hard to procrastinate. So first the list of drawing requests - if there's anything you'd like drawn, ask, ask, ask. I'll do it! Ask! I need an excuse to not do English work, goddamnit!

The Kat Request List

1. Elphaba
2. Glinda
3. Chistery - I'm looking forward to doing this one.
4. Mr. E. - Looking forward to this, too.
5. Phantom Chibi - I've done one. I'll do another.
6. David Chibi - Have you seen my chibis of real people? Max was the only good one.
8. A logo for my blog would be nice - Mickey, you are at Ben's tender mercies. I do no logos.

Lyrics to The New Marguerite

Follow my steps, cross the glances
I will bring you with me
In the other room, she lays her hands
Embraces the curtains
How could you leave me,
When I needed to possess you?
I hated you and I loved you too.
She lays her hands,
She embraces the curtain on the walls,
She's smiling and wandering, wandering wandering
"It's me,"
Christine, Christine took heat from ice, so cold,
I needed you, so cold
You, follow me and you will be young forever
You, follow me and you will sing forever
It's me, Christine, it's me.
She lays her hands, smiling, but she isn't happy. . .

Such a pretty, sad, beautiful song. (Music fades away to reveal Kat, Erika, and Ely, all sort of depressedly moping.)

Right then, moving on. . .gah, why are none of you online? This is my angriest post for a while. But, getting a fresh start on that bloody essay, let's see what we've got so far.

We all have the crucial few years of our lives when we grow from impulsive and selfish small children whose main focus is ourselves, to young people who have a mature realization of our impact on the world around us and our responsibilities thereof. Harper Lee's modern classic, To Kill A Mockingbird, describes the experiences during these all important years of one Scout Finch, a girl growing up in the rural Southern town of Maycomb. By the novel's end Scout has transformed from an unruly and aggressive tomboy who accepts the preconditioning of the townsfolk into an insightful, calm young woman with her own, more unbiased opinions and a strong ability to think for herself.

I hate my family.

Um. New subject.

I'm a wreck.

Ely: Stop checking the comments. You'll feel better. Not to mention your email.

Erika: They can't be on all the time. Doesn't they have lives of some sort?

Kat: . . .No.

Erika: Granted, but. . .Oh, the hell with you.

Getting back to the actual essay.

This change makes itself evident in many of Scout's actions, but perhaps most noticeably in her change in attitudes towards people who are different from herself. In the beginning of the novel, Scout reacts especially belligerently to a small offense of impoverished Walter Cunningham's - putting too much molasses on his dinner - and justifies this behavior by saying that he's just a Cunningham, so it doesn't matter. Her point being that since her is lower class than she, it is acceptable for her to mock him. As Scout evolves and matures, she sees life from the poorer point of view.

I have a DeviantART account now. Fear me, mortals. http://elymas.deviantart.com/ Visit me. And Spencer, I know you're a Deviant as well, so leave a comment. Many thanks and muffins to Mickey for the use of her scanner. She deserves to be cuddled by an Erik.

Mickey: I'll pass. . .

Kat: No accounting for tastes. All right, fine, she gets a kiss from Adam Pascal. And Anthony Rapp.

Adam: . . .What?

Anthony: Umm. . .I'm gay, remember? Oh, fine, I'll just leave now. . .

(Note: Adam is no one we know. He's from the cast of Rent. Anthony Rapp is God, but also from the cast of Rent.)

Throughout the novel, Scout visits the First Purchase Negro church, where she learns that the differences between the two races are smaller than she'd thought, meets the strikingly nonconformist recluse Boo Radley, who turns out to be unexpectedly kind and caring.

Gak. Go visit my devART account.

Quote of the Day

"Stalking is fun when you do it to your teachers."

- Gabe

I remain, gentlemen, your faithful and obedient servant,

J.G.

In Which Kat Writes E/N Poetry Inspired By. . .Stuff

And yes. Today's bit of E/N fanfiction for your personal pleasure. Dedicated to C33, for no actual reason, but really, just because I feel like it.

If you know who C33 is, I love you. (That meant more than you think, you know. Read it over again.)

Don't shake
Don't shake so much I swear
Erik -
You're dying there
Hear me.

Don't rattle out your bones
Why can't you understand -

Or maybe I can't understand.

She's beautiful
I grant you
A voice like an angel -
I grant you
But just what made her so special
You were willing to sacrifice the world?

Don't shake
Don't shake so much I swear
Erik -
You're dying now
See me.

Don't think you're all alone
Why can't you understand

Or maybe I am just a fool.

I'm here, you know.

I've always been.

Quote of the Day

"Some people are like slinkies. Useless, but you just can't help but smile when you see one tumble down the stairs."

- Joe, of "Go buy something pink, BITCH!" fame.

I remain, gentlemen, your faithful and obedient servant,

J.G.

And Now, For My Next Trick, Three Blog Postings In One!

Don't take your eyes off the screen, commentors, ladies, and gentlemen, and the odd person out there who may be neither or both, as Kat will now attempt to condense three, count them, three, brilliant blogs into one mere post, regarding, among other things:

The remarkable ratio of Garnier School people to humans at Jerry's Deli, how bad David looks in red, Nightmare Before Christmas, top hats, handmade Italian masks, capes and how (not) to get around in them, and of course, elephants and emails.

