This/Hunters song - Revision history

Apheori: Apheori moved page This/Hunter's song to This/Hunters song: ' bug

2015-10-16T21:08:25Z

Apheori moved page This/Hunter's song to This/Hunters song: ' bug

← Older revision

Revision as of 21:08, 16 October 2015

Apheori at 04:14, 30 November 2014

2014-11-30T04:14:05Z

← Older revision		Revision as of 04:14, 30 November 2014
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			And now for something completely different.

			= Obligatory heap of miscellaneous pieces =
			__TOC__

			== Jamaicans ==
			<screenplay>
			Discussing possibilities for something, or something about the case...?

			RAHAH
			What about voodoo? Seems like that would be right up Whitehead's alley.

			ALBRIGHT
			You know he's not actually Jamaican, right?

			Whitehead glides up to them smoothly.

			WHITEHEAD
			What does it matter what we are, for what we seem to be?

			ALBRIGHT
			You're not even black!

			WHITEHEAD
			The politically correct term, you know, is African-American.

			ALBRIGHT
			Which you're not.

			WHITEHEAD
			(gliding away)
			Neither are Jamaicans, mon. Neither are Jamaicans.
			</screenplay>

			== Intro ==

	<screenplay>		<screenplay>
	INT. BUREAU OFFICE - DAY		INT. BUREAU OFFICE - DAY
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	</screenplay>		</screenplay>

			== Sunlight ==
	~~----~~


	<screenplay>		<screenplay>
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	</screenplay>		</screenplay>

			== Coraline? ==
	~~----~~


	<screenplay>		<screenplay>
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	</screenplay>		</screenplay>

	== ~~YONTS~~ ==		== Proses ==

	Names have this funny way of showing up everywhere, not only places where we least expect them, but even in places where they might actually make sense. Names also, however, have this horrible tendency to be decided by people who have no right to be naming anything, ever.		Names have this funny way of showing up everywhere, not only places where we least expect them, but even in places where they might actually make sense. Names also, however, have this horrible tendency to be decided by people who have no right to be naming anything, ever.
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	And this was just the beginning.		And this was just the beginning.

			=== Rahah ===


	She was small and pale, and might have been considered beautiful by anyone into that sort of thing, but to everyone else she tended to come across more as wild-eyed and dumpy, and with highly suspicious hair. Nobody could trust that hair. Rahah herself had given up on it years ago; the random colours and ridiculous 'dos were merely her resigned attempts to keep it from outright exploding.		She was small and pale, and might have been considered beautiful by anyone into that sort of thing, but to everyone else she tended to come across more as wild-eyed and dumpy, and with highly suspicious hair. Nobody could trust that hair. Rahah herself had given up on it years ago; the random colours and ridiculous 'dos were merely her resigned attempts to keep it from outright exploding.
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	She had never actually bitten anyone for mentioning 'frizz' to her, but there had been a few close calls.		She had never actually bitten anyone for mentioning 'frizz' to her, but there had been a few close calls.

			=== Love ===


	There is something to be said for the sheer amount of vitriol that people, especially programmers, are able to put into simple text. Love is much harder. People cannot see love. It is not read; only if they have already heard it may they attribute it to the words before them.		There is something to be said for the sheer amount of vitriol that people, especially programmers, are able to put into simple text. Love is much harder. People cannot see love. It is not read; only if they have already heard it may they attribute it to the words before them.

			=== Time ===


	Time, of course, is an illusion - and it is a widely accepted fact that lunchtime is doubly so. That does, of course, assume that you believe in lunchtime at all; if you're the sort of person who gets up whenever and eats whatever whenever if you happen to be hungry, this doesn't really apply.		Time, of course, is an illusion - and it is a widely accepted fact that lunchtime is doubly so. That does, of course, assume that you believe in lunchtime at all; if you're the sort of person who gets up whenever and eats whatever whenever if you happen to be hungry, this doesn't really apply.
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	She poured a bucket of whitewash on Jeremy's head, not because this was normal or accepted behaviour, but simply because she'd always wanted to try it.		She poured a bucket of whitewash on Jeremy's head, not because this was normal or accepted behaviour, but simply because she'd always wanted to try it.

			== Day job ==


	"Hey boss? Mind if I take some leave? Something's come up."		"Hey boss? Mind if I take some leave? Something's come up."
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	Elizabeth Langly was a woman of action - from a desk, perhaps, but most action that has any meaningful effect spends some part of its life at a desk. And Elizabeth Langly was not a woman anyone in their right mind wanted to mess with.		Elizabeth Langly was a woman of action - from a desk, perhaps, but most action that has any meaningful effect spends some part of its life at a desk. And Elizabeth Langly was not a woman anyone in their right mind wanted to mess with.

