Nanowrimo day 6: Anachronominion part three: outline sections six and seven, day 1

We need to run, Cloud said. Her forehead burst into a hot crimson blush, her hand going dead in Moone's. Her body hitting the floor.

The Pontifex was there, by his side. Run, he yelled, though Moone didn't hear it. Bursting through the [french doors,] into the bright outdoor light. They were both running. Ducking into a shrub, crawling through the mud of the underbrush. The agents stationed around outside searching for them, confused, unable to detect their auras. One of them hearing something, approaching their location, right on top of them...

Moone woke up, cold sweat clinging his sleeping bag to his skin. He looked up at the prostrate form of the Pontifex, lying across from him in his own sleeping bag, still breathing gently, eyeballs fluttering underneath their lids. Gingerly, Moone crawled up out over him, exited the tent, popping his head up into the pre-dawn light, and took a deep gulp of air. It seemed almost peaceful out here. The sky was awash in a deep blue, which soon became touched with violet and yellow as the sun prepared to crest the horizon.

It had been two weeks. Two weeks on the run, and Moone was by now plagued with new nightmares. Back to that day, over and over. Nearly being shot, nearly being blown up. The Secretary, lying in a puddle of his own blood. Coming face-to-face with Gef, the perpetrator of it all, whom once Moone had felt a friend. But especially the part at the end, letting Cloud down, her blood the price for his mistake.

Moone's dreams were a force, he'd always felt. As real as the waking world. A thousand different Clouds, all real, all living the same life and dying the same death, night after night. Moone's nightmares of inadequacies were quelched, now, it seemed. Or at least, they'd taken a different form.

Pontifex's aura wrapped around Moone like a warm blanket. He felt almost invincible with it around him. And though it kept Moone's bane from triggering, alerting any harmful supernatural creatures nearby to Moone's existence, he had to live constantly with the Pontifex himself, who always knew where Moone was, and who still could feel the call to injure Moone, strong as the enhanced bane, regardless of the shape of the boon around it.

Moone had mixed feelings about the Pontifex's company. [Establish during contract scene a reason for them to stick together- until Moone's name is cleared.] He still could, of course, escape Pontifex's power if the man really did decide to strike. But that wasn't the thing that was really bothering him...

His thoughts were interrupted by the rustling sound of the tent unzipping behind him, Pontifex throwing open the flap and stepping up into the morning breeze. "So," the Pontifex's familiar voice came, as Moone turned around. "It's today, isn't it?"

Moone nodded. "It's today."

Two weeks of hiking had taken the pair of them from the northeastern edge of Virginia to the western edge of West Virginia, to a small town on the Ohio boarder called Point Pleasant. They were seeking the aid of an old acquaintance of Moone's, and the cell of which he was part.

Moone hadn't been born into this world, but he was still a part of it. Most, but as far as Moone knew not all, of the cryptozoological urban legends occurring in North America in the past fifty years was actually the work of a collective of undercover agents provocateur, in the field to [sow confusion,] this particular cell being a group with whom Moone had worked previously.

They were here to see an old friend, known to Moone as Himsters Keepses.

But the locals knew him as the Mothman.

Moone had played the role of a cutout, [a courier intermediary between an agent and the outside world,] signaling Keepses that a [supply dump] was waiting for him at Keepses's regular drop point. The drop was in one hour.
Moone exhaled shakily. He didn't want to run for the rest of his life. [Moone's motivations for seeking aid from the Mothman? he's on the run, and needs help, but being on the run he's reevaluating his attitudes or something.] The nightmares of a [few?] month[s] ago, they had awakened in him a realization, that although reality may have been unpredictable, that although the world may have been dangerous and things would go wrong, [they'd still be safe;] things would go wrong and [that would be okay.] The new nightmares, they cemented [things;] were brought around not from the end of the old dreams but the failure itself. Failing Cloud, like that. In failing Cloud he'd failed himself-- would that have been possible?

Maybe Tetragrammaton was, like he'd pondered sometimes, just another trap that he could escape from. Maybe his [expulsion] from Tetragrammaton was brought about, possibly because he'd used the Pontifex's aura; in enhancing his boon, in such a way that he could escape from any supernatural scenario, the used of the aura had marked his escape from Tetragrammaton, but the method by which it was done inadvertently wound up as Cloud's death. Now that Moone was free, would going back to them like he was trying to do make Cloud's death in vain?
Or maybe Tetragrammaton was just another trap he could escape from, but he would need to stop outrunning them in order to do so. Rejoin, and retire, not escape by going on the lam from the government. Or else he really would be running the rest of his life.

Catch up or outrun. Else be turned to stone, Moone mused. Laelaps and the Cadmean Vixen. Which of those was he? Perhaps he had always been both.

He finalized his plan with the Pontifex. Now that Moone had the attention of Keepses, he'd infiltrate into the group by claiming the necessity to [shake up the way that] Keepses received this particular [contact,] needing to perform a live drop instead of a dead one. This is where the Pontifex would come in, as the role of the courier. Probably claiming that the recent events at the Pentagram had compromised the [communications] channel.

This was the shakiest part of the plan; the project that Mothman belonged to was actually an operation of the occult government's domestic-intelligence bureau, Project Overneath; what went on with Tetragrammaton was another jurisdiction entirely; [would something going on at CIA headquarters fall under the FBI's jurisdiction, if the headquarters is domestic?] Would this story sell? If Keepses decided to bolt, he'd at least be out in the open, where Moone, whom Keepses would recognize, could approach him. He would need to come out with the truth, then, and there was no guarantee that Keepses would believe it- would he have already heard of Moone's alleged [villainy]?

If Keepses bought the line, then Moone was in, and he'd have a powerful ally on his side. But if he didn't, then Moone was truly out in the cold.

Pontifex knew the mission, and agreed with the assessment that going along with it served his own best self-interests in the end- with Moone free, the Pontifex would be free. Moone was the Pontifex’s handling officer, but he didn’t technically have the authorization in himself to let Pontifex free- he’d be in trouble again, rightfully this time, possibly court martialed. It was an action committed in the course of escaping for his life in the face of wrongful [accusal,] and hopefully that would allow him some [legal] leeway, but still Moone suspected that even if Pontifex weren’t technically directly attacking him he’d get his vengeance in the end, through the contract itself.

Half an hour later, the Pontifex sat on a bench under a copse of trees at Tu-Endie-Wei State Park, wearing the [signaled item of clothing] as had been signaled in the previous [bout of communication.] Moone was positioned [distance] away, at an information plaque, close enough to observe and intercede if necessary but far enough away to remain inconspicuous. There had been a battle here, the plaque said, more than 200 years ago now, between white settlers and Indians; some said it even technically marked the first battle of what became the American Revolution, [make that tie in symbolically somehow or something?!] Things had a tendency to spiral out of control like that.

A man approached out of the long shadows of [place.] It was still early morning, and the air was still relatively cool, even here in the mid-summer. The man [describe man.] Moone recognized him from the way he walked. Himsters.

