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The Mere Tide

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  #61  
Old 11-14-2016, 07:08 AM
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Nerdy writer😆

You need to grow your hair long and get a leather jacket😆

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  #62  
Old 11-16-2016, 06:54 PM
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@brian hahaha fuck that. I intend to stay so fresh, so clean.

But alas another update. I'm actually updating faster than I should so no update next week I need to clean this one up and do more research. My primary resource for this scene and scenes to follow was The Soul of Kazakhstan by Alma Kunaby. In addition there was Huun Huur Tu though it was of Mongolian influence and the pictures of Ai Xuan being a Chinese artist depicting scenes from Tibet but I always liked them and I saw no reason not to include them artistic license being what it is. When I wrote Things Fall Apart I made several journeys to Ukraine to get to know the people and the culture and the country firsthand and in the year or two to follow from now I'll do the same in traveling to Kazakhstan after which these scenes will in all likelihood change radically. My research into the Ural mountains helped extensively in depicting the landscape and google maps is truly an invaluable resource in that it lets you actually see the land but there is something indubitably lost in translation that can only be appreciated after first hand experience. The old saying goes that its like seeing the grand canyon on a postcard as opposed to seeing it in person.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SlsymNGOOjc








Two days later there was smoke. Four tilting columns stood from below the horizon and terminating against a resplendent lamellar like overcast side shined by the sun. She followed to find the smoke sources obscured from sight behind a coppice of willow trees and from that sight kept until a favorable dark overlaid the country whereupon she crept through the feather on her elbows to the trees edging an arroyo not thirty yards from the encampment. She crawled through gnarled knuckled roots into a niche in the embankment directly under the trunk of a tree. There was just enough space to sit if leaned forward and the bottom was slick with mud.

Before dawn was the scouts departed and an hour later the tuqim emerged of their dwellings. They were Kazakhs. A race of mongoloid physique and pale yellow complexion. Lately arrived to their quitsu a hundred souls and their animals. Dachni peered through the roots.

They went about their chores. The women mending the felt covers of the gers or sewing new clothes fabricating jewelry. Some prepping goats for slaughter. The animals standing against barrels with neck elongated in petrification at the shedding of the blood. Others who drained the udders of cows, squeezing the teats with hands as leathery as the teats. And new mothers dandying progeny so bedecked in finery that they appeared the ventriloquial figures of puppeteers and farther out young men tended sheep and elsewhere a huddle of youngsters played asyks in the dust.

Sometime around noon when it had warmed a little a group of women brought their children to swim in the muddy waters. Among them was a girl of perhaps seven years who sat apart of the games of her friends scrubbing the dead skin from her soles with a pumice stone. She wore a gem necklace of marbles, opal and zircon and lapis and pearl and she refused warmly with a smile from time to time various invitations to play and when the mothers called them in she stood in perfect elegance and the water drained off her tawny thighs and breast like a ribbed cutting board in innocent licentiousness. Dachni spat.

The scouts returned in the late afternoon. Big men dressed in furs against the cold. They dismounted in camp and secured their horses and camels to ropes strung betwixt the crowns of four yurts and delivered their reports to a long bearded elder who had come out to greet them.

It was evidently good news for a feast was held that night in the qara uy, the gathering tent. The whole tuqim was invited and there were no guards. Dachni crawled front first out her den and likewise slid down to the bank and crossed where it was shallowest and climbed up the far acclivity and made her way to the qara whenceforth emanated the elder's declaiming and when she unseamed the zhabu with her knife she could see him through the lattice standing by the tor.

He was brandishing an enormous saber in a great ceremony of parceling three plattered goats to his lieutenants and their kin in the order of their rank and what came next by women were steaming bowls of et and pilaf and then came kvass and then came vodka. Tendrils of their steam slipped out the cut and they smelled wonderful. The feast commenced and with it a hopeful chattering, a cautious mirth. Musicians produced the horsehead and the dombra and in short order a lively tune was set up. Dachni watched. The greasy fingers. The jaws working tiredly but not without joy. She watched a babe in the crook of arms, the hands brushing its first wispy hairs, its mother cooing.

Surveying the abundance she noticed two men looking towards her. She froze that their attentions might pass on but then one pointed and she dashed back and went careening through the hung tears of the sallow and plumb out over the arroyo where gravity crashed her down to the ice. She rolled upright dripping and scrambled up the bank to her hole and took an aim. The floorplate rattled in its housing and her dilated ventricles hammered such sanguineous acid against her polished ribs that she put a hand to keep that fiery systole in thrall.

A minute later the heavy woven flaps of the qara flared outwise and a man emerged holding a bowl. He helloed the night and she sighted in on him and he called a second time and receiving no answer walked to the edge of the camp and set the bowl down and went back inside.

She bided a few minutes more that any other would come but none did nor had the festival suffered interruption only there now was a plaintive dirge haunting the steppe. She could barely make out the bowl and was it poison and would she die. In the end she kept to her place and when the feast had concluded and the tuqim leaving for their homes her witnesses came with the elder to see had their offering been accepted and they studied the night and she thought they might call out but they turned away.

She waited until the early of morning before the sun was up to sortie out again. Back to the qara where she peered through the cut to discover the feast cleared away. Not even a crumb. She slinked through the camp keeping to the deeper shadows and yet forcing casualness of gait that she might convince any who perchance glimpsed her that she belonged. Who would it have fooled? This mechanical jerking of a doll. She moved yurt to yurt putting an ear to the rough felt to hear what transpired inside. Snoring and bad dreams. No exceptions.

At the pens she prodded awake the sheep and the humps of wool shuddered like agitated cumulus and baahed at her and the goats bleated and tried to eat her sleeves. She walked along the horses. By and by she came to one that did not fit. A camel. She studied it a full minute before deciding this thing did not belong in god's right order. Or any order. She fetched it a halfhearted kick in the belly and it craned its long neck to face her and went blub blub blub with its fat tongue aloll out the side of its mouth like a bloated placenta and it hawked a foamy spit dead in the center of her forehead.

Aghhhghgoooahh, she cried flying away. She stood out range moaning and cringing while the spittle ran down the bridge of her nose. She gathered a handful of dust and powdered her face and wiped the spit away and dusted her face again. By now someone was coming to investigate the noise. Dachni ducked into the nearest yurt. She turned and faced the entrance with the rifle held at her hip. She could hear the handler calming the sheep. Then she heard him walk away.

She turned to find herself in a room dimly suffused by the light of a hearth fire in its center. The interior was laid over with a multitude of shyrdaks and divided by curtains strung from the iyiq. To her right she could hear the sonorous slumber of the old and to her left a young woman fitted in sleep.

Dachni drew back the curtain. A woman was curled fetally under blankets and her fists were clenched and her eyes squeezed shut. She stood over her. Before she knew what she was doing she was on the floor beside her. She lifted the blankets and wormed up to her. She didnt know what to do. She stared at that painted face. That's breath smelt of milk. That's brows were full of sweat. She hugged herself to her and laid her head against her bosom and listened to the frightened lungwork mayhaps carrying the breath of god yet.

When she woke her arms were empty and it was day. She rolled onto her back and stared up at a ring of faces staring down.

Oh, she said. Heydee.

крови Блеск, commented a woman as if in warning. They way some would point out a snake.

Иә, agreed another.

Ол жалғыз, said the woman she had slept the night with.
Ол воняет.

Well jest ta git on ta go, said Dachni sitting up. She glanced at the legs encaging her. Jess gahnna git on. Ok.

One of the women picked her up under the arms and set her on her feet.

олар аттары бар ма?

Жоқ

Сіздің атыңыз кім?

Dachni cocked her head at them. Что?

The women gasped loudly in unison.

Она говорит на русском языке. Трахни ее.

