broadcast me a joyful noise

(Antipodean advantage time! It's the 14th here. And I need to get this thing up before I edit it into oblivion.)

This story was written for: nextian! Mostly this fulfils the request Blacksheep Industries solve someone's problem, but there are smatterings of other bits and pieces in there as well. Set post-Three Bags Full, but not by very much.

(For the record: this is the picture upon which Bastian was based. The jacket needs to be two shades darker, and the hair -- well, you'll see. But everything else is perfect.)

( It's a curiosity, this naming of ships and cities and countries, all the things that hold people within them, as female. )

Okay, look, it's ALMOST DONE, but I have been making noise about this for so long that I figure I may as well post the first half now. Besides, the bloody thing's going to be epically long, I don't want to overwhelm you all :D

This story is a one-day-early 21st birthday present for my favourite person in the universe. Enjoy, Cosmas.

Notes! Returning to this world now that it has been expanded in such breathtaking ways was almost intimidating, but this was the one story I knew I had to tell (and now I have a whole pile of them multiplying in my mind -- watch this space, I guess). It was meant to be very concept-driven but then it grew eight main characters and became character-driven instead, which is probably a very good thing! I hereby gift said eight characters to the drabble-writers of the future: they're fun to play with, I promise.

This one covers a lot more ground than Fortuna Fugit (seventeen years in over 13,000 words, in fact!), references pretty much every other story that exists in the eyaiverse, and (by necessities both practical and thematic) it holds a lot of secrets. I know many things about these people that haven't made it into the story.

I haven't provided illustrations even though I have very strong mental pictures of all of the characters; the only thing I will tell you unprompted is that Tee looks like Richard Hammond's jaded street urchin twin.

( Tee's earliest memory is of his back hitting the Filter, hard, his sister towering over him like a tall bird with ragged shadow-wings. )

After much consideration I have decided to post this here rather than at the ficblog, because it's a bit of a slapdash personal project, and the first original thing that I've written in so, so long. Many thanks to villainny for saying nice things about it and for convincing me that my aesthetic allergy to the letter 'e' had to be put aside in the name of unambiguous pronunciation.

This is a belated & combined birthday present for ariastar and nextian -- I apologise for the oddness of this one, my dears, but I think you'll enjoy it despite its flaws.

(NB - a director's commentary now exists, but it tramples all over the continuity and contains bucketloads of spoilers, so read the story first!)

( You will never hear this again )

Okay, so only two other people in the world will actually give a damn about this thing that Ji and I wrote tonight as part of our grand and near-heroic Yuletide procrastination (ohgod), but I am still making a whole new LJ tag just for the occasion. I expect it will be getting quite a bit of use in the future *looks balefully at ariastar and nextian*.

It's a sequel to this. Sort of.

( Thomas is just beginning to be proud of his career )

I had a few constructive/fandomly things to say, but the unremitting exhaustion that Wednesdays confer on me has driven them all out of my head. I am crazily stressed; my coursework is tough as nails and sometimes feels like it's crushing me into the ground, I'm very worried about the GAMSAT, and once again I'm in the position of only seeing my friends one day a week and spending the other six days walking around campus in my own silent bubble, all the anxiety percolating and self-propogating. It can't be good for me. I'm getting a bit ragged at the edges, and it's only the third week of term.

I'm going to watch an episode of Avatar and go to bed.

Also: Ji & I have spent the last few weeks out-heartless-ing each other with this fic here. Maybe we shouldn't be allowed to cowrite very often; just as a fraction multiplied by another fraction produces an even tinier fraction, the combined powers of our grandly minimalistic brands of fictional cynicism seem to have the power to quash all joy.

Justifiable use of icon! Duh duh duh!

A month or so ago I wrote a short story (had to be less than 3000 words, which I am Not Good At) for a competition being run by a bookshop in the city. And today they had a little sign up in the window with the winners.

I came third! And I win a $50 voucher for the shop. Boooooks. I have my eye on Hilary Mantel's latest and the new John Berendt. It's about VENICE. If they make this one into a movie with John Cusack in it as well, I might just die happy.*

So yeah.

That's kinda nice.

(I'll stick the story itself up at mercurial_wit if anyone wants to read it; Beth, this is the one with my Marcus character in it :D)

* Speaking of John Cusack movies - today I bought myself a post-exams treat even though I'm only 3/4 of the way there: DVD box of Being John Malkovich, Lost In Translation and Secretary for $24. I'm going to watch Secretary, make lentils and spinach for dinner and relaaaaax. Study for Human Bio can start tomorrow.

ETA: Story posted here.

And Jiiiii, you should see Secretary. If you haven't. Not least because the soundtrack is by Angelo Badalamenti.