The conversation, as relayed to Moone later, went as follows:

Keepses approached, gave sign; Pontifex received sign and gave counter-sign. Pontifex, trying to get Keepses to bring them back to their cell, began talking about the attack at the Pentagram, and tried to bluff his way how that would relate to Overneath jurisdiction, running out the possible scenarios that he had gone over with Moone, but Keepses just said, oh sure, like it would be a natural thing for the jurisdiction to cross over like that.

Pontifex was confused by this, and Keepses was confused by his confusion. Pontifex tried to play it off, mentioning Moone also in an attempt to see if Moone would be safe with Keepses’s cell. At this point, also, he began signaling Moone with his body language (crossing his legs, right over left) to be on the ready to take action. Keepses, talking about Moone, said that he wasn’t sure if he believed it; Pontifex said good, and signaled Moone to approach.

Which is when he did.

Keepses looked justifiably surprised to see Moone. “What’s going on?” Keepses asked.

“You tell us,” the Pontifex said, briefly explaining to Moone that the scenarios they’d created for describing jurisdictional [stuff] were [needless,] and that the Pontifex had acted like it was a perfectly natural thing for an occurrence affecting one agency would affect tradecraft in another.

Keepses looked to the right, then to the left. “We’re going to need to talk someplace more private,” said he, and guided them to the cell’s safe house with him.

NaNoWriMo day 5- chapter, what, fourish? I actually think there may be two chapters in here somewhere

Moone ran. There was the blast of a final bomb somewhere distant, but Moone ignored that for now. Where was a map? His mind was [singularly focused] on one goal: get to Cloud before the guards got to him. Moone [should have been] able to use the map system to track Cloud down. He wouldn't be locked out of the system, just because it was pinging him. It wasn't a person; it wouldn't [lock him out] in itself, the way a person would know to do if turned against him. He could still use the building's map system to lead himself to Cloud, even if the same system was itself already actively leading others to him.

Or, maybe not.

Moone considered the ducking and weaving pattern with which he was snaking his way through the halls. They were tracking him via supernatural means-- and that meant that he could escape it. With the building's [aura-reading] security [pinging his location] being a supernatural method of threat, he could instinctively avoid the pathways of any enemies using [that security system.] The only way they'd be able to circumnavigate his own circumnavigation skills would be...--

Turning the next corner, Moone ran into a few guards who weren't tracking him down at all, just holding their positions. --Not to attempt to circumnavigate at all. Well, great. They'd realized the same thing that he had.

No matter. Now that they had him, they wouldn't be able to injure him. They were smart enough to realize not to try to track him down supernaturally; they'd be smart enough to not attempt to further put him in supernatural danger. They'd probably just take him to custody, where he'd easily be able to call upon Cloud as a witness.

The guard nearest to Moone pulled out a pistol, and fired. Moone just managed to leap back behind the corner he'd come around, and his heart nearly stopped as he glanced back at the bullet hole in the wall behind him and realized how lucky he'd just been.

The bullet hole had no glyph flaming in the air before it. Were these bullets, non-supernatural?

They could always put him in non-supernatural danger, of course. They had a contingency in place Moone rendered himself a threat. Of course. Well, he told himself, withdrawing and doing a stealth roll into a nearby alcove, at least they're afraid of me enough for that. 

He flipped through the door in front of him, into an office. Further gunshots splintered bullet holes into the door as it closed behind him, tightly clustered and aimed where his center of mass had been. They were shooting to kill, weren't they. It looked like they weren't open to negotiation as he'd hoped. Moone hid at random under a workstation at one of the rows of counters, making sure they'd need to track him magically in order to most quickly find him.

He considered his predicament.

Even bullets made out of cold-iron, which had anti-magical effects, would still count as supernatural and thus give Moone the opportunity to negate them somehow. But regular bullets, fired from regular guns, held by regular guards-- or even theoretically witch guards who happened to be using no hexes or spells at the moment-- could bring Moone down like the mortal man he was, and not allow him any opportunity to explain his innocence.

Moone was seized with a terrible panic. He felt very small, very alone; there is a dread, deep in the bones, that is usually only felt by the smallest of children, ones still full of simple faith and perfect knowledge: the knowledge that the world is dangerous, that it is inhabited down to its deepest layers by monsters. [How ironic] that this fear was brought on by the opposite reason; it was monsters that Moone would be able escape, and the threats of men that he couldn't. Another wave of hopelessness. Moone felt drowning. Just like the dream of his, one half of his [geis] eating the other half like a snake eating its tail, leaving him completely vulnerable.

And with that memory coming back to him, all at once Moone came up with a plan. It couldn't have been of his boon, could it have. Either way, his fear dissolved, for no matter the source of the realization Moone now had a plan of action again, and Moone always operated better, even under instinctive action, with a plan of attack. He stood up from under the countertop, and [went] a few steps to a side doorway, as he felt [the system mass-pinging his location] go away.

Moone ducked back down again. Right as he did so, guards from all sides bust down the doors. They began to sweep the room systematically, without the use of magic. He didn't have much time; they were locking the place down totally. Moone wormed as stealthily as he could and body-rolled across the aisle to the next row of countertops over. He wasn't even sure, really, if his plan would work, for a whole host of reasons, and he wasn't sure if his plan wasn't somehow from his boon, but it felt deep down like it was his own plan, his own survival skills, that was carrying him through, and that thought thrilled him. He scanned the room from his low angle, and saw that the guards' relative positions to one another was right.

Moone sprung up like a jack-in-the-box, rolled forward sweeping the legs of the nearest guard, and jerked out a side door. A few bullets whizzed behind him as he did so, but only from the guard nearest, who twisted and shot as he fell; the rest of the guards had refrained from firing so as not to hit anyone in the crossfire.

Moone ran ahead of the guards as they attempted to stream out of the room behind him, but turned another corner before they could open the door and see which direction he'd gone. There was a map, finally, framed on a wall across the hall and to the left; Moone pulled it off the wall and ducked behind an ash-smeared pillar. The air was still heavy with smoke, and humid from the sprinkler system, but the sprinklers had been turned off by now, and a cavalcade of supernatural first responders was beginning to arrive.

Moone put his finger to the glass of the map's frame, and drew in the directory information- only instead of summoning a call to locate Cloud, he requested to know the direction the Pontifex was instead. He was led to a suite of debriefing/interrogation rooms on the second floor-- he made his way up the stairwell, using the map to make sure nobody was near, and navigated himself to the correct room. [is the door locked? does he pick it through magical means?]

[what's Pontifex's state when Moone finds him?]

"You can bestow your aura," Moone stated, "and it enhances the powers of whoever takes it on."

Pontifex blinked, and opened his mouth, before shutting it and making a smiling sort of grimace. "Yes, I see," he said, finally. Moone and Pontifex had been in communication for months, but this was still one of the first times Moone actually heard Pontifex speak. His voice was worn and reedy, but it echoed something wise and ancient. Like pebbles in a mossy well.

"I need you to bestow your aura on me."

[perhaps they don't trust pontifex much, have been keeping him detained, though Moone trusts him; in return for the aura Moone promises to let pontifex free. Moone feels some metaphysical aspect of him drain out as he makes this bond, same as when he makes any other bargain or supernaturally binding agreement. Pontifex has something of a death wish and that can come through here as well. somehow.]

