Author: Guess who? Genre: Sci-Fi, Drama, Psychological, Fantasy Good traits: It is written by that nice person Styx Flaws: It's loooooooooong, it's slow, it's boring, it has too many characters, and that nice person Styx is not a native English speaker. Other notes: Must warn for heavy stuff at times. ============================================= Luminiscence "This is everything." Two cerulean blue eyes statically chased a rope wrapped around an enigmatic sack, and held by a no less enigmatic female figure. "It is everything you are aware of, everything you experience, everything you know and feel. This entirety, this eternity... What more could there be to you?" The blue-eyed girl was staring at the average-looking sack and rope and couldn't help but wondering if its contents were really granted such importance. It suddenly moved as it was pulled away by its mysterious carrier. Her bodily light was drawn further and further away from the curious young lady that ogled her. "You may follow if you can. These possessions are yours more than anyone else's." Looking for something means admitting you lost it, and looking for what you lost equals more thinking about what you lack than about what you have left. The woman politely declined; she chose illusion over detachment. The luminiscence faded along with the rope and sack. But Everything was still safe and still preserved. ... A living creature has no other choice but to cling to what it has rather than what it might have had by an alternate outcome. The girl, in essence unaware of this law yet obedient to it all the same, knelt down and groped the floor beneath her feet. Grass, and no more than that. Why did she let Everything go? She started to have second thoughts, then third thoughts, and before she knew it she was caught in a flux of approving and disproving her recent decision. All she knew was that she no longer wanted to be in that same place. The space she now roamed was unsatisfactory, or maybe she was just insatiable. All she knew was that she wanted to leave. All she knew...There were times when she had known more. ... The grass degraded into a thousand faces, all of which familiar to the young woman, and all of them known as water. Aquatic riddles hovered in the air, shapeshifting every once in a while to remain how she wanted them to be: unfamiliar but reminiscent of the things she knew. She could tread the surface of the unknown ocean, which was ornamented by impressions of light. The young lady walked and judged. It was water that invited, water that allowed her to think. Water that showed its friendly faces. "Soon...", she whispered to her aquatic confidant. There was no sky. A coral pink frame that lined and rounded off the work of art, but no sky. The girl would have gazed at the substitute firmament for as long as she could ask unanswerable questions about it, but she was more interested in the liquid stasis she had now plunged herself in. A docile and most fascinating muse, beautified by optical tricks of an unexisting sun. She thanked these freckles of benevolence, thanked them for not knowing what they were, for inspiring her in ways the old times could not, and for reminding her that Everything was still safe and still preserved. Unless there came change. Opus I: Encroachers ================ "Well, I took a walk around the world to ease my troubled mind. I left my body lying somewhere in the sands of time..." - 3 Doors Down (Kryptonite) "So how's the Trojan Barrage coming along?" Aryane swallowed her beef. "Mmm...Well, it's not my prime project, but I'm finishing up. Having a little trouble with the facial expressions, actually.", she answered. "Why? Just make 'em panic. You've been there and done that.", Joy countered before grabbing some peas with her fork. "I want to give them a special kind of panic. The kind that makes every critic and even its creator shiver. Panic so intense that feeling it would be an art itself.", she said gleefully. The boy who sat right in front of her suppressed a slight frown and smiled. "You're an odd wench, Aryane. And odd wench...", Joy concluded, and with a "Hmm...Had better.", she finished her platter. ... "Say Joy, why are you so interested