Ben: Kat?

Kat: Yeah?

Ben: Don't you think you should tell them about the context of the last blog? They're probably terribly confused.

Kat: Oh, yes. . .Thanks.

Ben: Anytime.

Er, so, yes, the context of the last blog was essentially Ben and I sitting on a couch in my house, with my two younger sisters harrasing us in surprisingly Davidish ways. I am a bundle of nerves because, since the world makes sense this way, I am hopeless in dealing with my siblings, and Ben isn't. Which just is not justice. That was a very strange sounding sentence. Because I, after all, am good at that sort of thing. The point is that one of them got out a video camera, and started to record everything Ben and I were doing. This was very discomforting. (And now I'm inventing words again.) That's basically the whole point.

At the point when Ella says "Hey!" Ben has taken the camera and put the lens cap on. Then, when I say, "Darn it," Ella has gotten the lens cap off. When Ben says, "Here you are," he's handing me a book to block the camera with. Then Ella steals it, and that's our show for today.

Next subject! Thursday!

Kat, the esteemable Kat, has gotten the hang of Thursdays! Haha! Take that, Douglas Adams. Not that, of course, I harbor ill will towards dear old Mr. Adams, but nevertheless. . .

Thursday was marked by Kat not being able to think properly all school day because she was thinking about Nightmare Before Christmas, and one other interesting subject to do with Nightmare Before Christmas. She was planning to go see this brillant (yes, that was on purpose) movie at the El Capitan theatre, with Ben, that night, and was therefore talking in third person. She stopped, because she knew it creeped people out.

Hm. I really am dreadfully lazy, and therefore shall give you only lyrics from Nightmare Before Christmas to describe the movie, and what went with it. . . Or else, well. . .I'll be working too hard, and I will end up awkwardly dancing around things. This way I can just be vague. Yay.

There are children throwing snowballs here
Instead of throwing heads
They're busy building toys
And absolutely no one's dead!

There's frost on every window
Oh, I can't believe my eyes
And in my bones I feel the warnth
That's coming from inside. . .

My dearest friend, if you don't mind
I'd like to join you by your side
Where we can gaze into the stars
And sit together, now and forever
For it is plain as anyone can see
We're simply meant to be. . .

Yay, Danny Elfman, Tim Burton, stop motion, and cherryade! An excellent combination.

Also, two shorts were shown. (Good tongue twister. . .hm.) Best described by the conversations following the shorts, methinks. . .

Frankenweenie

"Only Tim Burton. Only Tim Burton."

- Ben and Kat, at various points.

Vincent

"Is Tim Burton following us around with a camera or something?"

- Ben or Kat. Honest, neither of us is quite sure which.

So that, ladies and gentlemen, is Thursday.

Erika: Kat?

Kat: Yeah.

Erika: You forgot Jerry's Deli.

Kat: Oh! Thanks!

I now offer you what happened when Ben and I walked into Jerry's Deli.

Nils And A Pack Of Garnier School People: BEN! HI!

Kat: . . .Wow. . .

Ben: . . .Hi. . .Wow. . .

One Person (Nils, I think.): Hi Kathlyn!

Kat: (Feels significant and vaguely amused by all this.)

Ben: . . .

Yeah, and yeah. . .

Upon getting home from all this.

Well.

Um.

Well.

Um.

Yeah.

Um.

Well.

. . .

Absolutely, acutely, amply, astonishingly, awfully, certainly, considerably, dearly, decidedly, deeply, eminently, emphatically, exaggeratedly, exceedingly, excessively, extensively, extraordinarily, extremely, greatly, highly, incredibly, indispensably, largely, notably, noticeably, particularly, positively, powerfully, pressingly, prodigiously, profoundly, really, remarkably, substantially, superlatively, surpassingly, surprisingly, terribly, truly, uncommonly, unusually, vastly, wonderfully lovely weather.

Hm.

As to Friday, I got into a big fight with my parents, which was why I wasn't at Max's party. Several of my good shirts must be salt flavored now due to unnecessary tears shed. But the point is that I missed it, and I am sad. Yes, indeed. So now for essentially the whole of Friday that's what I do. I mope. Yes. I'm quite good at moping. I mope, and I draw. I draw Sally, and Jack, and Sally, and Jack, and Taye Diggs, at one point. I am bored. I try to convince myself to pick up the phone. I do not succeed. I am bored.

And Saturday? Well now. Saturday was the esteemable day of Katie's wonderful Halloween party. So there I am, dressed as the Phantom of the Opera, standing at the gate with Ben, who's wearing essentially the same costume but a different mask, and trying to think to myself, "Who's going to be there?"

After a confusion that was extreme and that had to do with stairs and Ben and I and Micheala leaving me alone, we ended up on the couch in the living room. We did not move from that couch for an extremely long time, but I'm not complaining. During this time, people talked, commentors commented, singers sang, Mickeys freaked out, Kat was Kat, Ben was Ben, Max was, of course, Max, and Gabe was awkward.

Kat: (Sits on couch.)

Ben: (Also sitting on aforementioned couch.)

Gabe: (Walks in. Goes pale. Walks out.)

Fun.