Moone could feel his bane and boon each grow stronger. Feel it. A few weeks ago, back in [Russia] and meeting the Pontifex for the first time, being able to sense the power just from being near him, was only [an interesting experiment compared to now]... now with the power of the full magical aura upon him, enhancing his own, it was [another level entirely.] Just like his dream. Just like his dream. Moone closed his eyes, reached out into his aura, only instead of covering up his enhanced boon with his enhanced bane, used his boon as the snake's head instead, reaching around and covering up his bane.

Moone's aura was usually very strong from the outside, and attracted beings to it like an irresistible undertow, sweeping them in to try and do him harm. He'd be able to march against those own waves himself, but now... now he sculpted the shape of the tides, himself, and channeled the dangerous currents inward, with the boon waves Moone himself rode directed outward instead. Moone laughed [describe laugh.] It worked.

"How long does your granted aura stay before it reverts back to you?" Moone asked.

Pontifex looked up warily, and sighed. "I have no power to call it back to me," he said. "You're only going to have to fulfill your end of the agreement, and bestow it upon me so that I may bestow it upon others. Maybe one day it will be used for its ultimate purpose."

[Moone didn't stop to consider what that purpose would be. It wasn't important right now- as long as Moone trusted Pontifex, he was sure that it would be used one day. ] To prove it to him, and to prove his innocence to everyone else, Moone needed to visit one more person. Mushroom Cloud, finally.

He tapped at the map again, brought up Cloud's position, and beckoned the Pontifex to come with him as he made his way in the direction the map indicated in his aura. It was incredible- with the Pontifex's boon granted upon him, Moone could feel not just Cloud's direction but Cloud's location through the map system, even more clearly than MacBeth's psychic links created between teammates. Also enhanced was his ability granted through the map to locate any others nearby in his periphery, but with the restructuring of his own aura, through the secondary layer of Pontifex's aura, he doubted that the guards would be much of a threat to him any longer, even with non-supernatural weapons and tactics.

Moone frowned as he considered the fact that he'd need to return the aura to Pontifex once he was done- but of course, once Moone's innocence was proven, he wouldn't need the aura any longer. He nodded in resolve, and pushed his way into the ground level foyer, whereat a triage was being set up to administer aid to the wounded.

[they find Cloud, Moone being swarmed on all sides by agents, but somehow dodging them long enough to tell them to let him at Cloud.] It was only after he said it that Moone realized the meaning they'd read into his words. They'd think that Cloud was an accomplice somehow, maybe the one who set up the explosives, the way that Lovecraft must surely have done with Gef.

"No, I can prove it," Moone said, only having to [dodge] one [bullet] this time- the agents were beginning to realize the futility of their tactics against him. "I'm bound by soul oath to tell Mushroom Cloud only the truth, and if I tell her, and you watch me tell her, then you'll know that you'll have to let me off."

He made his way to where Mushroom Cloud was standing, alone in the crowd. The agents continued to train their guns after him.

"This is wrong," said Cloud. We need to get out of here. Not just you, but all of us, now. Don't you see, it's suddenly on my word now? And we're still in danger.

Moone, grabbing onto Cloud's hand, was torn. Surely they were safe now- speak the oaths, and the truth would be revealed. The glass doors of the exit were only a few yards away, still shining bright daylight through even after what had felt like the hours' length of this morning's events. Moone looked over at those doors. If they did still try to escape, they'd look guilty. Moone was certain that the whole situation could be [clarified? erased? enlightened?], though. Cloud trusted Moone, but did Moone trust Cloud?

And once again, Moone realized something, at the same time the Tetragrammaton agents must have realized it: his enhanced aura may have granted him bonus protections, but certainly not Cloud any. Moone hesitated.

And in that moment, a bullet went through Cloud's head, and her body crumpled silently to the marble floor.

nanowrimo day 4

TETRAGRAMMATON HEADQUARTERS- THE PENTAGRAM. [Yelgnal,] VA.

The trip back home had been uneventful, mostly composed of sleeping, though there was a strange recurring dream that Moone had, reflecting something of his fears. One can never trust anything a spy says, except in the cases of certain magically binding contracts (many of which Moone himself was [person] to,) but the way that the Pontifex had looked at him, hunger in his eyes, had shaken him.

Each of the dreams started the same way, Moone dreaming he was drowning in those eyes, his aura of both bane and boon glowing orange and lifting off of him, the bane swallowing the boon. From there the dreams diverged, as every creature that he had ever bested in combat, from the time he was [6] on up, now coming back to him for revenge, and this time there was nothing he could do about it, he had to rely on his own strength to save him- and he had relied on his boon to much, he had grown soft.

Moone had always felt more comfortable in the mundane world, because the mundane world was not actively malicious toward him, but these dreams made him realize, when he awoke from them, that if he were to encounter a problem in the mundane world, for whatever reason, he would be just as helpless in real life there, as he had at the end of each of his nightmares.

It was a few weeks later now. The Pontifex was engaged in regular debriefing sessions, in a secure room at [cool nickname for the Pentagram,] giving retreads of intel he had already delivered via the encoded Usenet [communiques,] going into more detail on every subject, as well as [interrogation] at length about details of the Cabal's organizational structure [and stuff like that.]

[...]

The Pentagram was a ten-story structure nestled within a spatial fold in Langley, Virginia. There was also an underground parking level, and a mezzanine level between the lobby and second floors, which looked out over the lobby floor with a five-sided balcony in the dead center of the building.

[The Secretary of Tetragrammaton, High Priest of Wicca, King of the Gnomes probably. Do more research on what a Secretary does, so that we can get some action for him to be doing, and segue these two parts. Also to give some ooph to his eventual assassination. Probably something to do with the CIA's threatened closing.] The threat was over. With the Cabal's secrets being exposed, and about to come down, the loose threads were being tied up.

But with that happening, Moone would be left out in the cold. As dangerous as this world was, he could weather it. Which life was worse: one of high risk but relative predictability, or low risk, but what risk there was being far more injurious?

Moone glanced over to see the Secretary below him. Here, on the balcony of the mezzanine floor, he could look out over and see the ground level, with its marble flooring and bustle of people. [would today, with the Secretary being there, be any different, or would he be, just, going to and from meetings and everything?] The mezzanine floor was relatively empty today; Moone had this side of it all to himself, as far as he could see.

Moone had been trying to reintegrate into civilian life, but found a funk hanging over him with his realization of half a month ago. The world was indeed full of more threats than just the supernatural, of things that go bump in the night, and the more Moone listened to the news or tried to make small talk with his neighbors, the more restless he became.

The end of the Cabal didn't truly mean the end of supernatural threats to the nation, did it? There were certainly other organizations- radicalized covens, packs, clutches and clans. But if one began hunting down these more ephemeral threats, where would one stop? And was it truly worth it for Moone to feel secure, if it also meant giving up on rest for the remainder of his life?

