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[Ehndras]

Same here. I was described by a very drunk friend as "An old man in a young man's body... A victorian gentleman... and that's a compliment..."


The writing industry itself is pretty nasty though. With your writing style unfortunately I feel that unless you could write a piece that captures the publisher's imagination, you would be doomed to write speeches and formal writing.

Because unfortunately, for all publishers can bring a story to life, they will rip the unholy life out of your book and dumb it down if you are approached by the wrong publisher.

That being said, it's good to start small and work your way up; what i've seen is that changing your style gradually often surprises critics.

<--- Did a two year writing course, has multiple contacts in the Australian publishing industry, no responses from publishers as yet though.

I'd actually consider writing speeches and such. I write for fun, really. I have some pretty screwed-up historic issues that my writing helps me deal with. Writing is and always will be my life's passion, but it is a passion I engage in for my own pleasure and sanity.

I came to terms long ago with the fact that a publisher would absolutely shit on my writing.



Anyway, how about you post something of yours for me to critique? =)

[Reudh]

Some of my writing can be found in my sig, or I can have a look at my folio. Which would you prefer?

[Ehndras]

Same here. I was described by a very drunk friend as "An old man in a young man's body... A victorian gentleman... and that's a compliment..."

Jesus... are you guys... me?

Apparently this forum attracts a lot of the same types.

Yes, yes it does. I have a Skype group of Bay12ers and players from Bay12-related games who are all like us. Each of us is extremely different in a thousand different ways, but that same aura of inquisitive intellectualism and older-than-you-seem personality shines brightly.

All of my friends are that way, actually, though we all deal with it in different ways. Me, I'm the wise old Sage type. People always come to me for relationship and personal advice, and I was known in high school as the human encyclopedia and-or 'The therapist'. (Useless information, ho!)

Sadly, no one ever listens to the wise old sages and most will rather quickly confuse him for a crazy old geezer.

[Ehndras]

'Folio would be quite nice, actually.

Some of my writing is on my deviantart page, though that's barely a fickle half-percentile of what I've written in the last decade. I had my notes and laptop stolen four years ago which cost me an entire high-fantasy novel series I had been writing. Looking back on it though, I must say good riddance; it was shit anyway.

http://maximilian-aurea.deviantart.com/

I haven't updated the damn thing in years, though I still add new poetry and such to it. I lost my old account two years ago so I simply copy+pasted the same junk over to the new one and kept it as-is.

Oh, and regarding the Chaotic Origins design - I finished that thing years ago but I never updated the image.

[Reudh]

A lot of what I had written was on my 3.1 when its RAM got scrambled, so the earliest writing of mine I possess in electronic form dates to 2003 and is abysmally awful.

However, I'm going to show you all a cathartic piece I wrote in late 2010 about my experiences in suburbia as a redhead. Some rude words, beware. I wasn't sure of the title, but it was shocky and grabbed people's attention. Plus, it worked to build a sense of anger and outrage. It's just a short story, rather unfinished, but I liked writing it (the rush of happiness after i had gotten my anger at those who would be racist out was intense) and the group who critiqued it had several interesting reactions; my teacher who was a seasoned writer compared it with his experiences growing up as a northern englishman in southern england, one of the other students who was the father of the redhead got very angry (towards the people who do such a thing - apparently it invigorated him to pursue his daughter's school all the more, she was a redhead too).

I ended it very hastily because I had to get it in to the course by a deadline; but it was still a good enough piece.

Enough talk though, here it is!

Spoiler: Ranga Is The New N****r (click to show/hide)

Ever since I was little, my red hair has been like a flag. “Here I am, I am here!” it seems to say. Animals target it (I’ve been swooped so many times) – I suppose it’s like a Spanish Dancer sea slug – “I’m dangerous, don’t attack me.”

Even when I was little, living in Oakleigh, we had very few redheads there. I remember at my kindergarten that I was one of two, and at the crèche I went to I was the only one.