It was probably around this point that I slapped David.

David: You. . .you. . .you BITCH! You slapped me!

Kat: (Has uncontrollable urge to say, "Why don't you go outside and jerk yourself a soda?" Don't ask her why. But they are outside, and there is no soda.)

Ben and David: (Duel with lightsabers.)

Kat: (Tries to pretend that this is normal behavior.)

Well, nothing more to say here, really, aside from the fact that cherryade has a lot to do with shoulders and hands, more than you'd think, really.

Er.

Yes.

Er.

Quote of the Day

"Don't look at me like that!"

"Like what?"

"Like you're going to eat me!"

- Kat and Max

Oh yes. Fear our brillance.

I remain, gentlemen, your faithful and obedient servant,

J.G.

The Perils of Digital Recorders

Kat: We have to. . .to. . .

Ben: Oh, now she is recording. But her finger's on the lense.

Ella: Ha! 'Ello!

Kat: What is it with you people and -

Ella: Hello poppets! -- Hey!

Izzy: Haha! Aaah!

Kat: Darn it.

Ella: Goulash.

Ben: Here you are.

Izzy: That's a pickle!

Ben: Not you - here.

Ella: Haha!

Izzy: Pat pat, little friend.

Ben: So you're really dressing up as the Corpse Bride? -- You fit the part well. . .

Kat: Ah! Only sort of less. . .

Ben: Dead?

Kat: Hahah!

Ella: I am not dead yet, I can dance and I can sing!

You might ask - what is this? You might ask - what are Ben and Kat's sisters doing in one place? You might ask - how can I remember all this dialouge so exactly? Well. . .

Now I shall tell you nothing more than that above conversation did indeed take place.

And that you must decide on a context for it.

And post it in your comment.

At some point I may choose to reveal the actual context.

Or not.

Ben, don't give it away. . .Not that I think you would. :)

I remain, gentlemen, your faithful and obedient servant,

J.G.

In Which Kat Writes E/N Poetry Inspired By. . .Stuff

And yes. Today's bit of E/N fanfiction for your personal pleasure. Dedicated to C33, for no actual reason, but really, just because I feel like it.

If you know who C33 is, I love you. (That meant more than you think, you know. Read it over again.)

Don't shake
Don't shake so much I swear
Erik -
You're dying there
Hear me.

Don't rattle out your bones
Why can't you understand -

Or maybe I can't understand.

She's beautiful
I grant you
A voice like an angel -
I grant you
But just what made her so special
You were willing to sacrifice the world?

Don't shake
Don't shake so much I swear
Erik -
You're dying now
See me.

Don't think you're all alone
Why can't you understand

Or maybe I am just a fool.

I'm here, you know.

I've always been.

Quote of the Day

"Some people are like slinkies. Useless, but you just can't help but smile when you see one tumble down the stairs."

- Joe, of "Go buy something pink, BITCH!" fame.

I remain, gentlemen, your faithful and obedient servant,

J.G.

The Song Summing Up Bits of Life At The Moment, But Not All Of It, Especially Not The Bits With Cherryade

Here's to the ladies who lunch --
Everybody laugh.
Lounging in their caftans
And planning a brunch
On their own behalf.
Off to the gym,
Then to a fitting,
Claiming they're fat.
And looking grim,
'Cause they've been sitting
Choosing a hat.
Does anyone still wear a hat?
I'll drink to that.

And here's to the girls who play smart--
Aren't they a gas?
Rushing to their classes
In optical art,
Wishing it would pass.
Another long exhausting day,
Another thousand dollars,
A matinee, a Pinter play,
Perhaps a piece of Mahler's.
I'll drink to that.
And one for Mahler!

And here's to the girls who play wife--
Aren't they too much?
Keeping house but clutching
A copy of LIFE,
Just to keep in touch.
The ones who follow the rules,
And meet themselves at the schools,
Too busy to know that they're fools.
Aren't they a gem?
I'll drink to them!
Let's all drink to them!

And here's to the girls who just watch--
Aren't they the best?
When they get depressed,
It's a bottle of Scotch,
Plus a little jest.
Another chance to disapprove,
Another brilliant zinger,
Another reason not to move,
Another vodka stinger.
Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhh!
I'll drink to that.

So here's to the girls on the go--
Everybody tries.
Look into their eyes,
And you'll see what they know:
Everybody dies.
A toast to that invincible bunch,
The dinosaurs surviving the crunch.
Let's hear it for the ladies who lunch--
Everybody rise!
Rise!
Rise! Rise! Rise! Rise! Rise! Rise! Rise!
Rise!

If you know what that was from without searching or googling, you are God.

I remain, gentlemen, your faithful and obedient servant,

J.G.

The Quotes of the Day

"But I'm a real person!"

"That's a point subject to interpretation."

- Max and Kat. Guess who's who. Hint: Not who you think.

"You know, one of these days one of us is going to say, 'Hey, you were going to say that!'"

- Ben. We know each other too well. . .

"So you got stabbed?"

"Yes, twice, I don't reccomend it."

"Can I see the scars?"

"No! Get your own!"

- Random People Of An ER-ish Nature. Blame this blog entry on the fact that I am sitting next to Max. Rather reminds me of Brossy's party.