There was a [brief] puff of air, like a cough to Moone's right. He looked over, something small out of the corner of his eye... and there was a commotion going on down on the lobby floor. The Secretary, lying in a growing pool of blood, a polygram-shaped bullet hole flaming through his torso. Eyes turned to look up at where the shot must have come from, and Moone stumbled back.

The Secretary, assassinated, in front of everyone. Everyone as a witness, but Moone had a key vantage point. That smudge that he'd seen, flitting away from his vision, heading downstairs...

Moone realized there had been two people near the angle close enough to have made the shot. Moone was the first. And the second- the second didn’t like to be called a person at all.

Moone ran to find Gef. Downstairs. There were people scrambling about, but as far as Moone knew nobody saw him, and nobody would suspect him. He slipped out of the stairwell when no-one was watching, and made his way to a map on the wall. The Pentagram had no security cameras, but it did have a real-time system in place tracking where everyone in the building was at any moment. Moone made his way to the building map, pinged the system- and received more than one signature back.

He followed the nearest one. There, stuck into the wall, into the base of a load-bearing pillar...

A bomb. Gef’s bomb. Moone could recognize the wiring, and the [stamp etc] indicated it was Gef’s ordinance, with Gef’s aura around it shed off like strands of fur. How many bombs had been planted back in [Russia]? Had they all been detonated? How many did that leave left? Moone tried to think. How many pings of Gef’s aura had there been? He stepped closer, and realized that the bomb was [primed.]

It’s not just a bomb, Moone told himself, exhaling a shaking breath. In this case that’s a good thing. It’s not just a bomb; it’s a magic bomb. Whatever the magical component is to this bomb, I can at least circumnavigate that.

The bomb’s [primer] was a thumb-sized crystal, flower-shaped, which contained within it a small non-sentient clone of Gef’s aura, linking back to the [male mongoose] himself. With the crystal connected to Gef’s aura, he would be able to activate, through a flex of mental command, the detonation sequence. Fortunately, as far as Moone could tell, the connection to Gef was one-way; Gef would have no inkling that Moone was at the device trying to disarm it.

There was a boom some distance away, close enough to shake the walls. The building’s alarms began sounding, the sprinkler system turning on and the air filling with mist and smoke.

The [priming component] of the bomb may have been magical, but there were still electric wires exposed on the outside of the [dimensions] bomb, now threatened to be short-circuited by the cascade of water coming down from the overhead sprinklers. Moone shielded the wiring by placing himself between the sprinkler system and the components, but that only served to draw the center of his body mass closer to the bomb.

Another boom, closer this time. Smoke filled the air more heavily, in spite of the water raining down from the ceiling.

Moone ran his trembling hands over the wiring, which crisscrossed in elaborate ways, following the particular [wire] wire back to [wire hole.] [More bomb stuff here, research!] Gingerly, he tugged the wire loose--

And the crystal flower blinked, and the bomb exploded.

With the non-magical component of the bomb removed, the blast remaining was a shock of mostly magical energies, from the [ignition system] itself. Energies directed outward, away from the load-bearing pillar, which was good- but instead of being directed inward, was directed straight out, at Moone, which was bad.

Moone used [awesome dodge skill thing] to survive the blast, and landed on his face. The pillar survived, but the blast still sent dust and plaster raining down, a large piece of which landed with a hard thump on Moone’s head. Moone’s boon was to be able to survive. Some things were yet impossible to get out of unscathed.

Moone tried to peel himself off of the ground. Something scurried right in front of Moone. He looked up. And found himself nose-to-nose with a nine-inch-long marsh mongoose, fur slick with water from the overhead sprinklers.

Gef blinked his beady eyes. “...oh my gosh!” he bleated, voice even higher-pitched than normal. “You killed the bloody secretary!”

Moone pulled himself up to his arms and knees, and tried to speak, his mouth full of the iron taste of blood. “I--”

“Stay right there!” said Gef, extending a warding paw toward Moone’s face. “[you killed the secretary, and people are coming to collect you.]”

“And then blew myself up?” Moone sputtered. “Why would I blow myself up?”

“Bah, don’t shite me like that. You were the only one standing in the right place. You probably put yourself into danger knowing you’d just get out of it.”

Moone frowned at this. That- that was actually pretty clever.

From the way that Gef was talking, it sounded like Gef actually believed it. It wasn’t true, of course. But Gef was the only other one on the mezzanine, and it would have been impossible for it to have been an outside force like a ghost [for some reason.] Not to mention the bombs that had been set up...

Moone pulled himself up to his full height, and growled down at Gef. The creature soiled himself, and scampered away down the hall, leaving Moone dumbfounded.

Moone glanced around, and considered. Gef, being a poltergeist, was by nature a lover of mischief. But could he really go to these depths? The mongoose may have been a sapient being, but he was also an animal. He wasn’t even currently in the state of mind to call himself a person. What sort of ethical system did that leave him with?

There was, of course, another way that Moone could definitively prove his innocence...

There was another explosion, and in an instant, Moone made up his mind.

Moone chased after the furry spirit, who was scrambling up rubble from a fallen wall. Moone caught up, using his long legs and his ability to jump the rubble, and grabbed Gef. In a fair race, a mongoose can outrun a man easily, but Gef’s own machinations had [gone] against him by creating the terrain. When he grabbed Gef, Moone made sure to do so by the neck- the scratch of a mongoose’s claws may not be pleasant, but their bites contained neurotoxin.

“Gef, you’ve got to listen. Please.” At this the mongoose stopped squirming considerably, and locked eyes with Moone, his chin held high. “We can take this to Cloud, if you don’t believe me. I’m not sure how it looks, but I’m not the one who’s doing this.”

“My shiny pink arsehole, you didn’t,” Gef spat, and with those words seemed to realize something.

Oh dear, thought Moone, as a wicked grin came across the mongoose’s face. Beyond scratching and biting, there is one last defense that a mongoose has, and both Gef and Moone knew it- Gef deftly threw up the lower half of his body, Moone attempting to adjust his grip to prevent what was coming next, and sprayed Moone right in the face with a stream of pungent skunk-like spray.

It was true that Moone could always escape supernatural danger, but he couldn’t always choose the method of escape, and sometimes the cost was too high- his boon’s instincts had screamed to snap the mongoose’s spine, but he had fought against those, being an extreme action against a relatively minor threat. A threat that stung his eyes and made his head swim, but he wouldn’t have killed just to escape that; Moone still considering Gef to be a friend. A friend who assassinated a major political figure and blew up half a building, but a friend nonetheless.

A second alarm sounded, a magical one this time. Moone spun, dropping Gef to the ground. Gef had alerted the ping system to point everyone toward Moone’s signature-- Gef had done this or at least had gotten Lovecraft to do so. Their psychic connection, right. And like that, it was no longer just Gef, but the whole building, against Moone.

Supernatural danger. But without even needing to pause to think, he knew exactly his path he needed to get out of it. Mushroom Cloud. He just needed to use her to convince the whole agency instead of just Gef, was all.