A rough looking woman reached down and stroked her hair. It stuck in clots of blood.

ның оған ваннаға келтірейік.

Иә Иә.

They walked her out into the brisk air. She held her things to her breast in stony fear like some girl child evicted from a home. The sun was hardly up. One of the older women kept spitting into a cloth and scrubbing a paler face out from under the grime and blood and Dachni squirmed and went, Uwahhg.

They brought her to the arroyo and she was taken by either wrist and lowered to the bank. They gathered round her tugging at the hem of her shirt or trying to loosen her belt. She slapped at their hands and an elderly female whopped her headtop with the welt of a blucher. Dachni looked embarrassed. She set her things down on the bank and leaned her rifle on them. Then she undressed.

Her clothes peeled off and she was deathly thin. A vicious avatar of starvation condemned to wander the earth insatiate and unsound. The clothes pooled at her feet heavy and wet like skins freshly flayed.

Құдіретті Құдай Жақсы.

Dachni stepped away from the clothes wearing only her boots mended, apprentice cobbler she is as is to other trades, with the faces of her enemies stretched over the vamp and she kicked those off and star stood scarred toe to crown with a thousand fine channels of gash like the streams of valleys. A farrago of damascene woundings. Twists of scratches wound about her nares and small clips had gouged flesh out her nailless fingers, in her palms. A thumbprick aureole half absolved into a fishooked cicatrix, the whole of her quarrons like some brutal topography, a frail etiolate munda nursed by darkness, wicked distaff of some ossean fighter escaped Mirovia's currents, same ocean ever as was, and the buffed outcroppings of spine and shoulder and rib weathered of their topflesh by the showers of ninetails and the shortribs alow her heart painted each with a tableau dually reminiscent of Apache depictions of the hunt and the Teutonic tradition of the danse macabre and her inner thighs were slaked to the heels with a flaking strata of menses burgundy black and imperial.

The jaws of the women had levered down. They had soap and cloth but they would none go near. Dachni put a hand to her clavicle and looked at the turgid water running quietly. She looked at the silver garrotees hung from her fingers by the chain.

бойынша өтіңіз, said one of the women handing her the cloth.

Dachni took it and waded in to her knees. The mud seeped through her toes. It was freezing. She wet the rag and worked up a lather and began washing herself while the women watched in rows like a choir. A filthy overcast of gruel spread downstream like paste of old vomit. And no kinder to the nose.

After a few minutes she returned to the bank to be dried off like a dog. There were fresher garments but Dachni preferred her own and with great reluctance they were forfeited to her. She dressed and they went back to camp.

She was brought to another yurt and set at a table and brought soup. Her caretaker provided a spoon but she ladled up the soup in her palm. The other women stood arrayed like spectators at a zoo.

Cans yaes sang none? said Dachni looking up at them. They was sangin lass night.

They none understood.

Well is ok.

When she was done eating they ushered her to a curtained section of the yurt where they communicated that she could sleep. Dachni frowned at the bedding.

Aint there nobody ta be there?
Не?


She looked up at them. Has ye got no whores? Well aint whores but someisbuddies. Doessen know.
The old woman swept her from her feet and carried her to bed and tucked her in.

Ұйықтауға жату, she said brushing the damp snarls of her hair.

Jahblawguah. Thasses whatns ye sounds ike.

The women left.

Dachni stared up at the patterns in the threw off the blankets and searched out a corner to put her things but there were no corners. She put all under the blankets and with only her rifle set out.
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  #63  
Old 11-16-2016, 06:55 PM
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@brian hahaha fuck that. I intend to stay so fresh, so clean.

But alas another update. I'm actually updating faster than I should so no update next week I need to clean this one up and do more research. My primary resource for this scene and scenes to follow was The Soul of Kazakhstan by Alma Kunaby. In addition there was Huun Huur Tu though it was of Mongolian influence and the pictures of Ai Xuan being a Chinese artist depicting scenes from Tibet but I always liked them and I saw no reason not to include them artistic license being what it is. When I wrote Things Fall Apart I made several journeys to Ukraine to get to know the people and the culture and the country firsthand and in the year or two to follow from now I'll do the same in traveling to Kazakhstan after which these scenes will in all likelihood change radically. My research into the Ural mountains helped extensively in depicting the landscape and google maps is truly an invaluable resource in that it lets you actually see the land but there is something indubitably lost in translation that can only be appreciated after first hand experience. The old saying goes that its like seeing the grand canyon on a postcard as opposed to seeing it in person.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SlsymNGOOjc








Two days later there was smoke. Four tilting columns stood from below the horizon and terminating against a resplendent lamellar like overcast side shined by the sun. She followed to find the smoke sources obscured from sight behind a coppice of willow trees and from that sight kept until a favorable dark overlaid the country whereupon she crept through the feather on her elbows to the trees edging an arroyo not thirty yards from the encampment. She crawled through gnarled knuckled roots into a niche in the embankment directly under the trunk of a tree. There was just enough space to sit if leaned forward and the bottom was slick with mud.

Before dawn was the scouts departed and an hour later the tuqim emerged of their dwellings. They were Kazakhs. A race of mongoloid physique and pale yellow complexion. Lately arrived to their quitsu a hundred souls and their animals. Dachni peered through the roots.

They went about their chores. The women mending the felt covers of the gers or sewing new clothes fabricating jewelry. Some prepping goats for slaughter. The animals standing against barrels with neck elongated in petrification at the shedding of the blood. Others who drained the udders of cows, squeezing the teats with hands as leathery as the teats. And new mothers dandying progeny so bedecked in finery that they appeared the ventriloquial figures of puppeteers and farther out young men tended sheep and elsewhere a huddle of youngsters played asyks in the dust.

Sometime around noon when it had warmed a little a group of women brought their children to swim in the muddy waters. Among them was a girl of perhaps seven years who sat apart of the games of her friends scrubbing the dead skin from her soles with a pumice stone. She wore a gem necklace of marbles, opal and zircon and lapis and pearl and she refused warmly with a smile from time to time various invitations to play and when the mothers called them in she stood in perfect elegance and the water drained off her tawny thighs and breast like a ribbed cutting board in innocent licentiousness. Dachni spat.

The scouts returned in the late afternoon. Big men dressed in furs against the cold. They dismounted in camp and secured their horses and camels to ropes strung betwixt the crowns of four yurts and delivered their reports to a long bearded elder who had come out to greet them.

It was evidently good news for a feast was held that night in the qara uy, the gathering tent. The whole tuqim was invited and there were no guards. Dachni crawled front first out her den and likewise slid down to the bank and crossed where it was shallowest and climbed up the far acclivity and made her way to the qara whenceforth emanated the elder's declaiming and when she unseamed the zhabu with her knife she could see him through the lattice standing by the tor.

He was brandishing an enormous saber in a great ceremony of parceling three plattered goats to his lieutenants and their kin in the order of their rank and what came next by women were steaming bowls of et and pilaf and then came kvass and then came vodka. Tendrils of their steam slipped out the cut and they smelled wonderful. The feast commenced and with it a hopeful chattering, a cautious mirth. Musicians produced the horsehead and the dombra and in short order a lively tune was set up. Dachni watched. The greasy fingers. The jaws working tiredly but not without joy. She watched a babe in the crook of arms, the hands brushing its first wispy hairs, its mother cooing.

Surveying the abundance she noticed two men looking towards her. She froze that their attentions might pass on but then one pointed and she dashed back and went careening through the hung tears of the sallow and plumb out over the arroyo where gravity crashed her down to the ice. She rolled upright dripping and scrambled up the bank to her hole and took an aim. The floorplate rattled in its housing and her dilated ventricles hammered such sanguineous acid against her polished ribs that she put a hand to keep that fiery systole in thrall.