in her work anyway? Don't take this the wrong way but you've never shown interest in other people's paintings." Nenck, the boy who had lunch with the two girls, had listened to their talk and talked for the first time since he had stopped eating. "Does it matter? I just respect her as a painter, that's all. Besides, I encourage her change of theme. Ancient mythology happens to be my favourite.", the American girl retorted, her tone betraying the near-offense she took in that remark. It was hardly a secret that Joy liked the Greeks and Romans. Her choice of theme was limited to pompous sceneries; battles and ordeals of the gods, warped and colourful landscapes. Her concepts required magnificent skill, and rivals often whispered that she painted for the sole purpose of displaying that skill. "Just asking...", Nenck muttered. "Let's go ditch our plates.", Aryane suggested. A change of subject was well in its place, and they had all finished anyway. ... Aryane Lagrange had a strange way of walking. Gracefully cautious, as if she could end up somewhere else at any moment. Her steps scanned the ground, befriending it. Coaxing it into allowing her entire weight to be channeled from her feet into the vastness. The three of them went to their respective dorms after another day of art school. Nenck suddenly accelerated as he saw a familiar face: "Hey, Serge!", he shouted. Nencks muscular older brother looked in his direction. The man he was with went on. "Oi, bro. Aryane, Joy. How's it going?", he greeted friendily "Cool, cool. The usual routine. But what about you? We don't see you on the Bessel very often.", Nenck asked. Serge worked on many different ships indeed, and you never knew when and where he was going to pop up. Nenck and Serge always had talking to catch up on. "Gettin' some sculpture transported. Block A6. I'm in no hurry though.", the big brother said. ... "So what happened to the stuff I gave you guys? Still cherishing it as a memento to that fine bloke Serge Dercinches?", he asked mockingly . "Sheesh Serge, don't act as if you're dead.", his little brother chided teasingly. "Anyway, mine lies next to my bed as always." "I hung my spear to the wall. It looks very neat there.", Aryane answered. "Meh. Mine's stashed in my showcase, along with some other things.", Joy shrugged. ... "You kept it? I thought you didn't want it?", Aryane asked her friend when they had parted with Serge. "I don't. It's junk. I don't even know what it's called anymore." "Then why didn't you refuse it? It's called a tonfa by the way. Now you're stuck with it.", Nenck remarked. "Because it's impolite to turn down a gift, you hick.", the fair-haired girl retaliated. Aryane and Nenck were quite suspicious of that argument. It didn't sound like Joy at all... "When people take the trouble of willingly handing something over, then you thank them for that by keeping it no matter how worthless it is." Then again, that did sound like her...somehow. More like a mysterious knight in Joy's agate armour, doing her bidding and even going as far as to pose as her, which he often had to do. Gifts are links between two people. Reminders of a relationship, whether it still exists or not. Whoever gives a present shares a piece of himself; his affinity with the recipient. Gifts are discoveries without having been somewhere per se. Memories, often physical ones. Aryane had many physical memories, and she considered them all gifts. Pausing her introspection, she looked at the Trojan Barrage, lying meaninglessly on its easel. Soon...
i read this a while ago, and your other story also(the one in the prison...in hell?) anyways in both stories i commend you for originality. and not only interesting but i feel that you employ a lot of detail into the stories mystery. and like to get into the characters too. anyways, to CnC. you should space things a bit more, especcially if it something important, like descriptions, or convesations. and im intrigued by this story because by its description it seems interesting to mix art with Psychology and the occult. and remember the stories should be done for personal satisfaction, because sometimes people might not read yours, doesnt mean you should quit.