Cloud had obeyed his commands so readily back on the mission because they were bound together. She was in a position to trust Moone, not through eyewitness and having been with him when the attack had occurred, but through [some] magic bond, through just his word. Cloud and Moone at [some point in the past, maybe have a flashback here] had entered into a deal, contractually binding him to tell the truth to her. Cloud didn’t wish Moone ill will. Cloud never wished Moone ill will. The bond was not just magical but two-fold [psychological.] Not only would presenting a danger to Moone make him a threat, leaving Cloud no motivation to break her side of the contract, but Moone would not lie to Cloud, and could not of his own power break his.

As such Cloud trusted Moone implicitly. All Moone needed to do would be to tell her that he didn’t do it, and that would be a second witness, irrefutable under the laws of magic.

Moone looked around through stinging eyes, Gef disappearing behind a corner. There was still one more bomb out there. Moone lifted his face to the sprinklers and attempted to wash his face free of the noxious fluid, wiping his eyes clear with his wet hands- then took off at a run to find Cloud.

nanowrimo day 3

Chapter two [this section could use a lot of work. Not only are there pretty major show-don’t-tell violations, a lot of the tradecraft and military jargon sounds like I don’t know what I’m talking about. Have actual spy or spy expert review chapter later???]

It had been five years ago. Moone, coming home late at night, had been contacted by a man identifying himself as Smith. Entering his house, he had found Smith in his living room, sitting in the dark. Being used to supernatural attacks coming without warning, Moone [hadn’t thought much of it,] until he sensed the aura of the man, which exuded from him as stench exudes from powerful cheese.

Moone would come to realize, later on, that Smith was no man, that Smith’s true form was probably unknowable; as for now, Moone took Smith to be of earth, if perhaps from the elder days. The aura is what gave him pause, and allowed Smith enough time to speak, and even make a deal. Deals themselves weren’t that uncommon in Moone’s life either; throughout the years, he had answered a thousand riddles, signed a thousand crossroad contracts in his own blood. Smith’s offer to Moone was unusual, however, for two reasons [one and two.]

Moone came in contact with creatures from every spectrum of the magical realms, and encountered a lot of privileged information. If he thought any of it actionable, he was to pass it on if at all able (occasionally he had to resort to roundabout ways, as contractual obligations bound him magically to tight clauses. There was the story of [research!], who was once bound from telling any living soul of the nature of his curse, but this did not prohibit him from discussing it loudly with a wall, which happened to have people on the other side of it.)

At the same time, Moone was to do asset recruitment of his own-- usually not recruiting those who came to attack him, although some of his most trusted agents had been [recruited] from such a medium.

[something else in here]

Smith had given Moone a choice, and to this day Moone wasn't sure if his contract with Smith counted as a genuine danger to him, and thus capable of [avoiding it.] The missions that Moone was sent on, and the agents that Moone was sent to recruit, Moone suspected of genuinely serving the greater good; however, Moone knew enough of people to know that those sending him out on these missions were flawed human beings (for the most part) with agendas of their own [show, don't tell?]

As far as he knew, the company Moone now worked for and had been working for for the past five years, had no real name. Moone just referred to it in his head as Tetragrammaton. The Unknowable, the Unspeakable Letters, the Alphabet Soup. Moone wasn't even sure if it was an official branch of the CIA, though that seemed to be the organization that Tetragrammaton most closely resembled.

It was a tight line that Tetragrammaton walked: information was his job, gathering it receiving it and disseminating it, but every secret that Moone knew he'd probably be able to find a way to weaponize if the situation called for it. Possibly even turn against his own agency, if the situation called for it.

It was what he and Lovecraft had in common; perhaps she enabled his paranoias too much, but there was a familiar point of reference between them, which the other members of his team wouldn’t begin to understand.

Still, the willingness to provide Moone with the very tools that he would need to escape his [servitude toward Tetragrammaton] was the second reason Moone suspected Smith to be an ally rather than a threat; the longer he stayed in his job, of course, the more he came to realize that those two could very often be one and the same.

[maybe an anecdote of that in here, to SHOW better, and also to segue:]

As far as anyone knew, the Cold War would be continuing indefinitely. But the [Eastern Bloc?] did fall, not too many months ago, [maybe something else in here too,] and there was even already talk about disbanding the CIA now that the threat seemed to be over, now that the west had no true superpower standing against it. In the supernatural world, however, it does not take a superpower to develop and use a superweapon.

A few months ago, in January immediately after the Soviet Union had dissolved, one of Moone’s assets had received a coded message, over the internet, claiming that there was still a conspiracy taking place holding the union together, not of a secular nature, but of a supernatural one.

[give paragraph-long explanation of Usenet as it stood in 1992- still only available to colleges, still one of the biggest networks on the internet. Act informative, but act as though this is present-day, high-tech technology being discussed.

[Bring up the in-joke and explain its origins, “there is no cabal.”]

Over the next few months more details were revealed, and independently corroborated:

The Jewish Pogroms had allowed sectors of the Cabal to grow [establish that earlier, in the Usenet thing, also sound less anti-Semitic], undetected, under Russia’s nose; now, wrangling power for themselves, they sought to subjugate all local folklores under them, disempowering the local myths and allowing their own to [have the power.] Belief in folklore was a powerful force, and in many places of the world local legends and boogiemen were dying out. The overthrow of a major secular state was the perfect opportunity to fill in an officially atheist vacuum with [a power structure of one’s own.]

Something had apparently changed within the structure of the cabal, however, and now the message read that their informant [needed to] defect. It was the old, unspoken assumption of cold war espionage, now taking one final form: the west received their intelligence only from defectors, while the east had agents in place, stationed all over and even in the highest levels of government. Everything in tradecraft needs to be taken cum salo granis, so there would need to be a thorough debriefing of the agent to vet that they weren’t replacing one kind of spy with another one, but the urgency of the message was enough such that Moone had requested, and been given permission, to lead an immediate [dust-up] team to extract the target.

The asset had given the time and place where he was to be extracted, and provided a specific marker to identify him by. The time was this morning. The place was here, at this compound where the cabal had [holed up.] Specifically, the room that Gef and Cloud were outside of right now.

Outside of, awaiting the signal [to extract the package.]

MacBeth crouched into a snowless sheltered area underneath a tree where a limb had fallen against it, making a natural lean-to, and put his psychic bubble back up over each member of the team, Moone covering him, the demon-possessed phylactery slipped into his jacket pocket and his pistol out. They were far enough along in the mission that guards wouldn’t pose a real threat during extraction [establish reason earlier], and Moone suspected anyway that being exposed out here was the real danger, now that their previous position had been made. [establish earlier that the bubble also makes you invisible to cameras maybe, or else otherwise explain disabling the cameras inside the compound or looping/tricking them somehow.]

Lovecraft was covering Gef through another method entirely, a direct link between the two that didn’t require MacBeth’s telepathy to operate [sending out psychic spikes to cover in case of danger? Maybe that took the guard out last time.] She had taken backup command when MacBeth’s psychic links had gone down, but now that the bubble was back up, Moone regained control.

Alright, [Lovecraft.] They know we’re here. Let’s get this done quickly. Extract the target, pull out; Gef, Lovecraft, Mushroom, you extract to Charlie point while MacBeth and I go bravo, and [if nobody’s tailing us] we regroup at alpha point in 0300 hours. Moone felt the others over the link give the affirmative, and gave the signal.