Three belligerent kids used to pick on me- I barely remember anything about them except their names now. I think they were called Jacques, Lachlan and Vincent; but I’m not sure. My parents like to tell me how I used to mutilate their names into “Sharks” and “Vorkrin” – this being when I was about three years old.

I remember how Vincent used to attempt to get the rest of the kids at creche against me by saying that my hair was on fire and that people would get burnt if they went near me. Pretty smart for a three-year-old. As a result I was often ostracised by the other kids. Only one ignored them; a Scottish boy called Sean. Being so young, I didn't really care that no one except Sean and the creche workers talked to me; if Sean wasn't there I was perfectly content to play in the sandpit.

That was about the extent of the anti-red-headed behaviour at that stage, and I was a pretty happy kid so I didn't care.

Going to kindergarten in Murrumbeena was quite fun. I was one of two redheads there, and it was also a much smaller group so we were all friendlier to each other. I had two good friends there; a tiny little Spanish kid called Jeremy, and a gigantic English boy called Peter (who I learnt later really was gigantic, he had gigantism). There the majority of kids were children of new immigrants or had red-headed siblings themselves, so it was a nicer place for me.
At the start of 1997, my family moved to Hallam; nothing really changed. It was exactly the same as Murrumbeena; everyone was friendly and I was not picked on in the slightest.

Fast forward six years. I was in grade five at Hallam Valley Primary School. On my first day there, I was called 'you fucking blood-nut cunt' by a grade three who must've taken offence to something; I dunno what. Nice introduction to my new school.
Once again I was the only redhead in the year level... and deja vu; once again I was ostracised from the year level. Other kids did stupid stuff like pretending to get burnt on my hair, singing idiotic songs about how redheads would be lonely forever and other inane stuff.

I also remember a grade four kid throwing a small rock at my face, while screaming “Suck shit Ron Weasley!” That rock missed my face, luckily, but it did hit my hand and draw blood...
I hated that school.
No, I REALLY hated it.

Things like that happened all day, everyday, but at least luckily not during class. The teachers were pretty much unaware of this, and to top it off I was actually old enough to know discrimination when I saw it.
When primary school finished, I thought “Oh good, hopefully there will be more mature people who won't pick on me.”

I was quite wrong. In fact the teasing and bullying ramped up. With none of my first primary school friends in contact, and no friends at the second primary school, it appeared to be going the same way as before. I spent all of year seven alone during lunchtime and recess; with sports and 'working in partners' I was always the last one left; often the one who had to work alone. Other students often expressed their distaste at having to work with me if they were forcibly paired.

Playing soccer in the interschool sports was even worse. I got on the team because I was relatively good at defender and goalie, but we lost every match because of the brutal tactics of the other teams (namely fouling me and others so we couldn't defend effectively) and because my team refused to assist me; so I was often charging up and down the area I was defending because everyone else stayed at the other side of the pitch.

In year eight I got in a fight with a kid who made a voodoo doll of me; complete with beaded eyes, red cloth and cellophane hair. It even had the word ASHER scrawled across its chest, just in case I didn't realise who it was. He took out some pins he had in his pocket and stabbed the doll, then got a lighter from his pocket and set the doll on fire; right in front of me. He stood there laughing, and so did his friends; that small act more than anything set me off. One versus five. Naturally I got walloped.

The rest of that year continued much the same way. The teacher I had didn't give a shit about what happened either; dismissing it as the others just 'having a laugh'. As a result I did quite poorly.

Year Nine was marginally better. Whilst the teasing continued, I had gotten myself a few friends, and it was easier to deal with because of that. I remember once though, some guy shoved in front of me while in line at the canteen. I was already rather angry due to others doing it, but it was what this person said that made me angry- “redheads don't deserve to buy food”. I don't remember his name.

I went off my nut and started shouting at the top of my lungs all the expletives I knew, about how sick I was of the treatment I got from other students and how much of an 'effin arsehole he was, when he punched me quickly in the face, just as quick as anything. I suppose it was to shut me up, and it worked, because it was hard to talk through a mouthful of blood.
Everyone cleared away from me as if I was radioactive. Some lark shouted “Now yer face matches yer hair, Asher!”
Very fucking funny.