"I am dreaming." Agreeing murmurs; she was dreaming. "None of you are real. You are conceptualised by me, in my dream.", Aryane went on. She spoke with an informative tone, literally looking down upon the audience from her high speaker's chair. One of the listeners raised his hand and caught Aryane's attention. "But what if a thing or person doesn't need to be materialised in order to be real?" "Yeah!", another male voice shouted, "What gives you the right to label us as illusory?" "I...created...you...", she helplessly gasped. Her pulse and respiration went berserk. "Can something that is "unreal" have any effect on your so-called reality?", a third audience member asked. So this is what it felt like to get booed off stage... "I don't know...", she moaned, "I guess not..." Her feet stranded on solid ground. The difference in altitude was now a mere wish. ... Was this some sort of nightmare? It felt like a lucid dream. Did she choose to be slapped in the face like that? Did she? Between her teeth, she cursed her dream. She pushed a button on the side of her capsule bed, and the glass barrier lifted itself up. Aryane climbed out, and started readying herself for the new day, nervously recapitulating what she had experienced that night. ... The Laplace. One of the largest spacecrafts of the collective. The biggest mall in history; just about anything can be bought and sold there. Home to the best restaurants and taverns as well. "Tsk. What's taking Joy?", Aryane wondered. "This would be the first time she missed shopping weekend." "She won't get lost. Let's go on ahead.", Nenck proposed. "Fine. What do you want to do first?", Aryane asked genially. She liked shopping weekend, and she liked to be liberated from heavy questions even more. "Let's go see Laërtes. It's been a while since we've heard of him. He's at the library in all likelihood.", the boy decided. Aryane fell in with that choice: the more company she was with today, the better. ... A chubby young man with thick glasses sat in one of the reading rooms of the public library. "Hiya. Whatcha reading?", Aryane asked. Laërtes was slightly startled. "The Arrival of Iruel. Or how Man battles and at the same time welcomes terror. One of the most bedazzling works I've read so far." "Sorry to disturb you then.", Aryane apologised, but her good friend Laërtes didn't seem to mind. Suddenly, Aryane's cell phone beeped. "It's Joy." wont b coming 2day c u soon xxx "Complex stuff...And you really understand all that from the get-go?", Nenck asked visibly impressed. Laëtres shook his head. "It isn't meant to be understood so quickly. Pondering about the problems dished up in these works is the most appealing charm of reading them." Aryane looked stunned. It even occured to her that Laërtes might have gone crazy, but then she realised that it was perfectly normal for him to say such things. Nevertheless, she felt disillusioned and somewhat misunderstood. Has it been wrong of her to back away from mind-wrenching questions? Should she have delved deeper in the dark cave that is philosophy? Was it, like Laërtes stated many times, Man's duty to attain wisdom? And Aryane was burdened with even more questions. Questions about questions. "So your decision is definite?", a black-clad woman said. Her high heels irritated Joy Varaday. She tried to junction their sound to the ticking of a clock, bringing to herself that the unease would be over soon. That, however, did not work. "No, not definite. It's just...probable.", she said uncomfortably. "Ooooh.", the woman said while nodding. It was hard to tell if she was pleased or disappointed, but when she saw Joy's expression, she tried to cheer her up: "Don't worry, girl. Dwight's a really friendly man. He wouldn't hurt a fly." But that was what she feared the most... Iocas used her keycard to open a slide door. Joy entered a large room, dimly lit with red light and packed with soft furniture. She stepped up to a table where a middle-aged man sat. He wore sunglasses despite the obvious lack of brightness in the chamber, and a hideous pink overcoat hung from his chair. "Welcome, Joy. Please do take a seat. Shall we get down to business immediately?" "I thought we would be discussing matters in private.", Joy reproached, pinning her eyes on the woman who let her in. "Yes, but Iocas and I have no secrets for eachother. Besides, she's my secretary. You don't mind if she took notes, do you?" Joy's courage drifted away on a swan-shaped boat, not to be seen again for a while... "Nenck.", Aryane addressed her friend when they were back on the Bessel. "Hmm?" "Sleep with me tonight." It was as if a brick fell on Nencks head (or rather a house made of them). Sure, Aryane acted a little odd sometimes, but this? She was virtually on her knees, virtually digging her nails in his arm and virtually dragging him to her room already. "Well, we don't have to have sex. Not...necessarily." But she didn't want to sleep, much less lie awake alone. The intimacy, before she'd realise it meant nothing to either of them, would feel relieving as well. Then again, she didn't want to be a ****. She didn't want to be (and Aryane detested herself for thinking it) Joy. "Just stay with me. That's all. Sleep next to my bed and wake me up if I act weird." She didn't know why she had said that. She hadn't acted weird the night before...It just seemed to scare Nenck off more. Almost as much as it scared herself. "Please!", she added desperately. Aryane didn't even know why it was such a big deal exactly, but she needed someone by her side, preferably a good friend. Reassurance for her, in exchange for worries for him. An awkward impulse traveling through an increasing amount of centimeters.