Moone went back to covering MacBeth, giving the area around them wide coverage. A few minutes later, there was a series of muffled explosions from the direction of the compound- Gef’s handiwork (paw-i-work?) having placed explosives around the compound during his initial infiltration, not only to provide a distraction and therefore cover during their escape, but also to deflect suspicion off of the fact of the asset’s defection. The plan from the beginning was to disguise the whole extraction operation as enemy sabotage; their agent wouldn’t have been able to disappear without raising suspicion of his activities.

Moone and MacBeth encountered no more guards or cabal agents, and could [extract themselves] normally. They proceeded to their designated [fallback point] with caution, and from there to the regroup point. [provide physical and sensory description.] The other members of the team, women, mongoose, and asset, arrived [time period] later.

[how is asset being transported? Is he walking? Are they carrying him? Does he have a headbag on? Is there anyone injured, and how badly?]

The asset turned out to be a thin and wiry man; he would have been feeble-looking but for the fact that he carried himself unshakingly, and the gait of a man with very strong core muscles. His cheeks had lines parallel to the jaw, which ran up into deep bags underneath his eyes. His dark hair was thick and wiry, curled relatively tightly and matted to the top of his skull.

He was called the Pontifex, which Moone understood to be meant not in its ecclesiastical sense but in its literal one. Latin for maker of bridges, a medium between men and the gods. Moone could sense his aura, and his proximity to MacBeth gave the aura sense an unusual degree of nuance- there was something strange about it, layered like an onion. Any aura could be bestowed upon another, for a limited amount of time, and usually requiring tools or other magical assistance to accomplish, but the power of this one, and the slick way it seemed to float just off of the Pontifex’s body, made it clear to Moone that this was a man used to bestowing his aura onto others. The aura had an intrinsic magical ability, one that the Pontifex never seemed to use on himself. Moone got closer to the man…

And could feel his own aura grow slightly, subtly stronger as it intersected with the Pontifex’s. Was he imagining it? He retreated back a few steps toward MacBeth, and stuck one hand in MacBeth’s aura (and I must look ridiculous, he thought to himself, though knowing full well that MacBeth would also be able to hear him)—and reached out, sticking his other hand toward the Pontifex’s aura. Sure enough, with MacBeth’s psychic aura enhancing Moone’s own aura-detecting power, he could see in his third eye the aura of his outstretched right hand brighten. Both bane and boon in that hand, specifically grow stronger.

And the Pontifex looked up at Moone like he was one of the most delicious steaks that he’d seen in his life. Hm. Maybe I shouldn’t have done that, thought Moone.

Anachronominon, Draft One, Chapter One (NaNoWriMo Days One and Two)

THE ANACHRONOMINION

PART 1

[divide these parts into chapters as well, later; that being said this is probably] Chapter 1

Moone shivered, and swatted away a fly. Knowing this weather, it probably wasn't really a bug- why would any of those be out?- but a fairy. Yes, Moone decided, putting down his binoculars and surveying the snow-blasted forest around his scout's perch. In the dim predawn glow he could see signs that fairies would live nearby [the way that branches bend? moss on trees? ring of stones or mushrooms?] Probably a witching well. Sure enough, it was [prime fairy ground.] MacBeth, his [name of role here], would be extending out a psychic bubble protecting Moone from most supernatural creatures, but once inside the bubble, there would be no real difference [and things would still be able to sense his presence.]

MacBeth, great going, making sure that a fairy mound was inside our defences, Moone sent out sarcastically, using MacBeth's psychic wavelength. Moone could feel MacBeth stirring from his concentration on the other end of the connection.

What? My [magic sensors] indicated no such--

It's just a little one, relax, Moone smirked, examining the tiny broken waif body in the muddy snow to his side. Hardly more than a brownie ring. In fact, I think I just killed one of them without the use of magic powers. 

Ouch. Well, it is a supernatural area, MacBeth sent back, along with the intent of a shrug. If there was a slight blip of magical radiation, you can forgive me for confusing it with background noise. I know how paranoid you get.

I forgive you, [Mac], sent Moone, Out. He raised his binoculars back up to his eyes. He could see the compound stretch out before him. Guards were posted at each gate, and a cold-iron chain link fence ran the perimeter, trimmed along top with loops of barbed wire, like the sable fur that trims the robes of Father Christmas.

From this height, in the craggy hills above the compound, Moone could just make out that the compound would be in the shape of a giant eldritch glyph from the air, but he was still too low to tell which magic system the glyph would be from, much less recognize the particular glyph. Probably Kabbalah. The compound was invisible to satellites, but being seen from above wouldn't be the primary purpose of having the buildings be shaped like that.

Turning the binoculars' gaze downward from the compound, Moone could see a tiny figure bobbing through the snow, skimming along top of it toward the exterior gates. He tracked this figure's progress for a moment, then shifted focus back up to the gates themselves, where two guards were standing erect, one at either side of the chain-link gate [overuse word.] One of the guards' eyes drifted over, noticing the figure, but dwelling on it only briefly.

Moone grinned, his wind-chapped lips cracking slightly in the cold. Why would the guard think anything of it? Martens and sables were common in this part of the world, especially in the woods. The sable-like figure drew closer to the guards, until it stood right in front of them. The first guard gestured at it to the second, who leaned down his hands on his knees in a hey-little-fellow gesture [o.w.]. The sable figure regarded the second guard, cautiously approaching until they were nose-to-nose. And in a flash that was almost too fast too see, it dropped both guards, the second crumpled and riding the first one's head on his way down.

Nice one, Gef, Moone sent over the psychic link to the sable-like figure, who was actually a mongoose and thus more closely related to cats than weasels THOUGHT YOU MIGHT LIKE TO KNOW. He watched as the mongoose shimmied into the snow, under the gate, and darted out into the night deeper into the compound. Phase alpha complete; beta team go on my mark. He surveyed the attention of the remaining guards with a quick sweep of his binoculars; seeing nothing, and no guards being alarmed at their fallen comrades, he gave the signal. Go.

Roger, came a female voice over the link; a second, human figure emerged from the woods below and stalked its way to the gate. Through the glyph-enhanced binoculars, Moone could see a dim crimson flash of light shoot out of the figure's hand; this shimmied up into the lock like a worm made out of red electricity, and the lock fell open. The gate popped open, folding inwards through the snow. A glance to the left and to the right, and a burst of yellow springlike energy, and the figure-- Mushroom Cloud, the team's sorceress-- popped around the corner of a dark gray building, disappearing out of sight.

Moone surveyed down the alley of the complex once more, sweeping once again for guards making their rounds, and, seeing none, closed his eyes and focused on his teammate's energies over MacBeth's psychic network. There was Cloud now; he could feel what was going on around her like sonar on a submarine or whiskers on a cat.

[stuff goes on; some close call or another happens with Cloud]

You only get one extra life, MacBeth reminded over the psychic channel.

And I'd prefer if we didn't need to use it, added Moone. Extraction is going to be a whole lot tougher if the person sent to extract the package is dead. 

