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roarr!nanothing >E
... ahahaha ALMOST 10.000 WORDS LATE :DDDDD DX
Okay so Gabriel is very quickly moving away from Quatre. XD He kinda surprised me, to be frank. Bwee. ♥
Gabriel knew very little about house renovation. So far, though, it was mostly about tearing out rotten floor planks, tearing off mildewed wallpaper, tearing down faulty wiring, etcetera, etcetera.
Destruction, now -- he knew how to do that. There was a method to it, that made sure you didn't give yourself even more work by proceeding in an illogical manner.
Once you had the method down, you could go as wild as you wanted.
"Those planks spit at your mother or something?"
Gabriel laughed, though probably not at what Duane thought he was. He straightened up, walked to the window and threw the broken ends on the garbage pile in the garden. His hands were red and chafed; he rubbed them cautiously. "Done with the wallpaper?" he asked. Last he knew Duane had been busy in the downstairs corridor.
"Taking a break. I'm so fucking hungry I could eat someone in one bite." Duane stepped in the room slowly, eyeing the floor as if it might rear up and attack him. "Seriously, man, did you break them all? I'd ask if they were all rotten, but they didn't sound like it."
Gabriel sighed quietly. He liked Duane, honestly he did, but the man seemed to always know when to push. Or more exactly, when not to push -- and then he did it anyway.
"I like the sound," he said airily. "Seriously, a nice big crack -- it's fun."
"Weirdo."
Gabriel walked up to him, smiling, and herded him out of the room. "Oh, like you can talk, tell me it isn't fun to shred wallpaper. There's a sort of ... glee in it. Kind of like building a sandcastle only to stomp all over it."
Snorting, Duane went along with the herding, but Gabriel could see him watching from the corner of his eye, unconvinced. "Dunno about you, but I got over that when I was seven year old."
"And then you started burning cars instead?"
There was a moment of silence as Duane stopped in his tracks to stare at him.
"Man. I never noticed before, but you are a little bitch, ain't you?"
"Woof," Gabriel said, and then sighed and started trudging down the stairs. "Come on, I've got beer."
He could feel Duane's eyes on him for a couple of seconds before he followed.
"Wake up with your dick down the wrong side of your pants or something?"
"Nah. It's the cold. Makes me cranky. Sorry." He even meant it, a bit.
"It's not that cold."
Gabriel walked in the kitchen and went to the cooler. "For you maybe. I just wanted to sleep all day." He handed Duane a beer and did his best to look contrite.
".. Mmrgh."
He could tell Duane was already halfway to forgiving him. He felt a little bad for that. "I shouldn't have said that." He flicked him a quick smile. "Maybe something about cow tipping instead."
Duane pretended to chuck the can at his head, and then went and popped it open to drink instead. "Fuck you. I'm a city guy. The closest I ever want to get to a real cow is when I eat steak, and if it moos at me it goes straight back to the kitchen." He took a long swallow, still glaring half-seriously over his drink.
Gabriel let out a little laugh, and then sobered up, rolling his can between his hands. He still hadn't opened it. "It's just a little frustrating, sometimes, how people want to pretend they're so civilized they don't even have that instinct of destruction. Civilized just means you've got it under control."
"You sound kinda psycho," Duane observed, not sounding too bothered.
He was smirking, just a little. Gabriel huffed at him. "You know what I mean. I didn't step on anyone else's sandcastle. Made them cry, made their parents angry, made my parents spank me, and then playtime was over and the afternoon ruined... But you had better believe I stomped the hell out of my own. It was fun. And since we're going to throw those planks away anyway..."
"Are you kidding?"
A startled frown on his face, Gabriel lifted his head to stare at him. Duane's flat, cold glare turned into a faintly sadistic grin.
"We're gonna burn the motherfuckers. Oh yeah. Bonfire all night, baby."
Gabriel couldn't help but laugh at that. "Pyromaniac."
"Ayup. Now wanna tell me who you're really pissed at that you got all bristly at me? 'Cause when I piss off people I like the satisfaction of knowing it's all my own doing."