"Can I get some time to think?", Joy asked eventually. She had never been so indecisive. "Of course. I wouldn't want you to feel pressed. I'll call you by the end of the week, but if you need some more time, that'd be fine.", Dwight reassured her. Joy didn't trust him. He was awfully easy-going for a business man. Iocas Nenepolis lept from her seat, as if she had been stung in the butt by a wasp. "What's all that ruckus outside?" ... "Fuller!", a female voice bellowed. An Asian-looking woman with crimson hair wearing a dirty overall rushed forward, holding another, younger Asian girl by her neck. "I know what you brought me here for, and I'm not interested!" She had a fierce expression, enraged and confident. The woman reminded Joy of ancient Sparta, where young men were whipped into combat machines powerful enough to tame a hurricane. "Play with this ***** if you're looking for girls, perv!" She threw the hapless girl to the floor. Iocas sped towards her and helped her up. "Are you all right? What's your name?", she asked with her most soothing shade of voice. "Ki...Kimimi. Kimimi Nezumo.", the girl blubbered. "I've got an appointment with Mr. Fuller and I met her along the way..." The fact that Joy wasn't the only invitee, that she was merely an article among the merchandise, infuriated her even more. When the older girl turned her back to the group, she roared: "Hey, you! Don't you run off now!" The Spartan-looking girl rotated to face the blond would-be threat. "Picking a fight? I'm itchin', valley girl!", she sneered. Rolling up her sleeves, she took a ready-to-attack stance. Joy didn't prepare herself for a cat fight though...yet. "That's Joy Varaday to you, Jap.", she replied coldly. "Don't try to insult me, American. Your country was the first to lose it." The Asian girl smiled demonically as she continued: "The great and mighty States, kneeling before their former allies: Canada, Australia, Europe, and us!" Dwight interfered formally: "Asako, you're forgetting that we won World War III single-handedly." "Wow, ****.", she sweared, raising her eyebrows and feigning suprise. "I didn't think anyone could be a big enough ass to overlook China. Did you really think the Middle-East fled to Africa because of the pretty landscapes, shithead?" She knew her history and she knew that she knew her history. After her display of this fair amount of knowledge, Asako turned her back to the rest again. "I dare you to waste my time like that again, Fuller!", she threatened and with large paces she marched to the transtation. ... "Who was that?", Joy asked her friend, staring at the spot where the bomb had been close to exploding.. "Asako Yuimura. A Japanese girl and another one of Dwights prospects...but a complete flop as you have seen." "Yeah, too bad for you guys. She would've been a great BDSM mistress, no doubt." Joy and Iocas laughed out loud. "Hey Iocas. Does Dwight...ask these things to many girls?" "Oh yeah. You were the 29th, I think." Joy felt as if was force-fed sour candy. She wouldn't stand out. She never stood out. She was never special...Never special enough. "No way! You guys got thrown out of Guiseppe's?", Nenck asked enthusiastically. Serge and his mates always had awesome and often hilarious stories to tell. "Yeah, and you know why? 'Cause Buldrod here complained about the size of the pizzas!" He pointed to the fat man next to him.Defending his case, Buldrod quickly explained: "I'm tellin' ya, those were the smallest pizzas I've ever seen. From now on I'm ordering at the Piazza del Gusto!" Serge checked the time and poked his gluttonous friend with his elbow. The blow was harder than expected. "Sorry. But we better get going. Wouldn't want to miss work today. You know who's calling upon our services?" Nenck shook his head, but by the sound of it it was someone very important, wealthy or famous. "Linel Messer.", Buldrod answered. "You're in cahoots with Messer? The...The...neo-communist?" Nenck added that last word with great prudence, whspering it barely audible. "Oh please, Nenck...The words you use are way too strong. We're not "in cahoots" with anyone, we only work for him because he pays us. And secondly, he's only called a neo-communist by those who like badmouthing him. Haven't you learned that he rebuilt an entire town using volunteers? Not to mention he paid the building materials out of his own pocket. Okay, so he gave everyone the same type of house and the same type of comfort, and he's clearly left-wing. What's so bad about that?" "Yeah, he's actually quite the hero.", Buldrod added. "Myeah, I don't know..." Nenck was still wary of his brother's new employer. "And if he's such a hero, why don't you become one of his volunteers too?", he asked sarcastically, addressing Buldrod rather than his brother. The former seemed to ponder about that but no witty answer came to mind. To her it was bliss, the fuss of day. Though it no longer waved with streams of yellow and gold, Aryane's memories of the sun were mostly pleasant ones. Sunday. She giggled. Such gleeful irony. The night had brought a courtesy visit to her, accompagnied by his vassal Hypnos. The temperamental hero who dares riding the Nightmare; that night he had slain her. Aryane smiled contently: she had gotten a new idea for a painting. The idea of a mischievous but handsome lad standing triumphantly at the corpse of a pale, loathsome horse took its first leap into abstract art. "Aryane, can I come in?", Joy requested. Her wish contained a disturbing pinch of begging...
