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Magnum Opus Part III of IIIThe Gondola's Tale
Prostrate. It had always been such a feeble sounding word, limp and benign. It was the kind of word you wanted to assign your enemies as they drew their last, the kind of word reserved for the pitiful by the proud.
And yet what peace.
Icarus stared, simply stared. It was all that he could do. He had been released from the choice of rising, or of speaking, or of searching his environs. All that was left to him was his lot, a swaddle of helplessness and the timeless sensation of all the world washing over him, effacing him, wearing away all the rough and craggy edges as it coaxed him gently from existence. He half wondered if he were lying on a beachbut no. He was not above the waves. He was a part of them, just like the smooth ashwood gondola under him, whose bottom was all he could see. Well, all he could see beside the scintillating robe that fell in front of his eyes, undulating with the motion of its oarsman.
He meant scintillating in
Econphilos Part IIGeorgie Grey was considered one of the most promising students at her institute. At least, when she wasn't being considered one of the tallest. The girl was six foot one, and while legendary Amazon goddesses of the old world sported shapely thighs and hard, curved bodies she had the misfortune of looking rather like a stork whose form was little too stout atop its spindly legs. One could remark on her mousy brown fluff of hair or the freckles she secretly thought were really quite becoming, or even the bag of tricks for every occasion slung over her shoulders. But those features were rarely noted. They were too high off the ground.
Perhaps because of this Georgie Grey had learned, in the rough and tumble world of academia, that the only steady way to prove oneself was through work. Econphilos's intellectuals had affected reverse psychology on the young woman, setting an example of pretension and pushing her, jittery and eager, into her first real job.
The Juusengumi had e
Econphilos Part IThere was a special kind of crime that you got in Econphilos, and it had an awful lot to do with how the city was built.
Its construction, development, and ultimately chancellorship had been under the direction of Japanese investors, and those men knew how to plan. Their native country might be a mere landform to Earth's collectivist conscience, Anthropeden, now, but back in the day their historical eras were named for the capitols that flourished with them.
Econphilos was, ostensibly, octagonal in shape, except that twelve districts cut that octagon into twelve nice, triangular slices whose borders made a diagram resembling a web. This was more than just a metaphor to criminals. Because in a city like Econphilos-- the bustling hub of Mars's commerce, where even Nosfiosan syndicates and New Jerusalem's men of honor might be seen ducking under a shady corner for business—in a city like that you couldn't afford accidents like index crimes.
Indeed, the city lay in wait. Oh,
Radical Part IIThey found Rad lounging in a circular pit furbished with couches and a small basin of fire. It was sectioned off from both the machines he'd brought to life and his battalions of failed work by a bare, steel mesh platform that clanked loudly as the girls approached. Marching over it made Cinder feel as though they were advancing on Rad via the lurching hull of a battle ship.
He was ready for them, but was that true vice versa? Yura didn't notice that Rad was reading a pamphlet on revolution. She didn't notice how the mottled kaleidoscope of his features delayed as they slid from brooding to felicitation.
No, she saw only that he was a radical, a pariah, and that she cared about him.
Rad was short, his dark hair poised as though just settling from the lightning strike of one of the sly ideas scuttling boyishly over his lips and between his thin eyes. His kimono was loose, and he rose languidly to grin at Yura. As he stood there was a symphony of rustles, but not from his clothing-- no.
Radical Part IHindsight is undeservedly notorious. The historian is derided for it, and the simple minds that commit that slander would also have us believe that it brings only regret.
The truth, of course, is that hindsight is the most beatific of humor. It brings with it the kind of gut-wrenching laughter that makes tears of joy and pain glide in harmony down rose-pink cheeks.
This is true particularly with ideas. The speculation of one generation is the amusement of the next. Doomsday predictions aside, this isn't because the projections that men make are a far from the truth, from their destinies. Far from it, such predictions are usually chillingly accurate. It's the little ironies that get people.
It was the little ironies that got Cinder that day, trailing as she so often did behind the rustling fabric of her friend's canary coat and black hakama. Hakama, as in the ancient pleated trousers they wore in Japan. It was the year 3005, and men and women alike were back to the antiquated, if now sh
LivingThe moon was high, a mere week from fruition, and its milky bath of light drizzled over the mountains. Lucent, its glow streamed into the river where the water dashed and frothed through the heights, throwing lunar eddies into coils of light that wound through the scintillating waves like ribbon. As these twin currents leapt over the dazzling heights of the falls they spiraled, as though their cascade to shatter on the gleaming rocks below were all an intimate waltz, each tide holding the other close until impact bound them in one, glorious effervescence.
The tall, dark boy appreciated this from his lofty perch. He was grounded firmly at the peak of the falls, his silhouette looming from a jutting granite boulder the river had yet to efface. He stood in nothing more than a pair of old pants rolled up to the knees, his whole physiognomy flushed with excitement. His heart pounded, roared in his chest. A wide grin was stretched over his lips.
Every fibre of his being was shaking for terro
PartingsMy brave and noble friend,
I had not done you well.
I've learnt now not to play pretend,
Nor pretty lies to tell.
Compassion was all that I could spend.
Dear unlover, this truest knell--
No matter how I might twist, or bend.
--tell me it will undo the spell.
Tell me that your heart will mend.
The Colonel's regiment was marching. It was marching against an enemy no one would remember, in a time no one would remember, in a place that would be beyond recall or desire once its mines were depleted. Yet still the regiment was marching. Not together, because this was guerilla warfare— a term that had long since ceased to bring images of banal natives and exotic jungles to mind and come, instead, to mean there were two kinds of men: careful and dead. They were lucky about as often as struck by lightning.
Thus was the regiment split into tip-toeing battalions creeping toward their destination. This was for the best. Grumbling was what soldiers did best, and splitting them up meant the Colonel didn't have to hear all of them at it at once.
Since when, they wondered, did the Colonel roll over for his superiors? Since when did the laconic, ponderous man agree to missions like this: slaughtering and razing a village of rebels?
They bitched and they moaned and t
The Virtue Of Deception Part III of IIIThe assassin within Investigator Ulisse was poised in the center of an underground chamber secreted beneath the Ghileswick Mariner's bank. His dissimulated features hadn't changed despite their surroundings, and his arms were crossed over his broad chest in an expression that admitted no fault for the relocation of his target, Desi Consentio. He had removed the deerstalker and great cloak, but his faithful pistol dangled from the holster at his side.
The seven top officials of the Quatronne family didn't seem to approve of his choice of weapons, but neither could they deny that he was their most reliable emissary. They were dressed, typically, in an array of morning suits and fanciful hats, many with signature rings on their fingers that cost more than an Investigator made in his prime. Said rings tapped idly at the round mahogany table circling the speaker-- Ulisse, in this case-- and their faces were in the shadows. Yet another gimmick belonging to the various mind-games they used to
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Endorell-Taelos is very well known within the community for her selfless giving and gracious community spirit. Since joining DeviantART over seven years ago, Alicia has continued to make a positive impact on many deviants. Her helpful and thoughtful approach was one of her finest attributes when serving as a Community Volunteer, and this has continued throughout the many contests which Alicia provides on a regular basis. As we approach our Birthday celebrations, we can't... Read More