And, laughter killed. "... You really are nosy."
Duane shrugged, propped a shoulder against the doorjamb. "Well, yeah."
"I liked you better before," Gabriel grumped, finally opening his can. He had never asked any personal questions during the war. In fact most of their discussions had been about planned attacks and the other half goofing off to blow off steam.
"I didn't have to live with you before. Cough it up."
Gabriel semi-seriously considered throwing his own can at Duane's head. "Nothing, really. Just stuff."
"Oh, I see. Stuff."
"One day you're going to wake up with that can inserted where the sun don't shine." He ruffled his curls tiredly. Stupid things were getting overgrown again. He probably looked like a sheep.
"Family stuff?" Serrano's quiet voice asked from behind Duane's back, making them both jump. Duane whirled around with the bottle lifted like he was about to brain her with it, sloshing beer on his arm.
"Holy fuck! Make some noise sometimes! You trying to give me a heart attack?"
"Is it succeeding?" Serrano inquired, so mildly it took Duane a second to register the actual words that went with it. Gabriel was already snickering.
"I'm everyone's buttmonkey, I swear. Can't you hate on Wright instead?"
"Mmh." She looked at Gabriel.
His snickers died down, remembering what she'd just asked.
"--Oh, that disowned stuff," Duane said. "Right."
He took a long swig of his drink, avoiding Gabriel's eyes. Oh, now he didn't want to know more. Gabriel's mouth stretched into a cheery smile. "Well! I couldn't tell my mother too much of the truth, so I just told her I'd caught an incurable disease during my travels."
"Wait, she disowned you for that?"
"Apparently she understood it to mean I'd caught the gay before I caught anything else, the 'else' possibly related to catching for a full baseball team worth of studs. I have no idea where she got that idea," he added, innocent as possible.
"Aw, man." Duane grimaced again, discomfort clear on his face.
Serrano let out a little sigh and shook her head at him, unsurprised and not very impressed. "Pushed her buttons, huh?"
"Yeah," Gabriel admitted, and took a sip. The beer wasn't cold enough, but it gave him something to do with his hands. "She probably wouldn't have kicked me out if I'd just told her in some other way -- I mean, she's a cranky old bitch sometimes, but..."
"You wanted her to, so you pushed," Serrano said.
Gabriel glared at her for a second -- he didn't like being read so well, and liked her saying it where other people would hear even less-- but in the end, well, it was true. He nodded, drained the rest of his beer in three long swallows.
"It wasn't like I could come home to stay -- even if we could both pretend the last six years of my life never happened, it wouldn't take away that I'm a ticking time bomb." He pushed away from the counter, threw the can away. "And on that joyful note, I hear someone in the driveway."
Duane went to the glass-less window and peered out. Gabriel caught a glimpse of Andersen walking up the gravel-covered path over his head. The guy had a brand new backpack on, and a row of plastic bags suspended to his left arm, so full they unbalanced him. The other arm was free, of course, even though he wasn't even carrying a gun. Gabriel opened the front door, smiling at him.
"Welcome home. Need a hand with that?" he offered.
Andersen's hand was already turning red from hampered blood circulation, but he shook his head no anyway. "Almost there. Won't make a big difference."
Gabriel and Serrano stood back to let him through.
Duane started rearranging stuff in the cooler to make space. Andersen trudged through with his bags and joined him there. "Here. It's mostly cans, they'll keep."
Duane started pulling stuff out of the bags and looking at it, commentary included. Seemed like there were a lot of beans, which were obviously something to tease Andersen about. Andersen only gave a little, vaguely amused sigh and watched as Duane stacked everything surprisingly neatly.
Andersen straightened up, watched him bemusedly for a couple of seconds, and then threw a glance at Serrano and Gabriel. Gabriel had been about to leave, but it seemed he was being included in the discussion.
"By the way, Colonel Reynolds introduced me to someone who seemed to know Duane."
Duane kept stacking, apparently having great fun playing three-dimensional tetris with the cooler. "Hmm?"