Stars could have dissolved into flickering ashes when Joy outed even the slightest hint of vulnerability. Aryane put away her brush and welcomed her with a: "Yeah, come in." Joy walked into the room, her eyes falling upon Aryane's paintings. She didn't look any different. Aryane tried to have a good look at her friend's face to see if she had been crying, but she had to be careful not to alert her of her concern. When she finally got the chance, Aryane didn't remark a trace of tears. When she thought about it, she had never even seen Joy cry despite their old friendship. She linked it to and even blamed it on Joy's lack of tragedy in her life so far. "We have some shopping to catch up on.", the blonde stated. It sounded more like an order than an offer. Aryane was in two minds. Today was the 27th, on which she had planned to go to her parents. On the other hand, refusing Joy's request could harm their camaraderie. And going against Joy when she was in a bad mood wasn't a very good idea. Aryane Lagrange peered out the window: the stars were still there. "She's not coming..." She sat in wait in front of the small circular window, as if she had any chance of spotting her daughter in outer space. "Nope, she's not...", a man sighed. He was reading the news in front of his computer, having given up hope some time before his wife had. Their daughter had become their messiah, their ticket to love and happiness. Sadly, her visits became less and less frequent since she had entered college. "So how was your day?", Niej Lagrange asked her husband. "Just...the usual. How about yours?", Welbeau replied. "Yeah, same here." Aryane's mother sighed deeply. One could have felt an invisible, inaudible martyr falling to the floor, and bleeding to death. "Hey, Aryane. Wait up...", the chubby student Laërtes panted. "Huh...Huh...Shouldn't you be at your parents'?" Laërtes once again comfirmed the fact that he had a magnificent memory and was a dear friend to her. Laërtes remembered his friends' pleasures and hassles as if they were important to him personally. However he was mostly too shy to actually use that skill for conversation... "She rescheduled.", Joy interfered, "Some of us want to enjoy life before it burns out." "As if someone like you would know the secret to living...", the bookwurm said. "What's that supposed to mean? Did the piece of furniture that ran away from its library find some elixir of life in one of his books?", Joy teased. Her tone was soft, high-pitched and at least as annoying as a buzzing mosquito. "******...It was figure of speech. I meant to say that people like you are clueless about how life should be lived. Day to day, whim to whim, vice to vice, solution to vice." Was there such a difference? Aryane got stabbed in the front by vexing difficulties again. She had to think of her parents again, somehow... "Oh boy, I feel a lecture coming up he-" "That's enough!", the neutral observer interrupted. "Both of you." She glanced at the two of them and ran off, but not to the boutiques Joy would take her. "Hey, girlfriend. Where are you going?" "To my parents!" She wanted to smile, she wanted to talk, she wanted to confirm...
I wish I could understand this better, perhaps its the writing, perhaps its the spacing or maybe its the amount of characters that keep the simple situation at hand a bit smothered under something. Now, If you are changing a scene, then perhaps you should consider showing something to portray the change. It doesn't mean its a bad story(but I don't think I need to tell you that) I just would advice at a clearer presentation to this, not because its bad but I wanted to read it, but struggled with it. I do like that you keep this at a very realistic level and there's something that picks the interest, but again I feel it is not presented in the best way.