A minute later the heavy woven flaps of the qara flared outwise and a man emerged holding a bowl. He helloed the night and she sighted in on him and he called a second time and receiving no answer walked to the edge of the camp and set the bowl down and went back inside.

She bided a few minutes more that any other would come but none did nor had the festival suffered interruption only there now was a plaintive dirge haunting the steppe. She could barely make out the bowl and was it poison and would she die. In the end she kept to her place and when the feast had concluded and the tuqim leaving for their homes her witnesses came with the elder to see had their offering been accepted and they studied the night and she thought they might call out but they turned away.

She waited until the early of morning before the sun was up to sortie out again. Back to the qara where she peered through the cut to discover the feast cleared away. Not even a crumb. She slinked through the camp keeping to the deeper shadows and yet forcing casualness of gait that she might convince any who perchance glimpsed her that she belonged. Who would it have fooled? This mechanical jerking of a doll. She moved yurt to yurt putting an ear to the rough felt to hear what transpired inside. Snoring and bad dreams. No exceptions.

At the pens she prodded awake the sheep and the humps of wool shuddered like agitated cumulus and baahed at her and the goats bleated and tried to eat her sleeves. She walked along the horses. By and by she came to one that did not fit. A camel. She studied it a full minute before deciding this thing did not belong in god's right order. Or any order. She fetched it a halfhearted kick in the belly and it craned its long neck to face her and went blub blub blub with its fat tongue aloll out the side of its mouth like a bloated placenta and it hawked a foamy spit dead in the center of her forehead.

Aghhhghgoooahh, she cried flying away. She stood out range moaning and cringing while the spittle ran down the bridge of her nose. She gathered a handful of dust and powdered her face and wiped the spit away and dusted her face again. By now someone was coming to investigate the noise. Dachni ducked into the nearest yurt. She turned and faced the entrance with the rifle held at her hip. She could hear the handler calming the sheep. Then she heard him walk away.

She turned to find herself in a room dimly suffused by the light of a hearth fire in its center. The interior was laid over with a multitude of shyrdaks and divided by curtains strung from the iyiq. To her right she could hear the sonorous slumber of the old and to her left a young woman fitted in sleep.

Dachni drew back the curtain. A woman was curled fetally under blankets and her fists were clenched and her eyes squeezed shut. She stood over her. Before she knew what she was doing she was on the floor beside her. She lifted the blankets and wormed up to her. She didnt know what to do. She stared at that painted face. That's breath smelt of milk. That's brows were full of sweat. She hugged herself to her and laid her head against her bosom and listened to the frightened lungwork mayhaps carrying the breath of god yet.

When she woke her arms were empty and it was day. She rolled onto her back and stared up at a ring of faces staring down.

Oh, she said. Heydee.

крови Блеск, commented a woman as if in warning. They way some would point out a snake.

Иә, agreed another.

Ол жалғыз, said the woman she had slept the night with.
Ол воняет.

Well jest ta git on ta go, said Dachni sitting up. She glanced at the legs encaging her. Jess gahnna git on. Ok.

One of the women picked her up under the arms and set her on her feet.

олар аттары бар ма?

Жоқ

Сіздің атыңыз кім?

Dachni cocked her head at them. Что?

The women gasped loudly in unison.

Она говорит на русском языке. Трахни ее.

A rough looking woman reached down and stroked her hair. It stuck in clots of blood.

ның оған ваннаға келтірейік.

Иә Иә.

They walked her out into the brisk air. She held her things to her breast in stony fear like some girl child evicted from a home. The sun was hardly up. One of the older women kept spitting into a cloth and scrubbing a paler face out from under the grime and blood and Dachni squirmed and went, Uwahhg.

They brought her to the arroyo and she was taken by either wrist and lowered to the bank. They gathered round her tugging at the hem of her shirt or trying to loosen her belt. She slapped at their hands and an elderly female whopped her headtop with the welt of a blucher. Dachni looked embarrassed. She set her things down on the bank and leaned her rifle on them. Then she undressed.

Her clothes peeled off and she was deathly thin. A vicious avatar of starvation condemned to wander the earth insatiate and unsound. The clothes pooled at her feet heavy and wet like skins freshly flayed.

Құдіретті Құдай Жақсы.

Dachni stepped away from the clothes wearing only her boots mended, apprentice cobbler she is as is to other trades, with the faces of her enemies stretched over the vamp and she kicked those off and star stood scarred toe to crown with a thousand fine channels of gash like the streams of valleys. A farrago of damascene woundings. Twists of scratches wound about her nares and small clips had gouged flesh out her nailless fingers, in her palms. A thumbprick aureole half absolved into a fishooked cicatrix, the whole of her quarrons like some brutal topography, a frail etiolate munda nursed by darkness, wicked distaff of some ossean fighter escaped Mirovia's currents, same ocean ever as was, and the buffed outcroppings of spine and shoulder and rib weathered of their topflesh by the showers of ninetails and the shortribs alow her heart painted each with a tableau dually reminiscent of Apache depictions of the hunt and the Teutonic tradition of the danse macabre and her inner thighs were slaked to the heels with a flaking strata of menses burgundy black and imperial.

The jaws of the women had levered down. They had soap and cloth but they would none go near. Dachni put a hand to her clavicle and looked at the turgid water running quietly. She looked at the silver garrotees hung from her fingers by the chain.

бойынша өтіңіз, said one of the women handing her the cloth.

Dachni took it and waded in to her knees. The mud seeped through her toes. It was freezing. She wet the rag and worked up a lather and began washing herself while the women watched in rows like a choir. A filthy overcast of gruel spread downstream like paste of old vomit. And no kinder to the nose.

After a few minutes she returned to the bank to be dried off like a dog. There were fresher garments but Dachni preferred her own and with great reluctance they were forfeited to her. She dressed and they went back to camp.

She was brought to another yurt and set at a table and brought soup. Her caretaker provided a spoon but she ladled up the soup in her palm. The other women stood arrayed like spectators at a zoo.

Cans yaes sang none? said Dachni looking up at them. They was sangin lass night.

They none understood.

Well is ok.

When she was done eating they ushered her to a curtained section of the yurt where they communicated that she could sleep. Dachni frowned at the bedding.

Aint there nobody ta be there?
Не?


She looked up at them. Has ye got no whores? Well aint whores but someisbuddies. Doessen know.
The old woman swept her from her feet and carried her to bed and tucked her in.

Ұйықтауға жату, she said brushing the damp snarls of her hair.

Jahblawguah. Thasses whatns ye sounds ike.

The women left.

Dachni stared up at the patterns in the threw off the blankets and searched out a corner to put her things but there were no corners. She put all under the blankets and with only her rifle set out.
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  #64  
Old 11-16-2016, 07:02 PM
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I haven't read the update yet, but how about a crew cut and a suit? That would give you the seriously determined look. Also, a skinny tie like some tight fucker from the sixties: street cred. You'd also have to use the word 'cunt' often—I know it's not PC, but it could bolt you into stardom!
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  #65  
Old 11-16-2016, 07:05 PM
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Nah that's too much. Its like trying to stick a two foot dick in a six year old its just not gonna work. Oh but here are is a link to some of the photos Ive taken over the years.

http://bluewpc.deviantart.com/gallery/
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Old 11-16-2016, 07:22 PM
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Good stuff!

Who kicked your ass?
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Old 11-16-2016, 07:31 PM
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I got jumped by eight russians in a tunnel in Maidan Square. Kiev. Ukraine.