"One of us, Chinese, female, five foot three." A pause. "Angry."
Duane froze for a second, and then he burst out laughing, not in a particularly nice way.
"I take it you remember her?" Andersen inquired mildly.
"Oh god yes. I'm surprised the bitch is still kicking. Kinda thought someone would do her in before then."
"Some of us resent you using 'bitch' as an insult," Serrano said, just as mildly as Andersen had. Gabriel was pretty sure hers was meant to be humor, though.
"Oh, my apologies, your furriness," Duane snarked back.
There was a moment of unsettled silence. Gabriel broke it with a mirthless chuckle. It was crazy how uncomfortable they were all when using anything but sanitized military euphemisms.
Then again it was crazy to think of the reality that hid behind them. Furry indeed. Hah. He supposed it was better to laugh at it than to go crazy trying to force it into a rational view of the world. It just didn't fit very well.
"... Anyway. Yeah. I guess you can say I know her."
"You know her well enough for her to look forward to an occasion to kill you," Andersen said.
Gabriel gave a startled blink. "Wait, someone threatened Duane -- a military someone? You should report it."
Andersen shook his head no. "It was official. Sort of. She's here in case we need to be put down."
... Huh.
Gabriel had known this would happen, of course, but so early in the month? Made him feel like someone out there was very anxious to make sure nothing happened, so anxious that they might go over the official order to let the ex-Black Ops at least attempt to figure things out, and just have them preemptively disappeared. He'd been fine leaving his weapons behind for the duration of his leave, but now he was starting to think he'd been a little too hasty.
"She just took the occasion to point out that even if Duane left the military, that doesn't mean it isn't the military's responsibility to keep the population safe anymore." Andersen crossed his arms and arched a questioning eyebrow at Duane. "Seemed personal, though."
Duane leered. "What can I say, love 'em and leave 'em, that's all me."
"Oh, I get it," Serrano replied.
Duane watched her warily.
"Shitty one-night-stands," she said, nodding to herself. "That'd push a girl to murder indeed."
"--Oi!"
As offended in his manhood as he was, Duane couldn't keep from cracking up. Gabriel laughed with him. It took him a second to notice that even Andersen was laughing, an almost-silent chuckle he half-heartedly tried to restrain.
Andersen behaved in such a casual way. Almost ordinary. Of course there were the trim muscles on that deceptively slender frame, the pathological need to keep a hand free to deflect or attack with, and the way he kept track of his surroundings -- they all did, even Duane, even though something seemed to be throwing him off or he would never let them all startle him so often. But Andersen was the one Gabriel had thought most likely to develop post-traumatic stress disorder or get so disturbed by civilian life that he'd end up go chewing on his gun in some remote muddy hole.
Yet there he was. Looking healthy, calm, settled -- as much as he probably could, at least. And not even violently antisocial or anything of the sort.
Tonight was the last night of full moon. Tomorrow Andersen would start decreasing his dosages. In ten days he'd be clean.
Gabriel wanted to watch that. To see what happened, truly, when one went through with it.
... If Andersen was still sane in two months, then he'd take the plunge.
Two months. He could wait that long.
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I'm de-lurking a bit just 'cause I'm really enjoying reading this as you post it ^___^. Neither werewolves or Gundam Wing are big things of mine - I haven't ever seen the anime, just picked some awareness of it up from overlapping fandoms - but your originally-Gundam-y werewolf story is made of shiny and awesome as far as I'm concerned. The domestic banter's fun to read, the underlying tension makes me want to see what happens next, and all the characters are interesting. (I wanted to say they were 'dynamic' - that comes across as pretentious, but the sense it contains, that they come across as having clear attitudes and relationships to one another and it reads like you're enjoying messing around with that in dialogue, while at the same time they've got long-term motivations and they're all in this house for different reasons...)
Still, I'm attempting NaNo for the first time evaaaarrr this year, and if you're writing from anything as loose a mental story-plan as me, I can see why it'd be hard to keep the story moving along and push characters into place for each scene. Good luck! :>
ps, since I picked this up right at the end of the last section, so it'd be easy to go back and fix::
"Tonight was the last night of full moon" - wants a 'the' in there, I think...