The amount of characters can be a bit frightening, but truth be told their numbers will increase even more and I try to multi-layer as many of them as possible (though not necessarily in this chapter). I'm trying to let the simple situation evolve to something more complex. I need a large cast of characters who interact with eachother. They will all have their point in the story, rest assured. This first chapter is kind of an introduction to the characters. It sets a light on their personalities and how their lives intersect with others'. There are few actual plot points. I have weird spacing habits indeed. I usually leave a space when either of these occur: (1) a shift of setting and characters (2) the same scene with the same character, but with a pause in it (a snippet of scene where nothing happens and which is cut out) (3) when a character is waking up or brought back to reality after a dream, spacing out or any mind screw moment really. I see your point. I really do. But I'm not going to insert something along these lines: "Times Square, New York City, 3:00 PM" Simply because you, the reader, are often not allowed to know. Also, keeping you in the dark the first few lines adds to the mystery and intrigue, at least that's what I've been told. In other words, you were meant to struggle and make discoveries along the way instead of a setting being given from the very beginning. I want to face slap you with it. :p By realistic I do hope that you're referring to the way I have portrayed the characters and not the overall setting, because there will be more sci-fi and fantasy elements interwoven in the story in later chapters. :unsure: I'll try this: I'll leave spaces every time there is a change of character. In any other case I will separate them with "..." indicating a pause. I hope that helps, even if it is a little. I will do that to my past entries as well. === White hands. She was still running...somewhere. Cold, marble-coloured arms grabbed her limbs. Reality was pulling her right arm, Existence tried to rip off her left. And at the far end of her body, Life tugged both of her legs. A torso sank inside of her. Aryane Lagrange felt her tendons gradually giving out. She would lose it to Life, Existence and Reality. Some part of her was ready to give in; it did not mind. Everything she had already belonged to that triplet of ghostly forces anyway. But another side of her did not want to be separated. It did not want to be named and classified. It only wanted to be Aryane... Her two conflicting opinions fought, in a land that had been peaceful once but which, from that moment onward, would be forever mangled. Since she wasn't even sure that she was hurt, she could not even scream in pain... ... Aryane had been on a vacation to an unscathed land. Soon she would return and she would, although perhaps not whole-heartedly, pledge her allegiance to all three of them. The three who were kings but not lieges. "Aryane...Aryane...", Niej had bent over her daughter's face. When Aryane opened her blueish eyes (which she had inherited from her), she smiled. "Welcome back, sweetie." "Mom? Mom...", Aryane sighed. Despite feeling temporarily safeguarded from another mental uproar already , she was still quite relieved. She gave her mother a big hug. Her father stood behind his wife, looking concerned. "You passed out at some point. What happened?", Welbeau worried. "I just...wasn't feeling well.", she croaked. "You still look pale.", her father resumed, "It's a good thing we called doctor Antonov." "Thanks.", Aryane said. She didn't think it was really necessary, but a consultation wouldn't take that long anyway. "Hey, Aryane! You woke up!", a child cheered. Aryane looked. She recognized the familiar voice. "I found you lying in the hallway so I ran to your parents!" A girl in a grey synthetic fur coat jumped on the bed. "Glad to see that you're okay!", the girl said genially. "Thanks! And thank you very much for all your help! I owe you one, LaMaan." LaMaan was a cute girl. She was as welcome at her parents' place as she was at home. Some neighbourhood members had even mistaken them for sisters. Bust most importantly, Aryane and LaMaan were Niej and Welbeau's life-jackets... "It's been a whole year since he died. A whole year already...", a man recalled. "Yes. But at least we were able to manage...Let's drink to that.", a woman relativized. She lifted her glass of wine; the man hesitantly mimicked her. They drank slowly but couldn't prevent a horrible silence to fall. It spread across the room like a lethal gas; it would hungrily absorb their voices even if they wanted to speak. Linel Messer and Jentsey Callagher were stupefied; they seldom talked to eachother privately (if ever) and did not know