In 2007, a show called Summer Heights High started. I quite enjoyed it, personally. Nice and amusing, as well as borderline controversial.
When one of the characters called another a 'ranga' after bullying him, the shit hit the fan. It was the cool new thing. Just like when South Park did the 'gingers don't have souls' episode.

The word apparently stems from 'orang-utan'. I remember having a brainwave from early primary- when we learnt Indonesian; that 'orang-utan' translates as 'man of the forest'. I automatically thought 'orang' meant man, and 'ranga' being a bastardisation of that, that people were calling me 'manly'. Of course, I didn't actually believe that; but it was a small attempt at stealing their thunder. I remember telling the various people who called me 'ranga' about the word 'orang' – but of course my logic fell on deaf ears.

It used to get so annoying when upon opening my mouth, I'd get “SHUT UP, RANGA”, from one of the people in my class... or once when I was sitting near the door, a 19 year old (Yes, 19 in year 10) poured a bottle of water on my pants, and shouted 'Look, the ranga pissed itself.' Absolute sheer humiliation.
In essence, it was dehumanisation. Comparing me to an animal- using the pronoun 'it' instead of 'him' – only calling me by the name 'ranga'... I kept my temper and sanity thanks to the scant two friends I had.

And it only intensified in 2008.

The ABC hosted a competition called 'Sorry Ranga Day' – a parody of the then recent 'Sorry Day' targeted toward redheads instead of Australian Aborigines' Stolen Generation. It revolved around screaming out 'SORRY RANGA' at the top of your lungs at a redheaded person, recording yourself doing so on camera, sending it in; and the best entry would get a Summer Heights High T-shirt and the DVD set.
I think I must've gotten that shouted at me more than seven times, recorded each time. Not to mention my then-seven year old cousin,  got shouted at by a P-plater driving past, with one of their yobbo mates recording. To quote (I'm quoting a quote) “And he screamed at her 'SORRY, YOU FUCKING RANGA SCUM!'.” My cousin hadn't been treated like that before – so it was a thoroughly frightening experience for her.
On the 'Sorry Ranga Day' website – there was a link to their MySpace forums. It featured such wonderful, original thoughts like 'Why should we appolagise? Rangas shold (sic) be treatd lik the scum they are' and 'I have an idea, we should get a bunch of rangas in a herd and cull them all so they cant reproduce'.
When walking around in public, even with family, I used to get screamed at by random people “ya fuckin' ranga”.
There was an amusing incident when I walked home with my father; he'd decided the walk up to my school would do him good. In the road before our court, we passed a house with its door open, but the screen door closed. And someone (sounded about 20 years old or so) shouted out the door “Hey look, a ranga! Let's attack the ranga!” My father stopped dead, and walked up to the door, and said very calmly- “Excuse me?”
A clattering from inside their house, and all fell silent. To use a hackneyed phrase, you could cut the tension with a knife.
Now to give you an idea, my father is a two-metre tall Dutchman. He towers over the majority of most adult men, and is fairly intimidating when angry. But Dad kept his cool, and repeated “Excuse me” twice more before deciding they'd given up- and we walked on.
It was almost tipping point, I swear. I used to have lurid daydreams of blasting away those who tormented me with a shotgun, and then feel horribly guilty for thinking such things.
Finally, 16th of July 2008.

Don't worry, I didn't shoot anyone, if that's what you're thinking.