"They smashed up things and creatures and then retreated back into their money or their vast carelessness."

- F. Scott Fitzgerald. This also reminds me of Brossy's party. . .

"I found out what happened at the party. Now I know why you didn't tell me."

"Hm."

"Thanks."

- Kat and Ben

"What's that thing you people like to eat that your parents won't let you? Candy. . .no. . .sugar. . .no. . .fries. . .no. Chicken liver! "

"If you don't stop talking, Laurelann, I'm going to stuff you!"

- Mr. C, Anthro Teacher. Wow. Just. Wow. Yes, he is referring to taxidermy. . .

"He said he was going to stuff her, and I couldn't think of anyone else all day, I was just thinking about that crazy bitter almond lady from Roald Dahl. . .I think I'm going to vomit."

- Max, Looking Rather Green.

"I am thoroughly insulted by the fact that I don't have a quote on here, please add one."

- Gabe

And, of course, the daily sonnet.

This caused me great trials and tribulations. It was hard to write. . .I hate rhyme schemes and iambic pentameter.

Kat: (Throws things at Shakespeare.)

Ben: I thought you liked Shakespeare.

Kat: . . .You know, at this point you're reminding me what I'm like. Scary.

Ben: Yeah.

A young woman's penchant for sonnetry
As all involved say with intelligence
Is no true testament to sanity
Though madness may well be the best defense
Our points of view are really rational
Agreement of men on this point - worldwide.
When such a thing as this is fashionable
Nobody cares to stay alive inside
What can we do when our very minds lose
Their unique ability to be lost
Instead of color only bleak truths
Sensible but what is the final cost?
Some call it but a kind inanity
We bear the burden of our sanity.

Quote of the Day

"You know, the new librarian is kind of like Madame Pince. . ."

- Max

I remain, gentlemen, your faithful and obedient servant,

J.G.

Something About Communism, Yes?

I just had the same conversation twice. Once with Luke, once with my father. I offer you the version I had with my father, inspired by Ben and I seeing "Good Night, and Good Luck," the new George Clooney film.

"What was the movie like?"

"The movie was. . .the movie is. . .not what I'm thinking about at the moment."

". . .You're blushing. What's the movie like?"

"Something about communism, yes. . .?"

(Heavy sigh.) "Something about communism, yes."

Aside from the very bizarre fact that this conversation is weirdly similiar to Ford and Arthur's conversation on prehistoric Earth, I find this quite amusing. Well, yes, the movie was something about communism.

Actually, it was about the fight of Edward R. Murrow, an opinionated reporter, against Joseph McCarthy's tactics to detect and exterminate American communism. And it was really quite good. Very interesting, very thought provoking. Very conducive to worrying about America today. Also, it quite reminded me of The Crucible, Arthur Miller's allegorical play about the blacklistings. Gotta love the Crucible. I mean, shrieking adolescents and disturbing moral messages. . .

Gabe, Mickey, Julian: (So bored. So bored.)

All right, all right, I'll move on. . .

Well, quite a fun afternoon/evening, in any case. (Thanks, Ben.)

Hmm.

I don't know what to say.

Oh yeah!

You guys! Gabe, David, Brossy, Max, Ben, everyone!

What happened last night?

This is like the Yesterday and a Pool of this year. Someone, please tell me how Ben ended up spat on and pushed into a thorn bush, and why you stayed up 'till three and woke up at six, and why. . .and how. . .and where. . .and who. . .and help me out here!

Please, people of my blog, I'm worried sick.

Help me out here!

Quote of the Day

"I don’t want to escape. I don’t want to do anything; I don’t want to exist, anymore. I just want to stand at this gate for ever with you."

- Jenny, "Without You."

I remain, gentlemen, your faithful and obedient servant,

J.G.

New and Fascinating, in Action Packed Full Color 3D!

The J.G. would like to inform you all of two new and fascinating changes, in action packed full color 3D. The first: There shall, each day, just before the close of the posting, or, really, just whenever I feel like it, the quote of the day. Because. . .well. . .because. . .No good reason, to be frank. And this next piece of news is so fascinating. . .so terrifying. . .so brilliant, and so simply ingenius, that you're going to think I'm a goddess when I tell you. (So maybe I'm too hopeful.)

Comics! J.G. Comics, to be precise. I'm doing some work on a series of chibi style comics. The first story we're doing - "The Tragic and Flabbergasting Tale of Mickey and the Mentos and a Coke." Yay.

Look, it's a short, to the point blog!

Ooh, it's gone.

Quote of the Day

"Golly gee, Kat. . .what is it with you and death?

- Julian

I remain, gentlemen, your faithful and obedient servant,

J.G.

In Which Jenny Says The Hell With Being Sensible

Jenny Cashwell was checking her email. She took a deep breath. And then another. "I'm going to deal with all this like a sensible person. . .Ow!" The ow bit was because she had melted/fallen bodily out of her chair crying, laughing, and just generally living.

She couldn't breathe. Shaking, she managed to get to her feet. She stared at the screen. It persisted in saying what it had said a minute ago. Jenny fell into her chair. She could hear her mother reading to her younger sister in the other room.

"Good night, moon, good night room, the mitten, the kitten. . ."