So the story goes me and my bud are returning from the Buddha Bar because he had bad sneakers and face control would not let him in. So were going through the tunnels and this big burly rusk calls out to us and says hey friend come. Well me being me I say to myself. I want to see where this going. My friend says. No. Youre stupid. So I walk towards this guy and then I start to think better of it and I turn back. Out of nowhere some asshole sucker punches me but its for some reason a grazing blow. All of a sudden eight folk come out of nowhere. Now I know jiu jitsu but against eight people that's like saying I know arithmetic. So I do the only thing I can. I throw myself at one guy stick my thumb in his eye and take a bite out of his forehead. Well I have my thumb in his socket but I can't quite turn out his eye and before I can somebody, I don't know hits me with brass knuckles, that's where the scar comes from. After that I start swinging somehow manage to get away. My friend is calling me to run but I'm more concerned about getting my headphones back into my shirt. As I turn around four of them jump at me again and we go at swinging someone runs up with a can of mace and just as he's about to blind me I grab his arm and hit him in the face. He maces everyone and then they all fuck off. It took less than two minutes. But it was good times.

I've been in a good number of fights. Have a few scrapes from knives. Broken both my thumbs, shattered my pinky knuckle, broken an ankle, broken a big toe. last week I decided to go for a run drunk and in the dark and I ended up rolling my ankle something fierce and then I had to walk home a mile and a half on it. Thing wealed up like a grapefruit and I still have two fat purple stripes running down either side of the foot. I tell ya man life aint for the faint of heart

Last edited by bluewpc; 11-16-2016 at 07:34 PM..
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  #68  
Old 11-23-2016, 10:53 PM
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Newer version of the last post. Cleaned it up. Added some stuff:

Two days later there was smoke. Four tilting columns stood from below the horizon and terminating against a resplendent lamellar like overcast side shined by the sun. She followed to find the smoke sources obscured from sight behind a coppice of willow trees and from that sight kept until a favorable dark overlaid the country whereupon she crept through the feather on her elbows to the trees edging an arroyo not thirty yards from the ail. She crawled through gnarled knuckled roots into a niche in the embankment directly under the trunk of a tree. There was just enough space to sit if leaned forward and the bottom was slick with mud.

Before dawn was the scouts departed and an hour later the tuqim emerged of their dwellings. They were Kazakhs. A race of mongoloid physique and pale yellow complexion. Lately arrived to their quitsu a hundred souls and their animals. Dachni peered through the roots while they went about their chores. The women mending the felt covers of the gers or sewing new clothes or fabricating jewelry. Some prepping goats for slaughter. The animals standing against barrels with necks elongated in petrification at the shedding of the blood. Others who drained the udders of cows, squeezing with hands as leathery as the teats. And new mothers dandying progeny so bedecked in finery that they appeared the ventriloquial figures of puppeteers and farther out young men tended sheep and elsewhere a huddle of youngsters played asyks in the dust.

Sometime around noon when it had warmed a little a group of women brought their children to swim in the muddy waters. Among them was a one armed girl of perhaps seven years who sat apart of the games of her friends scrubbing the dead skin from her soles with a pumice stone. She wore a gem necklace of marbles, opal and zircon and lapis and pearl and she refused with a melancholic warmth from time to time the various invitations to play and when the mothers called them in she stood in perfect elegance and the water drained off her tawny thighs and breast like a ribbed cutting board in innocent licentiousness. Dachni spat.

The scouts returned in the late afternoon. Big men dressed in furs against the cold. They dismounted and secured their horses and camels to ropes strung betwixt the crowns of four yurts and delivered their reports to a long bearded aksakala who had come out to greet them. Evidently good news. A feast was held that night in the qara uy, the gathering tent. The whole tuqim invited and no guards.

Dachni crawled out her den and slid front first down to the bank and crossed at its shallowest point and climbed up the far acclivity and made her way to the qara whenceforth emanated the elder's declaiming. She unseamed the zhabu with her knife and was presented with a second covering fashioned from reeds and she cut that to and then she could see him through the saganaks standing by the tor.

He was brandishing an enormous saber in a great ceremony of parceling three plattered goats to his lieutenants and their kin in the order of their rank and what came next by women were steaming bowls of et and pilaf and then came kvass and then came vodka. Tendrils of their steam slipped out the cut and they smelled wonderful. The feast commenced and with it a hopeful chattering, a cautious mirth. Musicians produced the horsehead and the dombra and in short order a lively tune was set up. Dachni watched. The greasy fingers. The jaws working tiredly but not without joy. She watched a babe in the crook of arms, the hands brushing its first wispy hairs, its mother cooing.

Surveying the abundance she noticed two men looking towards her. She froze that their attentions might pass on but then one pointed and she dashed back and went careening through the hung tears of the sallow and plumb out over the arroyo where gravity crashed her down to the ice. She rolled upright dripping and scrambled up the bank to her hole and took an aim. The floorplate rattled in its housing and her dilated ventricles hammered such sanguineous acid against her polished ribs that she put a hand to keep that fiery systole in thrall.

A minute later the esik, the heavy woven doorflaps, flared outwise and a man emerged holding a bowl. He helloed the night and she sighted in on him and he called a second time and receiving no answer walked to the edge of the ail and set the bowl down and went back inside.

She bided a few minutes more that any other would come but none did nor had the festival suffered interruption only there now was a plaintive dirge haunting the steppe. She could barely make out the bowl and was it poison and would she die. In the end she kept to her place and when the feast had concluded and the tuqim leaving for their homes her witnesses came with the elder to see had their offering been accepted and they studied the night and she thought they might call out but they turned away.

She waited until the early of morning before the sun was up to sortie out again. Back to the qara where she peered through the cut to discover the feast cleared away. Not even a crumb. She slinked through the ail keeping to the deeper shadows and yet forcing a casualness of gait that she might convince any who perchance glimpsed her that she belonged. Who would it have fooled? This mechanical jerking of a doll. She put her ears to the rough felt of the yurts to hear what transpired inside. Snoring and bad dreams. No exceptions.

At the pens she prodded awake the sheep and the humps of wool shuddered like agitated cumulus and baahed at her and the goats bleated and tried to eat her cuffs. She walked along the horses. By and by she came to one that did not fit. A camel. She studied it a full minute before deciding this thing did not belong in god's right order. Or any order. She fetched it a halfhearted kick in the belly and it craned its long neck to face her and went blub blub blub with its fat tongue aloll out the side of its mouth like a bloated placenta and it hawked a foamy spit dead in the center of her forehead.

Aghhhghgoooahh, she cried flying away. She stood out range moaning and cringing while the spittle ran down the bridge of her nose. She gathered a handful of dust and powdered her face and wiped the spit away and dusted her face again. By now someone was coming to investigate the noise. Dachni ducked into the nearest yurt. She turned and faced the entrance with the rifle held at her hip.

The handler came to the sheep and calmed them and then he went to see about the horses. Then he went away.

The room in which she found herself was dimly suffused by the dying light of a hearth fire. When her eyes adjusted she could see that the interior was laid over with shyrdaks and partitioned by curtains strung from the iyiq. To her right she could hear the sonorous slumber of old and to her left a young woman fitted in sleep.

Dachni drew back the curtain. The woman was curled fetally under her blankets and her fists were clenched and her eyes squeezed shut. She stood over her. Before she knew what she was doing she was beside her on the floor. She tried freeing the blanket from the woman but her grip on it was tight and so she raised her arm like the raising of a batwing and wormed up against her. She didnt know what to do. She stared into the pained face. That's breath smelt of milk. That's forehead channeled sweat down its furrows. She hugged herself to her and buried her face into her bosom and listened to the frightened lungwork mayhaps carrying the breath of god's terror yet.

When she woke her arms were empty and it was day. She rolled onto her back and stared up at a ring of women's faces staring down.

Oh, she said. Heydee.

крови Блеск, commented a woman. As one might alert others to the presence of a snake.