No, after a particularly tiring day at school preparing for an assessment task we were doing, I arrived at the bike shed to find that my new bike's tires had been slashed. They were so severely slashed that both the tires and the tube were absolute ruined, and scratch marks from a knife or a key were all over the bike. The seat was heavily dented, as if an extremely fat person had sat on the seat and bent it sideways, and to top it all off, there was someone else's bike lock binding my bike to the bike stands.
Walked home instead of riding, with my twelve year old sister. Approximately a quarter of the way home, I noticed a group of roughly fifteen teenagers twenty or so metres behind us. They were all dressed in a motley assortment of school uniforms; some Kambrya, some Berwick, some Narre Warren South Prep-12.
I ignored it and continued walking.
Around halfway home, they started heckling my sister and I. Just minor “Hey ranga, hey ranga” stuff.
Then they started throwing rocks. One of the group came forward and tried to pull my sister off her bike. My sister shoved them away, and I shouted at her to get home, go home, and just go, regardless of me.
She rode off, crying.
So now it was just me and fifteen bogans, baying for my blood.
Every minute or so one would close in to throw a bottle or a stone or a punch at me, until I found a block of wood on the ground. I remember screaming “I'LL GOUGE YOUR FUCKING EYES OUT IF YOU COME CLOSE TO ME!”
I was bluffing, but I guess they didn't think I was.
I made it home, picked up a pair of bolt-cutters and prepared to walk back up to face them again (to bring my tattered bike home).
I took a different path, on a side road.
They spotted me.
Luckily, I had some distance. I jogged most of the way to school, and when I got there they were no-where to be seen. I took a bit of time to catch my breath, and when I had gotten my bike free I kept the chain, just to be safe.

And at home, the 'rents had heard of it as soon as they walked in the door from work. Long story short, they took us all up to the school, for an appointment with the principal, an absolute fool who shall remain nameless.
The principal umm-ed and ahh-ed his way through my recounting of what had happened- and the appointment got nowhere fast. He even told me that “I'd just have to get over it” - big mistake.
Eventually my parents got sick of his disinterest, and my father mentioned how when he was at school, he was called “wog” and other things due to his European appearance – and calling someone ranga was discrimination based upon appearance- a thing that the school supposedly stood against.
The principal went white, and said “Very well, I'll look into it.”

Gladly, I later found out that of the fifteen, all were suspended from school for two weeks, as well as put on a permanent 'conduct plan'. Two got police cautions.

And there, the bullying largely stopped!
I was very happy. Even the use of the word “ranga” had died down somewhat.

[Ehndras]

Excuse my language, but fucking scumbags. I got the same treating for being Dutch-Brazilian. I was treated like a worthless punching-bag by Brazilians for not being one of them, and ignored by the white folk for being part Hispanic.

One funny thing is that I eventually met all of my bullies again after a few years, and all were docile. Of the dozens, every single one had come from a broken, abusive family. All they really did was echo the same abuse they witnessed and often received, as is natural for a victim of some sort of abuse.

It doesn't justify a decade of verbal and physical abuse, but it made me feel better to know how pathetic they all truly were.

Humans fear what they do not understand. Just the same, any animal will exile a member of the pack who does not identify physically with them. This means those with different-colored eyes or hair, those of a different race, those with disabilities, all of these individuals will be ridiculed and abused for their qualities. As much as it sickens me, I understand the natural survival instinct that drives such behavior. This natural reaction to what is different is then catalyzed by personal difficulties and cultural stigma, which obviously leads to folks like me and you being given a hell of a time for absolutely no logical reason.

Oh well, its made us stronger as human beings.

[Ehndras]

Alright, here's a turn from the Liberal Crime Squad Let's Play I'm running right now. This was turn 05, I believe.

Spoiler (click to show/hide)

   Armed with the fighting spirit of three former child slaves, I gladly drove my stolen pickup to the Auto Plant to engage in Liberal action. I easily dismantled the door's lock and took the first steps into the great, gaping maw of the industrial machine. All around I saw the scarred and frightened faces of young children littered between the factory's hulking mechanical frames. So many innocent children looked into my eyes with hopelessness, tearing at the prospect of yet another beating at the hands of their oppressive handlers. The moment Hunter, Silvertongue and Speedy walked in with a bounce in their step and fire in their hearts, the children's eyes flickered with a semblance of hope, extinguishing the profound fear I had witnessed just moments ago. Kneeling before a boy no older than ten, I smiled sincerely and to my surprise received a tight hug that instilled me with Liberal passion. These children look to us for salvation, but they are not alone. We are a single spark of Liberal truth, a single malfunction within the endless ocean of spinning gears that make up the socio-political war-machine. I was once like these young boys and girls... Hopeless and afraid as I lay before the judgement of Conservative masters.