how to conduct themselves in this context. They had often been political adversaries; civil, yet conflicting. "I think we should be grateful. If he had passed away a couple of years sooner, we might not even have been able to leave Earth.", Linel said. The gaseous quiet withdrew, evanescing in an equally unpleasant vacuum. "Don't say such things...", Jentsey admonished, subliminally agreeing with every word Linel had said. Two more minutes passed... "I summoned another guest here as well...He will be here shortly.", Jentsey informed. "Medard Rabelais?", Linel asked somewhat rhetorically. Jentsey nodded. Neither of them were very happy with the prospect of Medard showing up here. Although Linel and Jentsey disagreed rather frequently, their dislike of the French dandy was mutual and they occasionally banded together to oppose Medards ridiculous ideas. Before Linel could do as much as sigh or pull a fitting face, Jentsey explained: "If he found out that we have had a private conversation about something like this, there's no telling what kind of rumour he would spread." Linel agreed. Even though he was a coxcomb, the Rabelais family has always had influential supporters. Two more minutes passed... If the slide doors weren't secured, Medard Rabelais would have let himself in. Jentsey Callagher allowed him in instead. "Bonsoir, Jentsey! You look lovely! And good evening to you too, Linel!", the fop greeted. He kissed Jentsey on the cheek twice and shook hands with Linel while thanking his host: "It was most kind of you invite me. Most kind!" And they talked for hours, so much that Linel and Jentsey wanted the fiendish vapour of silence to fall over them again. "Don't stare like that.", he commanded his eyes. "Go to sleep." Nenck Dercinches had experienced one of his worst nights ever. Aryane had been behaving differently lately, she was more off her rocker than usual. Her fear of freaking out that night had passed on to him as well. He had found Aryane an interesting girl. She hadn't been in many romantic relationships despite her good looks and friendly personality. He figured her interest in girly subjects was definitely to blame, but there was something else as well. Aryane had a tendency to speak her mind and out her ideas at all times, and they were either way too complex and abstract for someone else to understand, or shamelessly (almost taboo-breakingly) open. Nenck concluded that his friend was too introverted and at the same time too outspoken to engage in a long-term relationship. As for himself, he had always liked but never loved Aryane Lagrange, and he had never even quested for the "why?". Their friendship just felt sufficient, that was all. He turned around, lying on his side, and he peered through the window into outer space. He thought of the outside of the ships, cold and grey. "What does it matter? All the love here is made of metal anyway..." And Nenck wanted to be somewhere else. At a place where he could love and where he could look for someone who would love him too.
I just meant, the changing of scenes. Much like in some parts you're reading about Aryane and after a few you see someone else completely. That in my opinion should merit something like this example: Spoiler But of course that's up to choice, I don't want to ruin your story and all.
To be honest I hate the "leave spacing between every line of dialogue" structure. It stretches long paragraphs even more and it seems kinda pointless (It's clear when someone else is saying something? Or isn't it?). Lengthy dialogues (which I believe there will be) would be cut up in fragments so small that the whole becomes an eyesore imo. :wacko: Also I have yet to read a novel that actually uses it, and I've read quite a few. :unsure: A space now automatically implies a change of characters, which has the same effect as the "=======". So one side of the problem is now solved. === "Well, Miss Langrange, you're perfectly healthy.", Dr. Antonov ascertained. He kept calling her by her last name even though Aryane had repeatedly permitted her physician to call her by her first. "Thanks, doctor. That's good to hear." But Aryane already knew that there was nothing wrong with here. She hardly needed the confirmation. "But fainting isn't always the result of a physical malfunction. Have you been stressed or depressed lately?" "No, not at all.", the girl lied. A smile she hastily forced had to add to the credibility. Aryane quickly looked for her wallet. She wanted to pay Weggerik Antonov and get it over with before he started to ask more personal questions. "By the way, Miss Lagrange.", Weggerik addressed her. The girl froze and looked in her doctor's direction. "I think this day should become one of global mourning, so I won't