Иә, agreed another.

The woman she had slept the night with regarded her sadly. Ол жалғыз, she said.

Ол воняет.

Well jesta git on ta go, said Dachni sitting up. She looked about at the cage of legs. Jess gahnna git on. Ok.

The woman behind her picked her up by her armpits and set her on her feet. They began to clamor about her. A rough looking woman reached down and stroked her hair. It stuck in dried mats of blood.

ның оған ваннаға келтірейік.

Иә Иә.

They clamored her into brisker air. A frost had settled in the night. All hoary as one would think it to be. Dachni clutched her things to her breast like some girl child evicted from a home. The sun was hardly up and it had that newborn paleness of demeanor. One of the older women kept spitting into a cloth and scrubbing a whiter face out from under the grime and blood and Dachni squirmed and batted at her with her shoulders.

At the arroyo they lowered her to the bank by her wrists and stepped down each in turn and gathered round her and tugged at the hem of her shirt or tried to loosen her belt. She slapped at their hands and an elderly female whopped her headtop with the welt of a blucher. Dachni gurned embarrasedly. She set her things on the bank and leaned her rifle on them. Then she undressed.

Her clothes peeled off. She was deathly thin. A vicious avatar of starvation and filth condemned to wander the earth insatiate and unsound. The clothes pooled at her feet heavy and wet like skins freshly flayed.

Құдіретті Құдай Жақсы.

Dachni stepped away from the clothes wearing only her four scapulars of blackened ears and fulvous teeth and her boots mended, apprentice cobbler she is as is to other trades, with the faces of her enemies stretched over the vamp and she kicked those off and star stood scarred toe to crown with a thousand fine channels of gash like the streams of valleys. A farrago of damascene woundings. Twists of scratches wound about her nares and small clips had gouged flesh out her nailless fingers, in her palms. A thumbprick aureole half absolved into a fishooked cicatrix, the whole of her quarrons like some brutal topography, a frail etiolate munda nursed by darkness, wicked distaff of some ossean fighter escaped Mirovia's currents, same ocean ever as was, and the buffed outcroppings of spine and shoulder and rib weathered of their topflesh by the showers of ninetails and the shortribs alow her heart painted each with a tableau dually reminiscent of Apache depictions of the hunt and the Teutonic tradition of the danse macabre and her inner thighs were slaked to the heels with a flaking strata of menses burgundy black and imperial.

The jaws of the women had levered down. They had soap and cloth but they would none go near. Dachni put a hand to her clavicle and looked at the turgid water running quietly. She looked at the silver garrotees hung from her fingers by the chain.

бойынша өтіңіз, said one of the women handing her the cloth.

Dachni took it and waded in to her waist. The mud seeped through her toes. It was freezing. She wet the rag and worked up a brown lather and washed herself while the women stood in rows like a Greek choir preparing to announce a tragedy. A filthy overcast of gruel spread downstream like a paste of old vomit. And no kinder to the nose.

A few short minutes later Dachni waded back to the bank to be dried off like a dog. There were fresher garments but she preferred her own and with great reluctance they were forfeited to her and she dressed and they walked back to the ail.

They took her to another yurt and set her at a foot table and fed her a soup she ladled up in her palm. She stopped between mouthfuls to pay them a jag of silver.

Cans yaes sang none? she said looking up at the female arrayal. They was sangin lass night.

When she was done eating she laid a silver jag on the table and with it the bowl and unused utensils were cleared away and she was ushered to the women's side of the yurt where it was communicated that she should rest. Dachni frowned at the simple bedding.

Aint they nobody of there?

Не?

She looked up at them. Whores. Has ye got no whores? Well aint whores but someisbuddies. Doessen know.

A pair of arms swooped down and swept her from her feet and carried her to bed and tucked her in.

Ұйықтауға жату, said the woman brushing the damp snarls of her undeblooded hair.

Jahblawguah. Thasses whatns ye sounds ike.

The women filed out. Dachni lay very still. The wind sucked through the bottoms of the walls and carried through the muted sounds of ail life outside. She stared through the shanyrak at the gray overcast. This room had no divisions and its walls all round were covered with needlegrass mats on which were woven things like forms that had become to die. The baskur held the same. An intricate evolution of agonized polymorphs denied animate expression instantiated in the felt their life of sorrows each less new forms than new sorrowings that terminated in extinction. She saw things that looked like her tapering towards their end.

Buuuuucket this, she said peeking out form under the blankets. Fucket. Fuck this.

She threw off the blankets and gathered her things and went out.
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Old 11-29-2016, 04:54 PM
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Stepping out into the morning she was struck with a sense of deja vu qualified upon her looking at the tuqim who was engaged in yesterday's chores as if they inhabited some strange rhythmic stasis like an exhibit at a museum or a rehearsal. She meandered to a farrier. A wiry man with a wispy mustache. His sleeves rolled to his elbows though his breath clouded the air. He tonged a short thin bar into the open mouth of an electric furnace and shut the grate and pressed the power button. The furnace whined a dozen seconds and when the door popped open the steel was bright and he tonged it out and hammered it into shape on the horn of his anvil and replaced it in the furnace again. He did this a few times, each time shaping some new feature. He used a clinch to groove either quarter of the shoe and he punched holes in the grooves and then dunked the shoe in a bucket of water and the steam hissed up in high treble like a den of vipers.

Later stoled away in another yurt sniffing the sour reek of an open kumis bag. She dipped a finger in to test the stuff. When she came out again she was drunk and stumbling past a circle of smokers sat on their cushions was remarked through the lingering fog of their exhaling as a thing without precedence. That while the physical form was a variation upon a theme yet the interior did herald something new of time's incubation filtrated out the desert or its dungeons.

She was drawn to the outlying polya where children her own age or older played soccer. There were three times of seven and they had sets of sticks fifty yards apart for goal posts and they were punting an actual soccer ball white and black and sufficient to regulation flashing through the high grass they had unsuccessfully tried to get the sheep to crop. Someone pointed and a time out was mutually agreed to.

Здравствуйте, said Dachni.

ол қайдан пайда болды?

Қандай оның көзімен дұрыс емес?

Бұл жын болып табылады.

Someone passed her the ball. It rolled up her feet and rebounded from her shins. She looked at it a moment then putted it back with her rifle.

Wells. Byes.

Far from the game she found the girl. Sitting in the tall wind combed grass. Spiable by the wispy black of her savage hair. She plopped down unannounced and the girl flinched shut her book.

Heydee, said Dachni smiling enormously. Seen ye was figured was of company.

When the girl saw her eyes her own whited out and she began to look fervently for any clansmen of hers but there not here nor near.

Was yer wrong? said Dachni perking to follow her mad search over the awned spikelets with amused perplexion. Not someones out there?

There were none. The horizon seamed shut in its utter round broke by not even the smallest animalcule. The girl's gaze settled slowly to her. Dark melancholic almond eyes that betrayed a wounded will able to endure a single tragedy more. Nothing else. The grass murmured in a fragrant wind. Woodsmoke. Jasmine. Dachni smiled.

Heyhey.

Сәлем, said the girl nervously clutching her book.

Wheres ye from?

The girl rose suddenly. Менің барғым керек.

Dachni dusted off her pants and stood nodding sagely. She slung the nagant and pocketed her hands. Well. Crazy days aint it? Crazy crazy. Is ye learned to read?

The girl regarded her. She was cupping her stump now. The wool cuff of her sleeve had been pinned back and the blade of her arm stuck out. It had been shorn below the elbow and it was divided by the old scar of vicious suturing and she wiped a smudge of mucous from her lip with it. Dachni tapped the book. The girl looked at it and looked at her. She met her palms and unfolded them and the girl opened the book and Dachni laughed at this minor success of communication and jabbed the title with a finger.