And then she couldn't hear it anymore. Memory on memory were echoing in her ears.

I'd say you came out right.

You don't owe me anything.

The thing about Jenny is that she's already sure what she's going to be. . .

Breathe. Breathe. She'd never had to make such an effort about it before. Not an easy time.

An emotional rollercoaster of a movie. . .a heartbreaking work of staggering genius. . .How would she review this, if it were a show?

The chair was clattering against the floor. Her whole body was shaking. She put her head in her hands and felt how cold they were.

His hands, when they'd touched just for that instant, had been warm and real and comforting.

Jenny clenched her teeth and smiled, cried, and then started to laugh, a warm, painful, unexpected, loud, laugh.

I remain, gentlemen, your faithful and obedient servant,

J.G.

An Indescribable Something

I think I shall now be sentimental. Run for cover. I just sort of felt like writing this, and well, if it doesn't go into the Dona Scura (my magnum opus, akin to Erik's Don Juan Triumphant) it goes up here. What I'm writing about is, as it says above (points to title with Punjab) an indescribable something. Key word here is indescribable. You're all probably aware of my quote fixation - not so much as Ben, I'll admit, but to an extent, I am obsessed with quotes. Somehow, other people know what I'm feeling better than I do. Or at least they can say it iin a nicer way.

Don't ask me just how it happens,
I wish I knew.
I can't believe that it's happened,
And still it's true.
I got lost in his arms
And I had to stay;
It was dark in his arms
And I lost my way.
From the dark came a voice
And it seemed to say,

"There you go,
There you go."

How I felt as I fell
I just can't recall.
But his arms held me fast
And it broke the fall.
And I said to my heart,
As it foolishly kept jumping
All around,
I got lost,
But look what I've found.

"There you go,
There you go."
How I felt as I fell
I just can't recall.
But his arms held me fast
As it broke the fall.
And I said to my heart,
As it foolishly kept jumping
All around,
I got lost,
But look what I've found.

- "Annie Get Your Gun"

"Gravity. It keeps you rooted to the ground. In space, there's not any gravity. You just kind of leave your feet and go floating around. Is that what being in love is like?"
- Josh Brand and John Falsey

This sounded somehow rather Hitchhiker's Guideish.

"Love is a snowmobile racing across the tundra and then suddenly it flips over, pinning you underneath. At night, the ice weasels come."
- Matt Groening

. . .

. . .

No excuse for that one, I'm afraid.

"A woman can forgive a man for the harm he does her...but she can never forgive him for the sacrifices he makes on her account."
- W. Somerset Maugham,

This quote is irresistibly related in my mind to doors.

"There's a fine line between love and insanity. I have erased this line."
- Oscar Levant

And naturally. . .

"We finally did it!"

"What?"

"Had an entire conversation in silence."
- Attributed to C33 and SE

I know what you're wondering, and the world may never know.

"Love takes off masks that we fear we cannot live without and know we cannot live within."
-James Baldwin

Er, yes, phantom, masks, connection? Nevermind, you dimwit.

Point is that. . .

Cherryade is just a really nice drink.

And we are having simply stupendous weather.

I remain, gentlemen, your faithful and obedient servant,

J.G.

Now, Let It Be War Upon Your Blog

There was only silence in the Opera d'Junior High as the newest member, Julian, His Highness In Charge of the Finding of Automatic Motorized Transportation Vehicles, entered the opera. He turned up his collar. A air of sinister sinisterness pervaded as he slipped through the darkened door like a dark unnoticeable slippy thing. The Nosy Nadir Like Figure noticed the Mirrormask reference. Everyone else was hopelessly lost.

Julian shook in terror as a statue seemed to snarl at him from the shadows. It was a puppy, so he wasn't that worried, but still. "Hello?" He called, in a manner most appropriate to the dark and slightly cobwebby setting. "Is anyone home?"

"Squaaawk! Gah! Ack! Ow!" A small, rotund blonde boy exploded from the aforementioned shadows, being chased by a slightly taller dark boy wearing a wet suit. The slightly taller dark boy wearing a wet suit (STDBWAWS) screamed out, "Maaax! Never, never, never lick me!"

"But I was thinkiing. . ." The small rotund blonde boy (SRBB) whined.

"That has nothing to do with it!"

"Oh, fine," said a much taller curly haired boy, (MTCHB) walking in. "So that's granted, but nevertheless. . ."

"Ahem," said Julian politely.

"Well, I don't see how -" Began the SRBB, but was interrupted by the MTCHB, who said dryly, "No, obviously not!" The STDBWAWS nodded vehemently.

"Ahem," said Julian again. Slightly less politely.

"And I can't believe you almost tricked me into going snorkeling in the J.G.'s lake!" Said the STDBWAWS, still fuming. He stripped off the wetsuit, revealing a rather anticlimactic T-Shirt and jeans. Hey, this is a clean blog. The STDBWAWS, now, in fact, since he'd taken it off, the STDBWJAATS, suddenly turned to stare at Julian. "Who the hell are you?"

Julian shifted his weight nervously. "Um, I'm Julian. . .I'm the new Highness In Charge of the Finding of Automatic Motorized Transportation Vehicles."

The MTCHB looked skeptically at Julian. "I didn't think we had an old Highness In Charge of the Finding of Automatic Motorized Transportation Vehicles."