charge you this time." "Global mourning?", she wondered. "Bauker Groeborg died exactly one year ago.", Weggerik accusingly reminded her. Aryane felt rather stupid: how could she have forgotten? Weggerik Antonov had been one of Groeborgs strongest supporters over the years, and he never hid that. His wife even left him because of his fanaticism, or so the rumour went. Because of the absent-minded impression the young girl gave him, Weggerik just had to ask one more time: "Are you sure you're not under stress?" "Yes, very sure.", Aryane responded and she put away her money. Weggerik thought of her and his other patients; he diagnosed and healed them, they paid him. An agreement...As it always used to be on Earth and on these vessels, everything happened by a contract. And not even Bauker Groeborg would have been able to make a change in that. Nearly midnight. Commotion in the beating heart of humanity. The mothsership Galilei was pulsing as it had never pulsed before. Breathing intensely. Dividing adrenaline. Linel Messer and Jentsey Callagher, released from the talkative flash flood that was Rabelais, had their attention glued to a big screen where the visage of a young man was visible. "But are you absolutely sure?", was what Linel wanted to know. "Nope, not quite. That's why I'd like permission to launch the satellite." "And when would you have the results?", Messer inquired. "Within a couple of days. Traveling distance is about 4 or 5 days. If we launch the satellite now, we'll be sure to have the results before then...I hope." Linel and Jentsey looked at eachother for a moment. "Very well then.", Linel decided, "Launch it!" "Understood." Jentsey stepped closer to the screen and caught the pilot's attention. "Would you like to make the announcement tomorrow afternoon?", she requested. "Do I? Hell yeah! Thanks for the honour, Ms. Callagher!" "You're welcome. Oh, and Vamen...Talk professionally." The transmission ended. "What did you do that for?", Linel asked. "What do you mean?" "You know..."Make the announcement". This case is way too unsteady. What if it turns out to be a complete...turkey?" "Then I'll take responsibility myself. Don't worry." She took a seat in a desk chair and sighed deeply. "I don't know if I should tell you this, being my rival and all, but I was getting sick of it. Aside from a politician, I'm still a human and a woman...I'm craving change." She touched her forehead as if she was suffering from a headache. "No, I understand. Change would be...nice." Jentsey and Linel were very strong characters. They never showed their weaknesses in public, and they both knew how to handle their deficits. But this was nothing to be ashamed of: everyone wanted change. The human race had become too stagnant for its own good. "I am going to order every single pilot to accelerate...Just a little. Are you okay with that?" Linel did not understand why she was asking his permission. He merely answered: "Go ahead. But if you're wrong about this..." "But what if I'm right?" "Well...Aside from a politician, you're still a human and a woman. I'll blame your female intuition." Both of them laughed. "Linel...Thanks for letting me vent.", Jentsey thanked her competitor. "No problem.", and both of them went to their respective beds. It was a magnificent feeling, the thrill of change... It was a tree A tree with golden leaves Cloaked in smoke Stroked across heliotrope Nearer, nearer, so near Honeyed light Spiced with warm darkness Ingrained delight With a fragrant desire To taste her own leaves She could picture the entire scene, from top to bottom. And although she hoped it in hindsight, Aryane had had no control at all about her dream, that nightmarish nectar. She could only replay it, andtry to cut away that last emotion, the one of insatiable longing. Her thoughts returned to art class. Talented as she was, Aryane could afford to drowse away every once in a while, but what she really wanted was to pay attention. After three minutes of doing so however, something queer happened... On the screen in front of the classroom, the face of a young man, about Aryane's age, appeared and spoke to them: "Greetings, Earthlings...Sheesh, I sound like an alien...Greetings, fellow Earthlings! May I have your attention, please? I am Picard pilot Vamen Egeleerd and I have a special announcement to make. Last night, at 23.04, the Explorers discovered a new planet and confirmed the prescence of water. A photography satellite has been launched that will gauge organic activity on this planet and test it on its ability to sustain human life. It'll only be 4 days after this one until we get there. We will impart you with as much information as we can during that time. Good day to you all." The transmission ended.