Will ye give a read?

Не?

Please? A read. A read. Reedy read.

The girl read the title.

Aye, aye, laughed Dachni.

They sat shoulder to shoulder, huddled over the book, the girl tracing her finger along the words where they ran along the page.

The story was of a madman's rabbit shrunk by scientific misadventure to the size of an ant. This misfortune was followed by another in which a raven flew in through the open window and swallowed it only to vomit it onto an ant colony. Not an easy life. Not at all. What was this soft thing of fur in a dark world of dirt and exoskeleton. It was taken to the queen and formally adopted but it could not lift its weight, could not eat the nectar, and was forced to eat the small scraps of grass clung to the barbed legs of the workers that filed in at the end of each day. The rabbit cried until soldier ants resolved to restore it to its proper size and they escorted it through the front lawn of the laboratory where they endured the predations of a black widow and the thunderous barrage of rain that washed a full half of their number away. After harder days they reached the laboratory where they tried catching the attentions of the scientist by assuming formations on his tables but he in his obsession was blind. After convening they decided to bite him to get his attention and the bravest of them went forth but when he bit the scientist's arm he was crushed. Another volunteered and stung the arm and was rubbed out. And so forth they marched to death until there was raised on the scientist's arm the word Look and when he looked he saw the rabbit and restored it to its size. The epilogue was that in times of drought the rabbit would sneak out to the colony and cry over it that the ants would have water to drink.

The girl inhumed this tale under the waterstained cardboard bookend that summarized it and looked at Dachni. Dachni laid her head on her shoulder. She jerked out from under it to her feet with a cry as if the thoughts beneath those temples burned.

Сен не істеп жатырсың? she cried.

Dachni hugged her knees and buried her face between them. Sorrysorrysorry, she said.

The girl sat back down. Бәрі жақс.

Dachni peeked out over her kneecaps. Then she rested her arms on her knees and her chin on her forearms and looked up at the gray patchwork afore the firmament. Far away swans were flying south.

Қандай да сіз дейді.

Aye. Ye aint mech fer kippin next. Fegures in that. Esent too blame though. Nones is. Ye stays overlong anywheres theres bounds goin be some nasty. But thass always. Alones a lie of better. Truths theys nothin in by yeself theys naught on point. It aint a good world.

The girl leaned on her complete arm and pushed up to her feet. Біз қайтып тиіс.

Dachni tugged at her sleeve. Isn ye off?

The girl tugged back. She pointed her stump in the direction of the ail. Мен кейінірек сені көресіз.

They went on together. Passing the game a jeer sang out that hastened the girl. Other things were said that put to her running. They ran the fields with the grass whipping their legs and they ran past the resting herds like bloated cherubim, their bored shepherds surmising them out of squinted eyes not poachers before returning to their crepuscular daydreams.

They staggered gasping into the ail on wobbling legs. Some of the older folk watched them.

Dachni bent wheezed raggedly. Hells. Hell. Yerra kyna athlit.
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Old 11-29-2016, 05:06 PM
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Yerra kyna athlit–ha ha
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Old 12-03-2016, 06:35 PM
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@brian aye she has a way with words Also edited one of the opening quotes in the first post.


She tagged behind her all day yammering good naturedly about the supertensile properties of the varying moon and upon the felonious personalities inhabiting in situ or utero the outer reaches who might affine themselves to this or that celestial body for all the good it did on earth for the autochthonous androgynes furfurally vapored and the ill bode of grasshoppers and the right life of automobiles and the stars so cold that burn at a billion degrees whatever degrees may be. She babbled about the insufficiency of the crucifixion and the mildness of the passion as a whole and Gethsemane bled to the garden did and she supposed the sacrifice was a thing to be renewed from time to time and maybe even for good measure whether needed or no and from all these topics degenerated into giggling fits of hysteria every time the girl looked back.

They came to sit with the girl's mother outside her yurt and the mother paused in laundering to regard her daughter's comate with repressed dismay. A sturdy woman in workwoman's habiliment. Slopes eyes close to the high malar and a blunt nose and teeth none too many nor in good repair rooted in brunneous beds of gingivitis. Meracious dam you have seen seasons therefore dost thou wash. Dachni looked from this leathery matriarch to her friend whom she could not fathom with bloody ax hewn through the lips of the generative stomach into this dark world as had she to cast a new shadow and give those shadows shallow a deeper end.

When is yall goin head out? An wheres yall headed?

We are to stay for winter, said the mother.

Ta whole winter?

Yes.

Dachni glanced off at the horses grazing in the poyles. What will ye take for that palo?

Palo?

Horse. Aye ifn a mind was to buy out what would ye take for it?

I do not think they are of sale.

Mezebees oughta start reckonin em as is.

I no understand.

Ifn they was a sale who would sale it?

Musa.

Wheres Musa?

You see him tonight. You talk then.

Ok.

Whatns her name?

Who?

Dachni leaned into the girl.

Her name Holnifa.

Well howdy Holnifa.

Selem, said Holnifa with a wave.

The mother bent to her washing. Mannish hands. Scraping pants up and down the washboard in a detergent tide that reared and receded on the knuckle buffed slats in whited grip.
Dachni reached across her friend to hold her stump.
Is hard life, said the mother.

Then ye die, added Dachni. Is hard endin any bet. The mounties has naught on mercy no nice on nobody. They was two fellers caught up an wrapped her naked rounna tree an cut the otherns dick off and shoved it in her ta rot. She come to pure hollerin by weeks end. Her belly purpled. But thats not half no ugly any could have a mind to see.

The mother stopped submerged to the forearms in the suds. She studied Dachni a moment then removed her anthemion patterned dewrag from her skull and wiped the sweat from her brow.

Ішке, she said.

Holnifa obeyed.

Dachni rose.

You stay moment.

Holnifa at the entrance of the yurt paused to look back. The mother tched at her and made a quick little twitch of a finger.

Неге ол қалуға бар? said Holnifa.

Ол сәтте бойымен болады. Өтіңіз.

Holnifa disappeared inside the yurt.

The mother fitted back the dewrag.

Where is parents?

Hellfire, said Dachni, ye know that answer. Thats never secrets.

Where do you go?

To the grad. Thassns where say ye can sign up. Has heards? Theys rumors on the roads that the masons have laid. Is told any of a body enlists an they get citi...citi...get...citizenned. Citizin. Citizen. They get to be citizen. Then yers all part.

You are too young to army.

Dachni laughed. Shet. Done killed moren folk a forest of sticks could get shook at. This here rifle detopped a dozen devils damn off a miles ways. An knives too. Done ever took scalp on this belt. Every tooth on this necklaces. Ever set of ears. Fightin esent no thing. Smallness wont be no siderin theyll be happed to have such a good thass the reckon.

The mother shook her head. Жоқ Жоқ

Да. Да.

It is very bad.

Nuff bad ta go round but thistle be good. It will. But hey Holnifa. She's pretty pretty.

Yes.

Well. She wunnit be uva mind on amryin? Would she?

No she no army.

Aye. She doan seem typed to it. But shes nicest ever there was save maybe on singin. Equal to it leasties.

You are friends.

Why not?

But you are not stay?

Maybe some whiles. Maybe a lel. Them otherns made fun of her.

She is very shy.

Ought somebody to cut theys faces off an stitch over they ass for a diaper.

The mother wagged her finger viciously. Жоқ Do not do that.

Its up of them what gits done.

Dont do. I talk to them.

Best that ye does.

Go inside and play.

Gone.

Inside Holnifa waited holding a new book before her in grim faced determination as if to say this shall be liked and no choice in the matter. She went to recline on the small couch in the female section and Dachni flopped against her and cuddled up and though her friend was reserved against such affections she protested not. And Dachni with ear to the soporific bellows that sourced this lilting sadness. Here the remedy to the exhausted spirit. Here too the benison she agreed.