Also, those things are balls expensive, Gef sent. We'd hate to have you go all belly-up and waste something so valuable. 

Cloud had a phylactery, or soul jar, brought about by [describe something difficult and laborious to achieve, very magically expensive]- this was a dangerous mission, and, of the two beings on the forward team, Cloud was the mortal one. The phylactery was back with MacBeth, where it would be safe, and where Cloud would [regrow? how do soul jars work?] if anything were to happen to her.

[something in here maybe?]

[Gef says something else.] Moone could feel the mongoose's position over the psychic connection, on two legs, pressed up against a wall and checking around the corner. He would be right outside of the asset's quarters right now, and Cloud would be reaching him coming from the other way down the hall at any minute. [speaks, mentions something magic]

If that's even a real thing, a second female voice came over the link, gruffer than the first. Lovecraft, who was covering Gef. Like Moone, the supernatural world was something that Lovecraft had had thrust upon her, rather than being born into it. Moone wasn't aware of the exact specifics of Lovecraft's magical awakening, but nonetheless felt something of a kinship toward her, sharing much of her awe-- and her skepticism.

Moone's team consisted of three people, and one sapient mongoose spirit who vacillated on whether to be called a person or not. Gef, said spook, was running point; [MacBeth, Mushroom Cloud, Lovecraft here.] Moone called the shots. It was a high-risk mission, but his team was in fine form today, relaxed, in control, thinking clearly.

What was that? sent MacBeth.

[MacBeth is made, and he tries to withdraw to secondary position. Moone can here scuffle over psychic link, the link occasionally browning out. With this, Moone can feel, like the rising of hairs on the back of his neck, MacBeth's bubble of magical protection also waning. Moone watches through psychic link vision as action goes on. Meanwhile, switching to watching Cloud and Gef, things get tense over there too.

[In the scuffle with MacBeth and the guard, the Phylactery breaks, still functional (due to how the magic works with those, establish that earlier) but the backup life leaks out (describe phylactery as being something like a heart from the Legend of Zelda, make obvious video game analogy, but establish that such backup lives are rare and valuable.)]

Really? sent Cloud over the now static-filled connection. Really? This is- this is the most dangerous part of the mission; NOW the phylactery decides to break? 

[Really tense moment as oh crap, I really can die in here. Moone can hear, over Cloud's psychic line, Gef squeak out to stay back. Something really dangerous happens.

[But they get out safely. Probably using some character trait that we establish here and winds up being important later on. Gef takes care of it.

Alright, that's good, sent MacBeth, psychic voice strained with concentration. That's very good. I think I've figured out a way to take this guy out- but I'm going to need my [psychic whosie-whatsit] to do it. Y'all fine on your own for now?

MacBeth needed to lower his defensive bubble for a moment, in order to fend off his attacker. With that bubble came not only the connection between team members, but the natural psychic shield from psychic danger or telepathic powers outside of the bubble.

Moone sucked a sharp breath in between his teeth. And gave the order.

Moone felt it once again, like the brownout waves from before, but full-force this time. Being outside of a psychic network was a feeling he was used to, of course, a feeling he'd felt almost for his whole life, but the shock of the shield dropping, after being shielded for so long, was [strong]; it left him feeling naked and vulnerable. The connections to his teammates also were cut off, like the riverbed between two bodies of water suddenly and inexplicably going dry. Every member would be taking cover and hunkering down, unaware of what's going on, perhaps a few of them in potential imminent danger. They depended so much on him. But there was nothing he could do now. Nothing but wait.

Moone shifted and curled up onto his hands and knees from his position in the natural [crook] between two [coniferous] trees, and crawled around to swing his binoculars in the direction behind him where MacBeth had hunkered down. That location had been supposed to be more secure, further away from the complex; however MacBeth had been discovered, it couldn't have been through magical means. He raised his sight up to the tops of the trees, twisting a dial that the pair of binoculars had on one side, setting the binocs to highlight usage of electricity. Sure enough, there were cameras hidden up in the canopy; technology instead of magic, but probably shrunk to unusual small size through magical means. Stupid, Moone thought to himself; MacBeth only scouted the area for magical defences, and we grew so proud thinking ourselves secure that he didn't even bother to hide.

Of course, hiding would only tip them off to the current position; the cameras would have also recorded them arriving. If they knew MacBeth was here, they'd know the rest of the team was here as well.

[With the bubble is down, Moone exposed to the magical elements, (spy left out in the cold!), he is attacked by the fearsome demon Kissifer. Six, seven feet tall, black as tar, rippling wiry muscles and a bulbous head. Describe his mouth as well, something weird like needles for teeth or a second mouth as a tongue or crustacean-like jaws. Or all three. A demon so terrifying that he has children's programming named after him.]

It was the nature of magic that sacrifices be made to gain power. Cloud's phylactery, staving off death for a kill, required [thing that phylacteries require]; power needed power as a catalyst. Usually it could be drawn from any number of higher plains freely, as the magic then used would go on to serve the express purposes of those plains. The more powerful the magic required, though, and the more labor required to serve the sources of the magic's power, which didn't always get along.

But with people, it was different. Entities exist as themselves, and in themselves. The magic could only balance itself out so that a person blessed was a person cursed at the same time. Long ago, Moone had been blessed with a powerful boon, and the bane that came with it was this: that his blood, body, and soul were especially alluring to those who wished to do harm to them. Unprotected by boons such as MacBeth's psychic aura, Moone was jumped regularly by supernatural creatures. Several times a week, in fact.

It was very rare to be attacked by something quite as powerful as Kissifer, however.

The demon attempted immediate possession of Moone.

[Moone realizes how to defeat Kissifer, and makes his way to where MacBeth would be fighting guard.]

Bringing the fight to another fight wasn't the smartest option, but it was the only one Moone had at the moment. There'd be an ally there as well, of course. That and one other thing.

[They fight their way over to MacBeth. Also, I should learn how to actually write fight scenes instead of glossing them over.]

When Moone got to them, crashing through the forest and toppling over trees, MacBeth and the guard were standing there dumbly, facing each other but no longer fighting, too busy watching Moone fight. Moone kicked the demon off of him, and shot MacBeth an astonished "what are you doing, finish him" shrug in the split second it took for Kissifer to get back up. MacBeth stood dumbly for one second, a dark expression passing over his face, before seeming to realize the ridiculousness of what he was doing. A second later, it was all over; there was a bright yellow light, visible even in the bright yellow rays of early dawn, as MacBeth ripped the aura out of the guard's body, and the guard's remains slumped to the ground.

Kissifer had his layered mouth around Moone's head, and began biting down, the teeth slicing through spirit instead of flesh.

"Jar, quick!" Moone shouted at MacBeth. Wasting no time, MacBeth slid the soul jar out from the pouch at his belt, and tossed it the three yards through the air into Moone's outstretched left hand. In the same deft motion with which he caught the soul jar, Moone pressed it against the tarlike body of the demon.