			== The main character ==

	~~----~~



	This is a story about a character. She goes through life like any other, passing from stage to stage and going, in the grand scheme of things, generally unnoticed. She has never been all that comfortable with people, but she is smart and very good at remembering, so most also never realise it. Most, in fact, would think she's a natural, a real social butterfly, even, but such is simply part of the trade.		This is a story about a character. She goes through life like any other, passing from stage to stage and going, in the grand scheme of things, generally unnoticed. She has never been all that comfortable with people, but she is smart and very good at remembering, so most also never realise it. Most, in fact, would think she's a natural, a real social butterfly, even, but such is simply part of the trade.
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	So all there is to do is to go on. To smile and to mingle and to don the mask of belonging, to be a person for a little while and to be a part of the party that she had gone to all this trouble to put on. So Lilya Coren smiled, took the hand of her colleague, and walked out onto the floor, amidst the music and the colour and the vibrancy that everyone held so dear. This was the world they lived in, so she would live in it too, but though it remained alien to her, they would never know it. She moved from group to group, making conversation, noting interests and lies, and weaving all of those who had answered the invitation into her web.		So all there is to do is to go on. To smile and to mingle and to don the mask of belonging, to be a person for a little while and to be a part of the party that she had gone to all this trouble to put on. So Lilya Coren smiled, took the hand of her colleague, and walked out onto the floor, amidst the music and the colour and the vibrancy that everyone held so dear. This was the world they lived in, so she would live in it too, but though it remained alien to her, they would never know it. She moved from group to group, making conversation, noting interests and lies, and weaving all of those who had answered the invitation into her web.

			=== Time? ===


	Time is, of course, supposed to be viewed in order. It's like a good landscape painting - if you only look at small pieces of it in no particular order, you might wind up seeing all of it, but it won't look anything like all of it, just a bit of tree here, some grass there, some mountainy bits, some random birds in the sky, a piece of a cow - it might be interesting, but it doesn't give you the big picture unless you look at all of it as all of it, in some semblance of order. It doesn't tell you the story unless you can see what's going on.		Time is, of course, supposed to be viewed in order. It's like a good landscape painting - if you only look at small pieces of it in no particular order, you might wind up seeing all of it, but it won't look anything like all of it, just a bit of tree here, some grass there, some mountainy bits, some random birds in the sky, a piece of a cow - it might be interesting, but it doesn't give you the big picture unless you look at all of it as all of it, in some semblance of order. It doesn't tell you the story unless you can see what's going on.
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	Coren was a hunter, and in this job was the hunt.		Coren was a hunter, and in this job was the hunt.

			== Grief counselling ==


	Coren entered Carter's office and watched him for a moment. He gestured for her to sit.		Coren entered Carter's office and watched him for a moment. He gestured for her to sit.
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	Coren moved to leave, but paused. "Really, make sure you talk to someone. Please."		Coren moved to leave, but paused. "Really, make sure you talk to someone. Please."

			== Monsters ==

	~~----~~



	Monsters are real. Some wear familiar faces, some hide behind alien masks...		Monsters are real. Some wear familiar faces, some hide behind alien masks...

Apheori: +

2014-05-02T04:57:12Z

← Older revision		Revision as of 04:57, 2 May 2014
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			<screenplay>
			INT. BUREAU OFFICE - DAY

			Folks are busy at work and stuff. This is an intro following Allie Talbot around on a hoverboard while she annoys the hell out of everyone.

			Down a hallway, through an office area - most of the folks ignore/don't notice her; a couple look up, surprised; one greets her -

			SOMEONE
			Hey, Allie!

			She's past before she can respond, though she almost falls off trying.

			More hallway, nearly runs into someone, knocks a stack of papers out of someone else's arms, past a conference room with some sort of briefing going on (another team is inside; the presenter frowns at her), into and out of an office with three people in it - Miyazaki, Carter, and Rahah - they seem to be having some sort of important conversation, but stop when Allie flies in.

			ALLIE
			Good morning!

			CARTER
			What...

			Allie flies out before he can finish his sentence.

			RAHAH
			(intrigued)
			Who was that?

			CARTER
			Excuse me.

			He rushes out after her, but she's already gone, and we're moving on with her.

			Allie flies into the conference room where her team was going to be meeting and finally crashes into the wall and falls off. Whitehead, Albright, and Coren are sitting at the table drinking coffee; they watch with amusement.

			ALLIE
			Agh! Woah.
			(She gets up, looking around)
			Where is everyone? I mean... nevermind.