At dinner side by side oblivious to geriatric auspices sidelong or infelicitous. Stuffing soy sauced eggs into her jaws and slurping from her goblet of kvass. And touching everything, everything she could on the table with her dripping hands. Her face a smear mask of sauces and meat. And now an elbow in her ribs and her friend's stern visage imploring her towards an etiquette superior to the anthropophagi or at least equal.

Hows that? she said spewing egg.

Holnifa squinched a face of yuck and she lunged forward to tongue from neck and cheek black stained flecks of congealed yolk. Holnifa squirm wiped her face and impaled a hunk of gravied lamb meat and thrust it towards her like a threat of civility and Dachni chomped half of it away and guffawed between her primitive mastications.

And after her rampageous sup when it was time to bed who else beside would she rest? Who with resigned equanimity accepted more than her hoping mother that they would not be parted. They slipped under the duvet in a spasmodic cackling while the mother admonished them to goodness. Dachni made no promises. The mother postponed this fight till the morn. She drew back the curtains partitioning the yurt whereupon shapes beyond its thick patterned mask removed their meretricious shrift, their veneers and guises and leaning towards electric blooms switched them off in stuttering diminishment of their shade upon her wall one by one till their shapes were assumed in the fabric itself in the shape of night.

And in that night she would regard her pajamaed bedmate to ensure she were not also multiplicitous of form but to find her seraphic in sleep though manifesting the festers of thoughtdreams that the entendered brush of lips do dispel. She listened to her soothing breath and to the weakened pulse of her heart and to the monkish beatitudes of goats, the shepherds to them bound.

Eavesdropping on covert colluctions indecipherable to her ears prompted her to her own discourses but not with this bedfellow peaced gainst her breast, dismasted limb thrown over her, and so seeking in what she should find camaraderie or what to be her interlocutor followed the polished uyks to their convergence upon the crown, its inner circumference brooked with pluck stars pertinaciously shining without worry but between their pricks that seemed her ancient in the crown and called the whole deep blackness her familiar or the mirror of her eyes. Tear through the briar stars, trim the galaxies' havoc to a fancy then gore the wide universe and let it drain down a pin suck how had her lexicon not been trite and her articulate parts developed would have formulated an address for the mad image flying round the synaptic panopticon of her mind.
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Old 12-09-2016, 04:17 PM
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Returning from her morning toilet a hand reached out of the fog and clasped her arm.
Heydee whats wants?
Come with me.
Hows for?
Come.
Well say whats is.
The mother put the heel of her palm to her face and gestured vaguely towards a log. Sit down.
Creaky legs. They do fer standin come a morn.
You are not behaved.
Not what?
Behaved. You are not good. Sit.
Hell ye aint no kinda polygon.
What?
Ye heard.
You are not good. Obey.
Fuck you.
Be quiet and listen.
Dachni drew the big bowie knife from her belt and shoved the point against the mother's navel. You listen. Ye says more an yer goin get your neck chopped an fed to buzzards on both faces of an axe. Thats promise. Ye fucks off now orll get fucked off to hell.
The mother backed away.
Dachni sheathed the knife. When she turned Holnifa was downcast, silent as the willow saplings falling as many tears.
That aint no real mother. An ta hell with what aint real.
They hastened to her home where several books were withdrawn from her personal library, stored in an ottoman's compartment, ere hastening to the fields. Dachni took her things with her. They sat in the grass. By and by she would take a drink.
Is ye a whiskey drink?
Не?
She held up a jar. Big Splo Momma Jones. A foul smelling distill renowned in every tributary of the Volga. Especially banned in temperate towns, general catholicon in the wastes and last resort in hospitals and film development. Holnifa cast doubts upon its status as a beverage.
Try some.
She leaned near. The short whiff she took made her wince.
Woof.
Dachni laughed. Itsa brewll keck ye through the way. Thank twice, it aint but right.
Holnifa took the jar and drank. Hardly had the liquid met her tongue that her face squinched tight.
Gehhh.
She pounded her chest to help the stuff along its way and Dachni took the bottle and took a drinker's drought and held the jar against their near star. Diffracted to a chalky hue through this brown lobe smoke suspending ecliptical flotsam. As young suns are seen through the atmospheres of alien worlds, alien eyes.
They played one handed clapping games. They hopscotched and warred with their thumbs. They twirled like little frolicking dervishes. Holnifa kicked a phantom ball and made tumbling motions with her hand.
Sure, said Dachni.
The game was at match point when they arrived and in the undone hurlyburly they noticed them not. All the world out this game's bounds and yet all the world could be its host. Dachni handed off the nagant and forded through the unnoticing players to the skirmisher in possession of the ball and slugged him in the throat. He went down. She rolled him off the ball with her foot and dribbled it away. They went on. Holnifa looking back towards the children huddled round their teammate.
And staring up at blurred pairs of ireful matrons. Surfing waves of nausea. The injured family standing to the the side with their wounded scion who could barely take liquids and arrayed about the crowd of witnesses leveling their criminations upon this one armed sinister freak and no other.
Dachni hawked a wad of acrid phlegm into the most vocal face. Wasnt her. Fucks on sakes ye cocksuckers had any mind motes ye can gander once an know it want the dove an them ever liars. They wasnt goin share an they wasnt give it up vo they wasnt no point in askin.
The mother glared at her.
Touch an ye get killed.
Scorn fell upon her from every direction. What means to discipline this wilderness outcast or her tacit accomplice? Admonish nature. Yoke it.
Musa dismissed the parties injured or otherwise. They filed out of the yurt. When they were gone he put his hands on his knees.
You are American.
Papers esent gaved yet.
Do you want to stay here?
Not too long.
How long?
Dont know. Little whiles. Or is ye meanin with yal?
Yes.
Little whiles. Ye ought ta hang one of em. Take the big of em an clip him at a knee.
There is no way to make these things equal.
Yeah.
She will learn.
They might kill her.
They will not.
They might drive her to kill herself.
Maybe.
Dachni looked up. Horses. Will ye sell?
No.
Or one of tem ugly fucks. One for her. Fuck that whore is lie to be her mother.
They dont look it but she birthed her. I was there.
Bullshit.
But she is.
Dachni sorted in her clothes and presented a bag of currency.
Thatll by a stringed dozen. Knows on that.
I cant sell.
Why not?
We need them for the winter.
Ye can get twenty more on this kinda price. Go on to a saddlery.
There is no saddlery here.
Thass the shit of the bull. Theys places. An not too farred off. Is a downed plane they made it a hotel. Theres an injin keeps horses.
I cannot.
Why?
They wont sell.
Theyll take money.
Not from us.
Youre full of shit.
Have some respect.
Well fuck, she said pocketing her funds. Aint ye the dumbest fuck ever walked a plain.
Musa looked sad. One day you will understand.
Hope never to.

Last edited by bluewpc; 12-09-2016 at 06:03 PM..
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Old 12-09-2016, 04:58 PM
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Aside from formatting problems, it's still good.
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Old 12-09-2016, 05:55 PM
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oh that is weird what kinda goat fuck is this
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Old 12-09-2016, 07:21 PM
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Originally Posted by bluewpc View Post
oh that is weird what kinda goat fuck is this


Goat fucks are generally quick stinky affairs—over in like 15 seconds.


I have a friend who owns a petting zoo...
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Old 12-09-2016, 07:36 PM
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I'm more affined with the wooly kinds.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_sJB4wI66No
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  #77  
Old 12-15-2016, 05:31 PM
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So a little update. I started the revision process for the preceding scenes and I thought maybe to give a show how I typically edit. I use a process I call layering and it takes its inspiration from digital painting and follows the basic steps.