He felt the pressure disappear from off of the top of his head. Kissifer crumbled, like pages of a book that had been set fire, and seemed to disappear into smoke, which got sucked into the jar. The phylactery was an unoccupied body, a surface that attracts demons like static cling attracts balloons [or whatever.] Long ago, Moone had been given a bane, with an equally powerful boon, both balancing each other out.

The bane was that he would be attacked by supernatural creatures.

But the boon was that he would always have the means to overcome them.

what to 'spect from NaNoWriMo '17

Ahem. 
It's been awhile since I've posted on here, but it's NaNoWriMo finally, and I've decided I'm totally ready to participate; took me long enough it's only been a few years geez. I've got a 28-point outline plotted, planning on covering an average of a point a day. The idea is to get wordcount out first, and then we can worry about quality; I'm not sure how I feel about that but I will proceed (I don't think I've even posted up an outline for book 1 on this blog yet, preferring to work on it behind-the-scenes; the twists at the end are too good or something, and so as much as it pains me to let anyone see unpolished draftage up to said ending, I'm, totally gonna do this thing this year finally, because bad writing is better than no writing at all.)

Would have started it today, but circumstances (read: Halloween The Simpsons marathon) prevented me from working on my Halloween short story I do every year. That's the writing I did today. It's got a wordcount of 2,790 words, more that 1,000 over the minimum recommended NaNoWriMo requirement, so I feel like it totally makes a canonical contribution to the cause. It's called Head Cheese and I am immensely proud of it (though fair warning it is not even remotely for the weak of tummy.)

http://dielikeadisneyvillain.blogspot.com/2017/11/head-cheese.html

6/28/2016, 6/29/2016, 7/4/2016- misc notes

What follows are some notes I found written in last year's At-a-Glance, unabridged and unformatted except for headings. I've already discussed the first idea on the list with you, but as for the rest: I'm not sure what I meant by some of it, and I seem to confuse Cancer with Gemini on July the fourth (maybe Cancer's the next link in the chain, and it goes through all twelve star signs?) 

And I'm pretty sure I write deeper things about coin-based vows elsewhere in my notes, but I can't find it. Something about how the Tooth Fairy's touch nullifies coins, unless they're counterfeit, or maybe the other way 'round...? I think it was something like, you can't vow on a pre-vowed coin, and so it's safe from the Tooth Fairy, but I'm not sure if that's it either... Flipping through my notes, I also find entries of interest on 19 Mar and 15 Sept, though maybe we could save those for a later date, and see if we can find the Tooth Fairy thing to toss in there as well.

1/22/2017 9:30ish - 10:30ish pm

I'm skimming Wikipedia for all the different vampire myths/variations in the myth, and there are a grazillion of them, even just sticking to Romanian folklore. The traditional boundary between vampires and werewolves is a lot blurrier than modern lore would have you believe, especially with this silly notion that werewolves and vampires are natural enemies, which is just as dumb as it is stupid, and I'm not very fond of it, and, the Google Docs processor corrects inch marks to quotation marks; what's the deal with Blogger? Sometimes it bothers me a lot more than others, but it's not something that can be ignored indefinitely.

1/8/2017 9:45 - 10:45 pm

Chip at this a little at a time, I guess. Even if it's a good idea to take intrinsic motivation and make it extrinsic, there's gotta be a better way than a writing blog, for one who is not a pantser. Maybe a blog that says, hey guys I wrote something, but I'm not telling you what? For pantsers, it's as perfect a format as any: Andy Weir wrote The Martian as a series of blog posts, which was collected into an e-book, became a best-seller, bought by Houghton-Mifflin to distribute, became a best-seller, turned into a Ridley Scott film, became a blockbuster.

Because Andy Weir is a pantser. He loved getting Watney into trouble he didn't think anyone would have been able to get out of, and then, with the trouble already established and his readers awaiting the consummation of the cliffhanger, he was forced to come up with something awesome and clever for Watney to do to get out of it. The perfect format for this kind of thing: nobody really ever doubts Watney's ability to survive, but read on to discover how.

6/19/2016 7:30 - 9:00 pm

It's been more than three months here since last writing, and I've got no idea where to begin of all the things I've figured out in that time.

Longer than in that time, actually. Quarter of a year whatevs, but half a year (beginning of NaNoWriMo) when I figured out the plot for book 1, and then just, kind of, didn't reveal any of it...  I've figured out a lot of stuff, and have a lot that I haven't told you. The first book I'd been meaning to reveal the plot of day-by-day over the month as I hashed out each point of my 28-pointed plot per day over the month, having a much fuller more detailed outline. Failed there. Totally unprepared for it, with a lot that I still hadn't figured out yet, a lot that couldn't be forced. Like I said. I am very very very much a plotter over a pantser. I've figured out more since then, but...

I'm still not sure where to begin. Even get around to that? Tell what I've figured out so far of Book 2? And just of that, with more than three month's work on it (but with the last few weeks being especially instrumental) I couldn't tell you where to begin.

Though I do have some ideas.

3/13/2016 8:00 - 9:00 pm

I seem to recall mentioning something, the last time Daylight Savings came around... I seem to remember writing this big old thing, but I must have deleted it. Reasonable. It's so dark here... I want to be able to look at my notes, but I can't... I suppose I could bother to get up and turn on the light, but pshaw.

It was the fourth lightswitch I tried... the wiring in this apartment is so messed up...

Okay, now that I can see my notes... I did way much less research on alchemy than I thought I did. I still have loads of stuff to talk about, got a lot of great ideas about, stuuuff, but I don't feel like writing very much right now...

35 minutes later
Apparently, I've got access to JSTOR here through the college library. Which is awesome. JSTOR has access to Penn State University Press's journal Preternature, which... which is a useful resource to have, certainly. I've been skimming ideas just from the publically available article abstracts up till now, but now I can actually... read, the articles, in it.

Preternature provides an interdisciplinary, inclusive forum for the study of topics that stand in the liminal space between the known world and the inexplicable. The journal embraces a broad and dynamic definition of the preternatural that encompasses the weird and uncanny—magic, witchcraft, spiritualism, occultism, esotericism, demonology, monstrophy, and more, recognizing that the areas of magic, religion, and science are fluid and that their intersections should continue to be explored, contextualized, and challenged.

 So. Ending here for the day? Short post, inserting a jump break would be cheap, so I won't.

3/6/2016 7:00 - 8:00 pm

Continuing our exploration of the research done at the library, gobbling up facts and info that's useful to know regarding both covert operations and the occult, well, "occult" has the exact same meaning that "covert" means-- secret, hidden. I'n't that far out? So continuing that conversation, let's talk a bit about the magics.

2/28/2016 7:45 - 8:45 pm

I did a bunch of research on Tuesday afternoon last week, before heading in and checking out the Animation Workshop we've got here on campus. Heading into the library, seeing the shelf of Encyclopaedia Britannica, swimming through all that information to find the knowledge I want regarding the topics I want. It's absolutely perfect for this kind of thing; the information you need is right there, while with like Wikipedia, because they can get so in-depth, you have to slog through a lot to find things that are workable. It was a glorious hour and a half. I took notes.

I don't have nearly enough time to spin off on what I learned and how it applies to TTDECBA, but I figure I can touch on one or two subjects this time...