    "No more! I will fight until every child is liberated from bondage. The chains that once held their tiny bodies I shall wrap firmly around the throat of the Conservative menace, the heartless murderers who made all this a terrible reality. I will set flame to the oppressive laws that bind us to the tyrant's Will, and liberate our nation from the mindless beasts that ride in the wake of Conservatism."

    And so, those three children and I destroyed countless machines, spraypainted a large swath of wall with Liberal truth, and killed a number of slave-handlers before fleeing home to the safety of the Shelter. Inflamed by the spirit of Liberal Vengeance, we decided to raise havoc in the gang-controlled crackhouse. After killing a number of Conservative scum, we escaped only to be trailed by a large group of vile gang members! Thankfully my superior driving skills allowed us to escape unharmed and arrive home.

Perhaps foolishly, I caved into the fiery cries of the children and once again departed from the safety of our hideaway. This time we were headed for the Halls of Ultimate Judgement, the name given by Conservatives to the old town courthouse. The courthouse was strangely vacant as I swept the main entrance with Liberal graffiti, descending deeper and deeper into its halls. After spraypainting a long hallway, I decided the courthouse was much too quiet and began making my way out. Unfortunately, a Conservative officer worker and fashion designer spotted us. Without other recourse, the four of us began our Liberal assault, riddling the two with stab wounds and bruises. As I began to grin in anticipation of their death-cries, the office worker pulled out an M1911 pistol and shot speedy square in the chest! I knew Speedy's lung was damaged by the wheezing, but I couldn't stop fighting. I wouldn't let these Conservative bastards get away with the damage they'd already done! And so, I watched as the office worker soiled himself and the fashion designer cried for her mother... And then, silence. Nothing remained of the two but crumpled heaps of flesh, undeserving of a proper burial.

    Urine. The scent of fear invaded my flaring nostrils as I carried Speedy on my shoulder, being careful not to drop my half-empty spray can for the Conservative trash to keep as a trophy. I will not allow them a victory over us! Such a fool... I should never have entered the courthouse, knowing things could have gone profoundly wrong... That they would go profoundly wrong in the end. So, smelling of rank piss, blood and fear, I Shepparded those children through the halls of injustice and met another group of scum right before the exit. Two traitorous lawyers and an armed police officer, ready to end our Liberal agenda in a fraction of a moment. They had heard the gunshots which had undoubtedly echoed through the court's grand halls, as the alarms were quite obviously raised. Should I run past them and risk a bullet to the back, or put up a fight and risk the lives of more children? Without any hope of fleeing past three potentially-armed Conservatives blocking the exit, I made the decision to fight for our lives... Armed with a can of spraypaint. Fool! What a fool I had been... Never again would I travel without a proper weapon in hand.

    Expectedly, our fight did not go well. Hunter was shot by the officer's MP5, riddling his little arm with bullets, while the Lawyer's .38 pistol missed him entirely. Knowing that we could never fight hand-to-hand against two armed Conservatives, I took a chance. As the first Lawyer ran for the exit, I made the choice to burst through the two remaining Conservatives and gun for the exit. Speedy... Speedy saved my life. As I looked back at the children, the police officer opened fire and shot Speedy's torso three times, and as I held her body tightly in my arms, she whispered he final breath.

"...Thank you."