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Good luck on your nano! Fight, fight, you can do it!! >:O (and yeah, I killed the mermaids' momentum because i was overplanning everything so this year it's by-the-seat-of-my-pants writing. XD Lessee what happens.)
oooh, one more word for my count! *hoards*
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But yup I'm enjoying NaNoing so far, even if I crash out before the end it'll have been valuable in teaching me that I can actually make up big crazy worlds and plots and things and stick to them for a while - I have post-apocalyptic raft cities sailing the world, and the one my story's set on is Cambridge after its University's been shut down due to a cold war conspiracies and some genetically modified monsters XD ... yup, I'm proud of my 30 pages of crazy!
Anyhow, I should probably stop talking about that whole story and keep writing it! ^^ Good luck with the impromptu werewolves :D
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Also, I think I need to take CP out in the backyard and smack him.
CP: What're you laughing at?
Me: Reading Asuka's latest chapter.
CP: Oh -- *adopts bad Southern accent* the DUUU-WAYne story?
Me: *heddesk*
Ahem. To be honest, already there's very little that would make me jump up and holler that I'm reading a derivative work. They're already their own characters, truth be told... though I do notice the surname use being inconsistent. We're in Gabriel's POV, right? But he calls Duane by first-name, then, not as "Keller", but gives surnames for everyone else. And seems like in Duane's POV, the same happens. It's implying an intimacy/familiarity between them that I don't see elsewhere in the text, so maybe make a note to yourself that either investigate that (them being better friends with each other than with everyone else) or to use surnames to indicate POV (that is, we get first-name when we're in someone's POV).
And THEN you write the NEXT chapter, because either I get to read something or I get to go fix the table saw. And I'd rather read something, so if you could please oblige, I'd be mighty appreciative. *doffs cap*
(Now CP is suggesting that if you want french name that's got same lower-cool points but better cultural connotations, use mo-reeeeese, err, Maurice, and then we can all sigh about how M. Keller is the Gangster of Luuuurve while Serrano snarks that he's really just a Space Cowboy. Note: Morris is the Brit version -- to match Anglo surname -- of Maurice. Next up, the pompitus of love, whatever that is.)
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I don't think Duane is a sexy name. I like the spelling, visually speaking. Tell him it's an artist thing. :p
Good point about Gabe's use of last names. When I started writing they were closer than that in my head, and he uses his first name when he speaks so I just kept using it in narration, but then he went and sprung that "just because I'm CHARMING doesn't mean I'm NICE! and just because I kind of like them doesn't mean I'm not using them!" on me, so... yeah. XD I think i'll change that in the narration.
I've got the next scene done and it's all Serrano, only Serrano, with lotsa boring stuff about her walking in the forest blahblah, but i'm not shortening it yet because WORD COUNT. But... I have no idea what happens next. XD;;; My god, and to think this is all still just the introduction. It'll have to be cut down dramatically in the rewrite. (if I can get off my ass and rewrite. Let's see about finsihing it first.) Not sure if I should post it yet, though~ 9______9
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Also, just to pester CP, I went and looked up Duane. Turns out it's from the Irish, Dubhán, and that, I'm afraid, is the most unprounceable-looking name I've seen in awhile. Poor guy would spend his entire life being irritated at people saying his name as "dub-HAN" or even "dubbin". Cripes. Although now I know where the DU-waaaayn comes from, because a variant of Duane is Dewayne, a spelling I have seen amongst midwestern classmates (but a spelling you almost only see amongst black city-raised midwestern, like Chicago, folks). And apparently Duane has a whole lotta variants, more than most names, but I've found that Irish/Gaelic tends to do that, since it's not like anyone can figure out how to say it in the original, let alone translate it into anything vaguely romance-based: Dewain, Dewayne, Duante, Duayne, Duwain, Duwaine, Duwayne, Dwain, Dwaine and Dwayne.