The SRBB glared at him. "Since when has this place made sense?"

"Point. Oh, hang on, my phone's buzzing, I think I've got an emmy-mail." Emmy-mail, in case the rest of you lot have forgotten, was the not-terribly-ingenious system that Gabe and Ben had devised for the Opera communications. It worked a lot like email.

To: The Nosy Nadir Like Figure
From: The J.G.
Subject: His Highness In Charge of the Finding of Automatic Motorized Transportation Vehicles
Message: Get on with it, will you?

The MTCHB looked up from his phone. "I think we should get on with it."

There was a short and pointless silence. Nothing happened. Nothing continued to happen.

"I'm Ben."

"Max."

"Gabe."

"David," said a boy who appeared completely out of nowhere.

"Julian."

The aura of menace had not yet dissipated from the room. And so Gabe shivered as he said to Julian, "Come on. We've got to get you a room."

As the group descended the stairs into the dormitories, the Sane Personage poked her head out of her door, looked disapprovingly at them, and remarked pensievely, "It'll all end in tears, I know it."

"Hey, well, we were expecting a punjabbing, so we'll take tears. . ."

The insanity in the room was about to spontaneously combust, so the SP took the opportunity to leave. As they strode into the dorm courtyard, a voice was suddenly heard. A deep, foreboding voice, that they had heard only in their worst nightmares. (Except, of course, in Max's case. . .his worst fear had to do Diet Coke becoming a controlled substance.)

"Who dares to pass these portals? Some mere mortals? Those who claim to be a ghost that. . .um. . .a ghost that. . ."

"Maniacally chortles?" Offered Ben helpfully.

"That'll work, thanks, daroga. A ghost that maniacally chortles? Speak you all the password!"

"Umm. . .open sesame?" Gabe ventured.

"J.G.?" Max guessed.

"THX Review: Corpse Bride," Ben said with finality.

The doors opened. Everyone stared at him. "Um," Ben provided, "I think for some reason she remembers that."

At this point Ben didn't even have to tell them not to ask.

And then the doors opened. . .a pair of shackles and a tombstone adorned the far wall. And there, inscribed in large decisive letters. . ."Poor Old Julian, His Highness In Charge of the Finding of Autom."

"The finding of autom?"

"I don't think they could fit the rest."

I remain, gentlemen, your faithful and obedient servant,

J.G.

Et Cetera. . .Et Cetera. . .What Is This Et Cetera!?

There is no good title for this blog posting. And oh my Lord, to take a phrase from Miss Eloise of the New York Plaza, but what an interesting day it's been, to be sure. Golf. They are teaching us golf in PE. Golf, for Erik and Nadir's sakes! As in the thing with the clubs were you whack the ball. And here's the problem. The coaches knew nearly as much about it as we do. That is, nothing. So they showed us a lovely little video, hosted by a Mister Payne. . .Paine. . .Pain. . .Something. Don't remember. So, anyhow, our dear, dear, Master P was educating us upon the subject of golf ettiquette. A few nuggets of gold from his lecture.

"Now, kids, alcohol and golf don't mix." (Images of man and his friends attempting to tee off of a beer can. The shot goes well. The man and his friends duly freak out, hopping, skipping, and generally being joyous like a pack of fifth graders at recess.)

"Now, ladies, no miniskirts for golf attire, please." (Images of girl in swimsuit. X over her. Image of girl in miniskirt. X over her as well. Kat, watching, looks like she would like to Punjab Mr. P. Not because she wants to wear a miniskirt.)

This video must be seen to be believed.

On a happier note, I've mostly found my Phantom costume for Halloween. A fedora, an absolutely gorgeous long flowly brilliant cape, and a tux stolen from my dearest father. Not to mention black gloves in the Gerard Butler tradition, and a half mask which I made myself.

Bow to the illustrious Phantom of the Junior High. Bow, I say!

On other notes. . .I am well and truly tired of my siblings. So sorry, my dear Ayesha, but it must be said. Er, I'm just very over having these little maggots around all the time.

Ben: . . .You worry too much.

Kat: Oh, yes, I know. . .I know. . .

Luke: We are not maggots.

Kat: You do an impression of one remarkably well.

Luke: Yes, don't I?

Kat: . . .Go away. . .

Luke: (Leaves with the intention of getting that hammer and then reading Kat's emails.)

Ben: This is not good.

Kat: (Runs for it.) Oh, not maggots, hm? Play with them more?

Ben: Are you mocking me?

Luke: Yes.

Ben: I didn't mean you.

Kat: You're just a given.

Nadir: I worry.

Erik: I know. That's your character attribute.

Christine: I am speaking because Kat has just realized I don't talk enough.

Raoul: Ditto.

I remain, gentlemen, your faithful and obedient servant,

J.G.

In Which There Is Much Discussion Of French, And Eric Idol Rolls In His Grave

Well, yes, er, I don't really have anything to say at the moment. (Whistles.) Any thoughts?

David: This will not do. This will not do. And now for a Monty Python parody.