    I had no time to think, no chance to stop running. I wouldn't put her down, no matter how she slowed me. With Hunter and Silvertongue in tow, we made it to the pickup and sped away from the courthouse, Speedy's slumped and bloody shell sliding this way and that in the front passenger seat. As I muttered curse after curse beneath my breath, I felt the innocent blood drip from my murderous hands, face, and body. I was bathed in her blood, in the last liquid remnants of her former life, and though I felt the sting of incoming tears, I felt no pain. Her sacrifice filled me not with sorrow, but with rage. Pure, vehement rage, as powerful as a dying sun's final moment before its fiery nova. And so, I burned that day's newspaper. I burned the filthy words uttered by brainwashed Conservative journalists, I burned the witness accounts of that corrupt Conservative officer, I burned the inhuman bile spilled forth from the tongues of these monsters, and I waited. I waited until each individual page had cracked in the flame. I watched as the ink billowed forth in thin black tendrils of smoke, acrid to my lungs. I breathed as the newspaper burned down to its last deceitful words, my eyes closed to the world. And so, I laughed. I laughed until my eyes and throat burned, until Hunter hugged me, despite his wounded arm. Silent but for the fire in his eyes, Silvertongue turned to me and said...

"I'm ready."

    I could hear the passion in his words... The supernova of illimitable rage present within his very soul. But it was not nearly enough. Passion and desire would lead only to mistakes, and mistakes would lead to more death.

    I would teach him all that I know. I would teach him to sneak, to persuade, and ultimately to kill. Yet before he learned to annihilate, he would learn to build. Without soldiers on the streets to enlighten the people, we were powerless; nothing more than savage terrorists preying upon the weak. While Hunter recovered, I decided to take Silvertongue to town in order to recruit new followers to replace the fallen. Looking over the .38 pistol and equipment looted from the courthouse, I decided we'd both wield M1911 pistols. If the Conservative scum wanted a fight, we'd give them a damned fight! Though Speedy lay dead, martyred to the Liberal cause, I would not let any of my people go down so easily. I am confident that Reaver, as he is now called, will do the same. Ordering Teach to grab the .38 and make sure Speedy received a proper Liberal burial, I leave Medic to care for Hunter. Reaver and I decide to pay the apartments a visit, a low-security location where I can teach him security and stealth skills with relative ease. I do not know what will happen, but I do know this: they will pay pay for what they have done. They will all pay.



So begins my legacy.

[Reudh]

Yeah. I'm Dutch-English/Australian - because of my small eyes, pale skin and red hair it was often assumed (especially in known bogan areas) that I was an immigrant from Holland, because pretty much everybogan thinks that an Australian has to be blonde/pale brown haired, tanned and round eyed.

I used to console myself by the whole "It's because they're descended largely from the lowest of the low members of England that they have a race memory of fearing redheads, with the whole raids on England and the Danelaw of the Vikings."

That was tenuous at best, and I ended up coming out of highschool with a poor score and cripplingly severe depression (to the point of suicidal thoughts) - but now that I am in uni I have returned to being (to quote my parents) "The inquisitive, charming person" I once was.

And yeah, I agree with that... being of mixed-race can be pretty nasty sometimes. From what I've heard anyway.
My dad's best mate's family (who refer to me as お兄ちゃん / anichan / dear older brother) are half australian of scottish descent, half japanese. In Australia, especially out in the sticks where they live, the family are often met with grumpiness and general rudeness unless the Australian father is present, whereas in Japan most people seem to consider them as curios - that is, rare things one doesn't see often.

People are always afraid of that which is different. That one sentence caused a lot of my mental issues (some still standing, most gone) throughout late childhood and all of teenage.

Anyway, some brighter stuff now!

[Ehndras]

Aye, I utterly murdered my scores/grades and had to deal with terrible depression and severe anxiety disorders due in part to bullying, though mostly personal and familial issues.

But aye, POSITIVE ENERGY, HOOOOO!

(After my not-so-positive RP moment, which I feel was pretty damn epic if I may say so myself)

[Reudh]

Here's a brighter piece I wrote. I wrote it for fun, then converted it into a short play/film script. The film script is much more finished but more difficult to post here. Note that those who self-describe as Furries may find it offensive; but this is not MY view on them, this is the CHARACTER's.