			WHITEHEAD
			Careful, mon. We don't need a new rule banning hovercraft in the office, do we?

			ALBRIGHT
			Is that thing real? Where did you get that?

			The hoverboard starts to float off in a random direction and Allie grabs it.

			ALIE
			Oh, someone was selling it online. Thought it was a joke, but nope. Completely real.
			(she turns it off)
			I'll take it apart later.

			Carter enters, Rahah and Miyazaki behind him, looking rather cross.

			CARTER
			Talbot!

			ALLIE
			Hey! We got a case?
			</screenplay>


			----


	<screenplay>		<screenplay>
	COREN		COREN

Apheori: +; merge from dead girl's song

2014-04-28T04:40:07Z

+; merge from dead girl's song

Show changes

Apheori: Apheori moved page This/Murderer's song to This/Hunter's song: Better

2014-04-28T04:31:55Z

Apheori moved page This/Murderer's song to This/Hunter's song: Better

← Older revision

Revision as of 04:31, 28 April 2014

Apheori: ...

2014-03-10T05:24:11Z

...

← Older revision		Revision as of 05:24, 10 March 2014
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	Coren moved to leave, but paused. "Really, make sure you talk to someone. Please."		Coren moved to leave, but paused. "Really, make sure you talk to someone. Please."



			----



			Monsters are real. Some wear familiar faces, some hide behind alien masks...

Apheori at 17:21, 22 September 2013

2013-09-22T17:21:38Z

← Older revision		Revision as of 17:21, 22 September 2013
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	Coren was a hunter, and in this job was the hunt.		Coren was a hunter, and in this job was the hunt.




			Coren entered Carter's office and watched him for a moment. He gestured for her to sit.

			"You know I don't do grief," she said, still standing.

			He nodded. "The brass expects a report, however. Mandatory grief counselling is mandatory."

			"So what should I say? The truth, or what they would want to read?" She cocked her head. "And which will you write down?"

			"You don't need to keep secrets here."

			Coren finally sat. "That's not an answer."

			Carter smiled slightly.

			"I'll tell you how I see it, then," Coren said. "Albright was here. Now she isn't, in some part because we failed her, and I most of all. But done is done, and here we are. Albright is dead. However we feel about that, we need to worry about the living now."

			"And how do you feel about that?" Carter asked.

			"Irritated. Albright was ours, and he took her away from us. But you already knew that." She looked him over. "But how are you holding up? We're all reporting to you - who are you talking to?"

			"You may go," he said.

			Coren moved to leave, but paused. "Really, make sure you talk to someone. Please."

Apheori at 17:41, 18 September 2013

2013-09-18T17:41:34Z

← Older revision		Revision as of 17:41, 18 September 2013
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	There were too many people. Too many fragments. ~~Lilya~~ Coren liked fragments, but she understood the importance of moderation - people got confused if there was too much of anything. Confused, worried, angry, fearful... that was people. So everything needed to fit, to suit the people.		This is a story about a character. She goes through life like any other, passing from stage to stage and going, in the grand scheme of things, generally unnoticed. She has never been all that comfortable with people, but she is smart and very good at remembering, so most also never realise it. Most, in fact, would think she's a natural, a real social butterfly, even, but such is simply part of the trade.

			She is an artist, specialising in character and graphic design, and also forgeries. She hadn't expected this last one, of course, but a college education, even in the fine arts, can lead to meeting some rather interesting people, and when a friend of a friend asked if she could replicate something, she didn't see why not, especially since she really needed the money. So one thing led to another and her skill with a brush and practiced sociality brought her here, to the heart of an underworld of thieves and scam artists.

			And life was good. People pay good money for a baked painting, because for those with the graces to pass one off as the real thing, they were very valuable indeed. The risk was on them, too, so she was generally safe, living well behind the cover of her design firm and away from any who would connect the pieces to her even if they were recognised. But good forgeries don't get recognised. That is sort of the entire point of forgery, despite the fact that an artist, in her heart of hearts, above all else wants recognition. She wants people to see her work for what it is, and to be able to remark on it, and most of all, to not attribute it to someone else. She wants credit.

			And then she got that credit. Someone recognised one, for one reason or another, and tracked down the source - her. It just wasn't the sort of credit that anyone wants to get.


			On sundays, the Corens got together for a round of games, tea, and chatter. It was their little ritual amidst the madness of the week that held them fast as a family even as they all went their separate ways - Mum working toward retirement, little brother Alex studying to be an engineer, and Lilya with her design company and all the other less known aspects of her life. Their father had died in an accident when Lilya was eight, Alex only two. They never spoke of it.