Ben: Wait. It's a parody of a Monty Python song? Isn't that a little -

Kat: Well, yes, but, well. . .oh, just be quiet, all of you. I have a headache brought on by To Kill A Mockingbird fanfiction, yes, you read that right, To Kill A Mockingbird fanfiction. . .in any case. We bring to you, the parody of Run Away, from the Monty Python musical Spamalot. We have retitled this parody - French Class. Due to various either horror stories and/or love stories popping out of the French class that Ben, David and Mac all participate in.

French Class:

Run away!
Run away!
From the books and the marks of the accents!
Run away!
Run away!
From Mac and his depressing laments!
Mme. T and her terrible prattle
David and Ben fighting a battle
We're all full of fear so let's get out of here!
Run away
Run run run run away!

Well, English is a sorry class
And we all fail it rather fast!
But French, well, it's a bloody joke
We'll try to speak it 'till we choke
No matter what we try to do
We'll get Fs 'till our moms turn blue
Liana whining, brat remarks,
If Kat cooks she will burn the tart!

Run away
Run away!
We're stuck in a nasty position
Although we're still bloggers on a mission
Have a muffin with tea
Until we are home free -
Run away
Run away
Run away!

I apologize for that one.

It popped into my head a while ago.

I remain, gentlemen, your faithful and obedient servant,

J.G.

Anagrams and Tigers and Bears, Oh My!

This is your fault, Ben. Any bizarre little thing that anyone may find offensive may be blamed on. . .Ely. Because, well, she's to blame for a lot of the things I do. Except for buying that bizarre necklace at Hot Topic. That was Erika. Moving on.

Anagrams are the sorts of things that amuse people such as myself and Ben. And seeing as he's just created "Hanky Dental BN," (Read: Ben and Kathlyn) I thought I'd provide all of you with some rather tangential anagrams.

Hi, pet. For tan gun mop Joe? Hint: Hi, foh.

That was so dreadful. . .Really. . .If it was just a p instead of an h. That meant "Phantom of the Junior High."

Ben: No, random was a character in the Hitchhi - wait.

Kat: I should abandon this post. . .I'm really hopeless at anagrams.

Spencer: Ay! Soy y rue.

Max: Y?

Kat: Spanish for "and."

Ben: So. . .soy sauce and a verb meaning to regret. I think that phrase was an anagram for "yes, you are."

Kat: Told you I was hopeless at anagrams.

We cut this blog short because of lack of funding. Kat is flat broke.

I remain, gentlemen, your faithful and obedient servant,

J.G.

In Which, Er, In Which. . .Oh Dear

Lovely weather we've been having. This is, in fact, actually not true, however, it is metaphorically true. And we shall slip unnoticably through the halls of grammar and simile like a dark unnoticeable slippy thing. And if you contradict us, we will . . .

(Dramatic music.)

Deny you ice-cream!

Ben: (Starts laughing for no discernable reason.)

Max: Well, I'm not going to try to explain that. . .

Kat: Nor am I. Because I understand it, so any further confusion, befuddlement, or puzzlement, is frankly, your own problem.

Ely: What? I don't get it.

Erika: You should have payed attention during the movie. . .

Ely: . . .You mean some people pay attention during movies? Who and where are they? Can I write a play about them?

Kat and Erika: Yes, people do. They are us. And no you may not.

Moving on. I frankly don't have the creative energy to describe Monday. . .(I managed to coax out of my mind six pages worth of a novel last night. Leave me alone.). . .but I can, however, give you the following tidbits of information. My younger sister, Ella, continuously attempted to get at Ben's watch. Isabel was dramatic, which is sort of a given, and Luke had somewhere gotten ahold of a very large inflatable pink hammer. Neil Gaiman recently wrote a movie. You can probably deduce the rest.

It was in the middle of all this chaos that I got a phone call. (Yes, I know. . .Kat and the phone. . .doesn't work well. . .)

Kat: Hello? Hello?!?!?

Luke: (In background.) Booga booga! Things to that effect! Yaha! Boom!

Kat: Hello?

Mac: Hey! Elymas! Wanna come to the mall?

The rest, as they say, is history. I now have a very parasitic feeling lace necklace around my neck, that I found at Hot Topic.

One more thing. Monday night, while dropping Ben off at his house, there was some weather that was more lovely than anything we've had for ages.

I remain, gentlemen, your faithful and obedient servant,

J.G.

In Which Kat's Muses Are Obstinate

Inspiration and Consequences
By Kat Kire

Disclaimer
The wonderful Susan Kay owns Kay!Erik and Kay!Daroga. Yay for Susan Kay. And Nadir.

Summary
Wherein Erik is badly in need of inspiration for Don Juan, and Nadir offers some assistance. Subtle slash. E/N.

---

Young Juan wander'd by the glassy brooks,
Thinking unutterable things; he threw
Himself at length within the leafy nooks
Where the wild branch of the cork forest grew;
There poets find materials for their books,
And every now and then we read them through,
So that their plan and prosody are eligible,
Unless, like Wordsworth, they prove unintelligible.

He thought about himself, and the whole earth
Of man the wonderful, and of the stars,
And how the deuce they ever could have birth;
And then he thought of earthquakes, and of wars,
How many miles the moon might have in girth,
Of air-balloons, and of the many bars
To perfect knowledge of the boundless skies; --
And then he thought of Donna Julia's eyes.