Spoiler: working title was Supernatural Vignettes, but it ended up being just a story of the one character (click to show/hide)

Hi. I'm Jacob. I live in a very strange place. I should tell you about it, no doubt. It's here, Australia- but not as you know it.

The small thing that is different is... there are supernatural creatures all over the place. Though we don't call them supernatural, they're all inducted into society as equal citizens. For once us humans did the right thing! Good, right?

There's zombies and vampires (None of that 'After Dusk' vampire crap), werewolves, ghosts and many others besides. Ours are a bit different to your idea of them.

First off, there's zombies. They began life spontaneously alongside us, and started as mindless consumers of flesh. However, with each brain consumed, they have grown more thoughtful, gained sentience and now have a hive mind. Zombies are entirely capable of reasoning, and live in a perfect egalitarian society- food for all, no racism, no prejudice- everyone tastes the same in the end.
They will only consume people who wish to be consumed- ie. People who wish to die can go to a zombie and fill out some paperwork- and become part of the zombie hive mind with all their engrams intact. Organ donors can elect to tick a box stating that their brain is available for zombie consumption. It's all pretty much normal, nowadays.
There's a campaign on TV- it's interesting. I would do it but I like being my own person too much.
“Have you ever wished to see the world? To travel through time? To know all you ever wished to know? Join ZOMBIENET- TALK TO A ZOMBIE TODAY!”
Pretty convincing. They're very kind creatures.

Then, there's werewolves. They were the offspring of people with psychic powers and those sick bastards who obsess over anthropomorphic wolves and foxes. The psychic powers interacted with the latent obsession and wrought a change in the child. They're pretty much normal- except the only way you can tell a werewolf in human form is their choice of food - “COULD I GET A BLUE STEAK PLEASE?” and the way they seem to shout all the time. Furries are pretty much the bane of their existence- furries follow them about incessantly and try to seduce them- which the werewolves find repellent. I've never met one, but I saw a report in the news about a werewolf who snapped and murdered his furry stalker.

Vampires are an interesting bunch. Upon their creation they seem to absorb the worst of their popculture and socioeconomic backgrounds from their era- a vampire created in 1980s outer suburbs of Melbourne will mimic the style of the worst kind of bogans- a rich inner city late 80s will be a Goth Vampire ('Kay so I'm like gonna bite you now, you're gonna feel a little tingle which is more than I feel') and so on and so forth. They exist in the background of governments everywhere- and they have this odd ability to manipulate genetic code. I'm not sure but I think it's the reason there's illness, especially the flu.

Ghosts are, well... ghosts. They're harmless. Unless you ignore them. They're the shades of outersuburbanites who died unfulfilled. These ghosts will follow you around, moaning about taxes and horrific discoveries. You can exercise them (We don't call it exorcise, that's negative) by giving them a good cup of tea and an ear to talk to. I've heard tell of 'Tea Parties' where hundreds of ghosts are invited to a tea master's house with copious amounts of high quality tea and a horde of sympathetic people. There are numerous advantages to exercising them; they give off a fresh smell and a happy sigh- it makes you feel very happy afterwards. They're also valuable sources of information. The blast of fresh smell after a tea party lasts for days. It's so nice.

Octopaliens are aliens. They (we're still finding out about them) say they were once more or less humanoid but after discovering the bone wastage caused by 0G space using their technology they mutated themselves to be like octopi. They're all massively obsessed with sex- being alone for thousands of years in stasis and travelling to earth alone made them very lonely. You can only tell an Octopalien is one by their tongue – they've built a human shell for themselves and operate in a similar way to Kaleds and Daleks from Doctor Who.
 If you see their tongue, you can see that it's an odd purplish colour as opposed to our pinkish one. (That's because it's a tentacle extruded in the shape of a tongue. Pretty weird.)

I should tell you about my story. Well, I have a great story. You'll like it.

One day, I was walking down the street. There was this yelp, and a scream, and what could be going on? Probably nothing odd. But I decided to check anyway. It was down a side alleyway- anything can happen down a side alleyway. I'm a good Samaritan, one of the few left in the world. Hehehe.