Also, similar sounding names: Dane, Deane, Doane, Dunne and Dwane, and I'm now thinking that Dunne is a pretty cool name, actually. I think I'll save that one. (I love the name Dane, but I've avoided it myself since so many of my characters are, uhm, Danish, and it seems kinda bizarre to name your kid Dane when he's already a Dane, though I guess it's not really something anyone actually Danish would ever consider, and I'm just wierd that way.)
Hrm, I don't know how French military does it (I would guess similar) but amongst US military folk, the surname is used almost exclusively even among really good friends. You get so used to saying "Lt Keller" and "Colonel Greer" and so on, that to speak informally (as friends) is to drop one's title -- so it becomes Keller and Greer. If you're speaking informally but aren't necessarily good friends, then you drop the surname and use only the title, as in "Lieutenant," or "Gunny" or whatever. I've met (military) folks who do that to my father, calling him "Colonel," even though he's been retired for a good long while now. I guess after long enough, it does kinda become part of your name, and your identity. After four years (or more, in Anderson's case, I guess) of being called "Private Keller" daily, Keller's going to answer to "Private" just as fast as "Keller", and may have learned to associate "Duane" only with his parents or siblings, because none of his military cohorts would've used his first name except in very rare circumstances.
You even noted that, that they're uncomfortable using anything but military euphemisms -- this is even more true of their own (military) names. Thing is, these personalities are NOT Marine personalities, but it's the Marines that are the only branch that only accepts volunteers -- that is, in time of war you cannot be drafted, ever, into the Marines. I'm not sure if that's a point for you -- if these guys were volunteers, then saying they're all Marines makes it clear (at least for US audience) that they were NOT forced or even pressured into enlisting. If you want to imply they were drafted, even in a round-about (aka pressured) way, then make them Army, not Marines. If you want to imply they signed up as volunteers and aren't too bright, either (because that's what it takes to get ahead in the Marines, honestly: be a little crazy, a little dull, and not the most imaginative) then go for Marines.
And if you want to imply more than a little crazy, possibly a bit unconventional at times, and willing to try anything once, then go with Navy (as in Navy SEALs and Special Ops). Those guys are whacked. Honestly.
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Hmm, I like Dane -- AHA. Good try! His name stays Duane. >__> I don't care that it's not cool. Not everyone can be named trendily. So there.
As for the military, I take your point about the last names, but since it's a divergeant history earth and they have a somewhat different military structure, I'm not sure the Marines/Army/Navy cultures, expectations and differences would be the same. They were at more or less constant war for more than a century, though.
The boys all joined at sixteen (lower legal age) and it's a bit hard to say they were pressured into anything at this point and in this social context. Peer pressure probably played a big part for some of them, but in the end it was a voluntary procedure and not everyone was offered the chance to try. Lots of them went solo, so for the were thing they had to take people who didn't integrate too well into the regular army... Hm.
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Question: I thought that Duane was already going off the drugs?
Critique: "It was crazy how uncomfortable they were all when using anything but sanitized military euphemisms." I feel "...they all were when..." would read better.
P.S. Please don't mind me if I sound out of whack. There's this really good reason for it. (Coffee. Unwritten essay. 2AM. Moar coffee.)
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oops, thanks, i'll fix. um. later. gotta write moar now, but i'll remember. ♥
XD oh dear. Sleep! You need sleep!
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Sure, luck with your writing!
Sleep will come when my paper is done. Which means... Approximatly 80% more. Dx
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mdrrr
♥
Courage, je te soutiens à fond ! :D
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Holy shit, how'd I get ahead of you? D:
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XD if you want, that is. If you don't want, well, may the best women all win! XD
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Just, I'm reading this story and I'm so impressed and I'm very grateful you're sharing it and it feels kinda icky in my head to analyze it while it's still in the process of being born so is it okay in that sense for me to just glow appreciation quietly in the background until you're done? ...wtfrunonsentence.
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you sound kinda exhausted, hon ;________; *sends petting vibes*
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Okay, today I write another scene. *determined!*
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