- From "Don Juan," by Lord Byron

---

“Erik? Erik!”

“What…oh, yes daroga. . .I recall that you were going to be unkind enough to stop by today…how benightedly dreadful.”

“Nice to see you too.”

Erik turned away from the violin, one spidery hand resting noncommittally on the strings. “Well? What do you want, Nadir? If it’s chess you want, then go away, I’m working, and. . .I’m working,” he finished lamely, picking the violin back up again and going back to a pitsicatto piece.

Nadir stood awkwardly in the doorway, looking terribly small in comparison with his far taller friend. He looked out and Erik from inside half closed eyes, which were suddenly warm, traces of laughter inside the irises. One lock of thick black hair escaped his turban and fell over one eye. “I don’t want anything.”

“I just want an ending for this infernal piece.” The cadaverous man collapsed unhappily onto the divan, as though all the bones had been removed from his body. “Is that so much to ask, oh world?” He demanded sardonically of the ceiling, lips twisting under the mask. One gold eye snaked its way to see if Nadir was taking in his dramatic performance. “Oh, deliver me.”

“The khanum really is rubbing off on you.”

Unexpectedly, Erik rose and snappily threw a small embroidered pillow at the daroga, who ducked, laughed, grabbed the pillow, and promptly threw it back.

Erik folded utterly, collapsing for real this time, as the pillow hit him lightly on one bony shoulder.

---

Gaaaak!

Gak!

GAK!

AAAAH!

Ahem.

I'm going half mad. This stupid fan fiction is giving me serious difficulty. Writing good E/N is hard, Well, here I am trying to occupy myself until four o'clock, at which time something interesting will happen, writing a ficlet. And guess what happens to the ficlet? I lose control of it. My muses are being obstinate.

My muses, for quite some time, have been the following people.

PotO Muses

Nadir and Erik. As if you didn't know.

Original Fiction Muses

This is going to scare you all. My original fiction muses are. . .you. Yes, you. And you too. You're in a lot of my stories. Example: In Smoke and Mirrors, Max is the narrator, and Ben is one of the main characters. (Spencer and Gabe have bit parts.) In Four Circles, a story regarding many things, most of them of a high schoolish nature, both Max and Gabe appear. (I think Spencer and Ben may show up later on.) Resolutely Blue, a character I've worked hard on, shares characteristics with Micheala. And of course, there is the fact that magicians keep showing up in the play I'm writing. (Blame it on Ben.)

Harry Potter Muses

I do occasionally write HP fiction, sadly enough. My muses are Snape and Lupin. Because Lupin is the best character. He's my favorite. Because he's just brilliant. And Snape. . .well, what can I say. I believe he's good! I believe he's good! DON'T CALL HIM COWARD!

All Purpose Muse

You guys actually don't know this one. . .meet Ezekiel Brown, cowboy, magician, and basically whatever he needs to be to fit into a story. I love him. Yayness. And of course, there's always Dustfinger. He's from Inkheart by Cornelia Funke. The basic principal is that he was from the book Inkheart (it's a book within a book) and a man named Mo, who can read people out of books. Mo is from our world. From there on in, trust me, it just gets more convoluted. Dustfinger is a fire-eater and entertainer. He's trying to find the way back into his world again from ours. He was really the only good bit in a quite mediocre book, I must say. I'm not a big Cornelia Funke fan.

So here is my request. Nay, my demand.

I need a new muse. Commentors, I'm begging you. Any thoughts, ideas, mindblowing revelations?

I remain, gentlemen, your faithful and obedient servant,

J.G.

Because Kat is Too Tired To Write Anything Herself

This little excerpt has its origin in the wonderful fan fiction, “Erik x WHO?” by Beata-Beatrix. If you do not read it, I will Punjab you. In this fic, every pairing is made fun of. We mean every pairing. This is Nadir’s entrance. Never fear, I will post the E/N chapter as well.

The Authoress runs backstage and reappears dragging the Persian behind her. He looks very afraid.

Raoul: Oooh..the hand at-the-level-of-you-eyes guy!

Erik: Oh, hello there traitor. (He’s still sore at him about the ending of Leroux. Not going to spoil it for the person reading Leroux.)

Nadir: Hello to you too, Erik. . .Hello phangirls.

Leroux phans: Oh my God! IT’S THE PERSiAN

Kay phans: Oh my God IT’S NADIR!

ALW phans: Huh?

B-B: You have to read it.

ALW phans: Oh. . . (Actually open the book.)

Nadir sits down in Piangi's old seat, stands back up, cleans the small bits of food and three turkey legs out of it, then just decides to get a random box to sit on. The Authoress constructs run-on sentences to rival Faulkner.

Nadir: (Sits crosslegged on the fancy treasure box.) Okay, I am ready.

B-B: We're having a contest to judge the best x Erik pairing. The contestants so far are Carlotta, Meg, and Madame Giry.

Nadir: Wow. . . (Looks at Erik.) You sure get around.

Erik: What have I told you about being smart, Nadir?

Nadir: . . .That you'll lock me in that coffin you sleep in?

Erik: (Nods condescendingly) That's right.

Nadir: (Shuts up.)

I remain, gentlemen, your faithful and obedient servant,

J.G.