			Then Lilya one day found herself standing in her family's living room, surrounded by blood, and faced by a pair of bodies that would be unidentifiable to anyone but a child and sibling.

			One had been her mother. The head was basically missing, but it had definitely been her mother. And the other her little brother, who she had practically raised herself while their mother had been working to keep them in this apartment... now his eyeball was on a string hanging from the ceiling.

			The entire thing was laid out like a painting. One of hers, with light and dark, shadow and blood, trying to draw the eye right to the subjects at the forefront, as though it needed drawing. It tried. It didn't really succeed, but even in her surprise and rising anger she recognised the technique.

			And she was angry, very angry. She had never been so angry in her life, but normally anger wasn't something to be bothered with, rather like grief. Things happen. Deal with them. Try to avoid them in the future. Only practical.

			But now the practical side of her just went out the window.

			She didn't call the police. She didn't break down crying. She didn't yell or throw things or otherwise show her anger. That would come later. For now she simply turned around and left; someone else could find these empty shells, someone else could deal with them properly.

			Someone was trying to send her a message, she knew that much. It was specific, and hanging an eyeball on a string didn't make too much sense otherwise. In fact it didn't make too much sense with this theory, either, but Lilya had already made up her mind that it was so, and someone was going to pay, whoever was behind it. They had taken her family away from her. It was her family. Hers. Nobody took what was hers.




			You could have framed it.



			There were too many people. Too many fragments. Coren liked fragments, but she understood the importance of moderation - people got confused if there was too much of anything. Confused, worried, angry, fearful... that was people. So everything needed to fit, to suit the people.

	The problem was, there were too many people. And Coren simply did not know what to do about this. Too many to keep track of, too many to manage. Too much to follow. The story is too complicated, the guest list too long, the party just plain and simply too large. And simplifying it at this point is simply not an option. This is the world, after all, and everyone in it has their place, and everyone has an effect, no matter how small, that affects the whole.		The problem was, there were too many people. And Coren simply did not know what to do about this. Too many to keep track of, too many to manage. Too much to follow. The story is too complicated, the guest list too long, the party just plain and simply too large. And simplifying it at this point is simply not an option. This is the world, after all, and everyone in it has their place, and everyone has an effect, no matter how small, that affects the whole.

Apheori: Foo?

2013-09-06T06:53:37Z

Foo?

New page

There were too many people. Too many fragments. Lilya Coren liked fragments, but she understood the importance of moderation - people got confused if there was too much of anything. Confused, worried, angry, fearful... that was people. So everything needed to fit, to suit the people.

The problem was, there were too many people. And Coren simply did not know what to do about this. Too many to keep track of, too many to manage. Too much to follow. The story is too complicated, the guest list too long, the party just plain and simply too large. And simplifying it at this point is simply not an option. This is the world, after all, and everyone in it has their place, and everyone has an effect, no matter how small, that affects the whole.

So all there is to do is to go on. To smile and to mingle and to don the mask of belonging, to be a person for a little while and to be a part of the party that she had gone to all this trouble to put on. So Lilya Coren smiled, took the hand of her colleague, and walked out onto the floor, amidst the music and the colour and the vibrancy that everyone held so dear. This was the world they lived in, so she would live in it too, but though it remained alien to her, they would never know it. She moved from group to group, making conversation, noting interests and lies, and weaving all of those who had answered the invitation into her web.

Time is, of course, supposed to be viewed in order. It's like a good landscape painting - if you only look at small pieces of it in no particular order, you might wind up seeing all of it, but it won't look anything like all of it, just a bit of tree here, some grass there, some mountainy bits, some random birds in the sky, a piece of a cow - it might be interesting, but it doesn't give you the big picture unless you look at all of it as all of it, in some semblance of order. It doesn't tell you the story unless you can see what's going on.

Coren was good at landscapes. In fact she was good at most pictures, everything from portraits to fractals to the abstract. She ought to be. She had spent most of her life painting. Painting, scamming, killing, and then trying to understand it all, because quite frankly it didn't make a whole lot of sense. Life, that is. And death, really.

The only things Lilya Coren truly understood were paint and how to kill. She was good with people, oh, she was very good with them, but she didn't understand them. She could kill them, but that didn't really help. If anything, it made it worse. But she could also scam them, and while that also didn't really help, it had made a good living for her.

It had been something, at least.

Now, though, she had more. She had, in a way, a family - people who understood her and accepted her for who and what she was, and while they weren't necessarily happy about it, neither, frankly, was she. And that helped, somehow.

And she had a job, not only that was entirely legal and paid real money, but was also, in its own disturbing way, a satisfying one.

Coren was a hunter, and in this job was the hunt.