I went down the alleyway. Nothing. Nothing. Then a shadow. What on earth? No doubt it was another vampire feeding. Nothing to worry about. I had my neck protector made of purest iron on so I was fine. There, I saw a young lad, homeless, unconscious. He was extremely pale- and I looked at his neck. The poor fella had two bite marks on his neck, but he was breathing.
I activated my Blood Shunt device (it's like a little thing connected to a vein on our arms that we can use to do quick blood transfusions) and filled the bottle full of my blood. Thankfully with modern medicine and some imaginative Octopalien scientists, bloodborne diseases are no longer. HELPS (Human and Elf Lipoplasty Syndrome) was a big thing in the 1960s but when the Octopaliens found out they helped us to research a cure. Anyway, I activated my Blood Shunt, checked his mouth for an Octopalien tongue, and once the little jar had filled up I disconnected it, connected it to his shunt and activated the 'Blood Shunt Quick Transfuse' mechanism. His colour slowly returned and he was able to sit up.
“Ugh. I... What... bitten... pain... neck...” he moaned.
This guy was bitten by a vampire? What? He just looked like a dirty homeless person- surely he hadn't had a free thought that would've attracted vampires to him? He had no tin foil hat thing. He didn't seem insane. Was it just a random attack by a vampire? They're rare but not unheard of around here.

He sat up and told me his name. He was called Hadan. He insisted that it was just like the name Hayden but spelt differently. He groaned a few more times and finally stood, so I said “Hey, if you need a place to crash for the night I live on my own and you can tell me more of what happened” because this had really piqued my curiosity.
So we went back to my house, and over a cup of tea and a horrified looking ghost, we talked.

Hadan had been lying in his back yard in his little cottage-by-the-sea when all blacked out. He guessed he was being abducted by vampires, presumably due to who he resembled. It took me a second, but I staggered back in surprise (and a little fear too). Hadan looked like a fugitive who had been accused of high treason against the government for assassinating the Vampire Ambassador to Humankind. This was bad. I made it my duty to help others as a matter-of-course, but now I was looking at accessory to treason... Dear lord.
I was honour bound to help him- if I left him there I would make an enemy and if I took him with me I might be able to hide him. Well... there was only one thing to do then. I would have to take him with me.

[Ehndras]

Heh! Very curious, indeed!

[Reudh]

Did you want to see the script? While it's far closer to being finished, it's still pretty short.

[Ehndras]

Its 4 AM and I can't give you any proper criticism because I can barely count to 20 at this point, but I'd nonetheless be honored to give it a look, if its not too much for for you. =)

Out of curiosity, what is your opinion of my RP writing I posted earlier? I've yet to have someone give me criticism on how I write my RPs, so it'd be quite useful to know if I'm bombing or not.

[Reudh]

I liked it a lot, even though I have next to no background in LCS. It was witty, in a very cynical way, as I suppose all characters in LCS are - and at times strongly parodical, which of course LCS is.

With the exception of a few spelling errors, I found it a great read, and i was chuckling under my breath as I read it.

[Ehndras]

I liked it a lot, even though I have next to no background in LCS. It was witty, in a very cynical way, as I suppose all characters in LCS are - and at times strongly parodical, which of course LCS is.

With the exception of a few spelling errors, I found it a great read, and i was chuckling under my breath as I read it.

*gasp!*

Spelling errors!? Where!?

Damn, that's what I get for staying up for days at a time. I decided I'd take it easy this week and just relax. I've been playing games 'til early morn' then sleeping in. First time I've been able to do so in a long, long time, and probably the last time as well, so I'm taking advantage of this period to get in my RP writing and just enjoy myself.

Wow. See? 5:09 AM and I've upgraded to epic run-on sentences! =)

Seriously though, what spelling mistakes? :\

EDIT: Besides sheppard/shepperd/shep-something. I still can't figure that one out.