Whenever starting I scene I typically begin with just a rough sketch that's most action or dialogue and I'll do a few passes on those and tighten up where I can. Once I finish I'll usually do a few more scenes and then go back. I don't go too far for the reason that I often make significant changes that would render everything afterwards invalid.

Next I'll build the environment. The landscape, the weather, real low resolution while still making passes on the dialogue and action. On the third pass I work out smaller detail stuff, extra stuff that gives out emotionality. Afterwards since none of this stuff is going to agree, I give the whole scene a full rewrite trying to incorporate everything as seamlessly as possible. Sometimes it works more often now and two or three attempts are usually needed to pare down those things that prove to be superfluous. Often tends to happen is I have to rearrange the order of paragraphs until it fits. Its often like creating a puzzle on the fly and figuring out what the picture is after.

On a personal note I fly out for Serbia on April 9th and I'll be giving an interview on meaning and violence on the 23rd so aye.

Something

Last edited by bluewpc; 12-15-2016 at 06:02 PM..
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Old 12-15-2016, 06:38 PM
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So these pieces you've posted are where in the editing process?

First drafts? Mostly dialogue and action?
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Old 12-15-2016, 07:01 PM
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All first draft with one exception. The scene where Dachni sees Holnifa bathing at the arroyo to when she goes herself to bathe at the same place. The major change being that I lopped off Holnifa's left arm.

I really prefer environmental storytelling ala Portal or Half-Life. Terrence Malick in interviews said that when he was directing Thin Red Line he would often have the characters do two different kinds of takes. One with dialogue and one without. And I take that approach. I'll write a scene using dialogue, what you typically see above, and then write it again without. Writing without is always harder and in the first novel I really hadn't gotten a hang of it so theres a lot more talking then I really want but the novel is done and it has to remain done.

The other part is visual communication. Ok so despite that this is all words well we can create imagery and convey meaning in that way I think its almost purely symbolic and its that happy medium between subjectivity and objectivity because a well crafted description gives the limit to what can be envisioned but the envisioning remains the reader's and theres nothing to contradict it.

Darren Aranofsky in Requiem For a Dream did this wonderfully at the climax and denouement. So spoilers if you don't want to keep reading.

Towards the end we have each of the main characters hitting the pit of their hells. Sara Goldfarb is in an institution receiving shock therapy, Harry is in a hospital getting his arm amputated, Marion is participating in an orgy, and Ty is in prison.

Well Aranofsky shows that Ty is the only one who could recover. How do we know this? Well in the climatic scene the camera cuts from character to character very rapidly but we see Sarah with a mouthpiece in her mouth, we see Harry being fed oxygen, Marion is having money stuffed in her mouth. Ty however is vomiting. He's purging the sickness in him and so while its gross vomit like urination or defecation its a healthy function. Then in the denouement were shown the fantasy of each. Marion thinks of nothing. Harry dreams of Marion and then of falling off a pier into nothingness. Sarah dreams of being on the show and being reunited with her son. Each still pursuing in their mind what was destructive to themselves. Ty though dreams of his mother holding him. The meaning is conveyed without words. And so to bring this to writing the construction of imagery, of allusion, of parallel, of repetition allows you access to the same methodology of imparting meaning without dialogue.

Last edited by bluewpc; 12-15-2016 at 07:05 PM..
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Old 12-28-2016, 07:07 PM
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Here's my interview on Meaning and Violence. its very short and I stutter a lot.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jbWfbzH83lc
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Old 01-15-2017, 12:01 AM
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In the end they were sentenced to a weeks confinement. Dachni receiving this news stepped out the limits of her prison and leaned on her rifle. Alcohol also was forbidden but she defended her stores like a junk dog, spirituous dipsomaniac she was, and the prisoners wallowed in perpetual inebriation before a lantern like two archimagi puzzling out electromagnetism in the catacombs of Tehran.

They snuck out at first light. Fording the dawn mist to the arroyo. They repaired to the earthen den in the embankment and sat almost in each other quaffing whiskey and sortieing out to capture frogs. One a bullfrog. Obese glutton invasive to these regions. It lunged forward and the fat uvula of a tongue shot out and pulled their captives into its spacious maw. They prodded it around until it fitted its obscene lips on Holnifa's knee. She squealed and Dachni stabbed five times its warty face and chucked it out with vows never to make a pet of such abominations again.

Next a centipede. Scurrying across their roof not fast enough and forthwith dissembled with the tines of a mess kit fork and pinned wriggling in the air. Chitinous monster. Clawed ventrad curved limbs treading void, wirbling their own petty slipstreams and antenna in desperate investigation of this new dimension air for the way out that is not there. In thy mandibled cephalus rage but rage at what? It clamped on a twig waved before it and was snuffed of its life.

They returned that night to matriarchal fury. The corruptor summoned by the sompnour sat side by side enduring beratement in dual tongues and sent to bed without a supper.

Drinking whiskey she asked in their own budding cant of sound and mime how the arm had been lost. Holnifa lying in the feather raised her stump as if to remember. The other arm rose as if to compare. She seemed to be waiting to receive someone and Dachni wishing to be received stepped athwart her and dropped into a mount and licked her nose.

Ech.

She laughed. Howb it hap?

Holnifa squirmed out from under her and made precipitory
motions with her fingers. Ол жаңбыр болды.

Boom, said Dachni mimicking. Жаңбыр.

Иә.

She made a fist and punched it into the ground and
exploded it and chopped at her arm.

Ah, said Dachni.

Саған не болды?

Dachni crossed her arms and scratched her head with both hands. She lifted her shirt. She held it up a moment looking off and let it back down again.

It wasnt no fun.

Көру.

Done enough of that.

No. Көру.

Holnifa stood and pointed into the distance.

Dachni turned to see the mother storming through the
weeds.

Ah shit.

It was the second day of their ordered confinement.

The mother yanked her child away.

Cock sucker.

You do not ever come near her again. You get your things
out of my house and do not come back.

Fuck you.

You are not ever welcome in my house.

Dachni drew her pistol and discharged it into the ground.

At this Holnifa embraced her mother screaming, Жоқ
Жоқ. The child turned to the child and tried to explain and
though the words were lost the terror was not. It lowered the
pistol. The mother held her kin to her. The anger gone into a
cold hate. She backed slowly away and after a good distance
was between them she turned and they walked back together.

Dachni paced in demoniac rage fantasizing aloud the
brutalities she would inflict upon her tormentors. When she
finally came back to the ail her things were piled outside the
yurt and she snatched them up and returned to her den and
slung them through the moon hued tree veins teething that
dark slit. There was a stifled cry. She looked inside. Holnifa sat
rubbing her shoulder.

Goddammit sorry. Sorry. Sorry.

Holnifa was draped in a trio of blankets. Бәрі жақсы.

That bitch is a fucking whore an pigs is somewhere in this
country gonna make a slut of her.

Ішке кір.

Dachni slid through the gap into the arms of her friend. It
took her a moment to settle in her lap and then the blankets
enveloped her in a good seeping warmth and fragrance of
blackberries.

Осында.

A smuggled bowl of gyozo was pressed into her hands.
Small pork dumplings with browned undersides.

Мен сені ұмытқан жоқ. Ол OK болады. Мен таңертең
ана сөйлесіп бара жатырмын. Сіз қалуы. Мен сөз беремін.

She kissed her forehead. Dachni ate and drank and shared
a good measure of whiskey. In their deep night solitude she
tried to release the sable hatred of her soul seep out but where
would it go?

In the morning outside the mother's yurt Holnifa thumped
her fist atop her head and cautioned her to silence.

Jess fer ye.

тыныш болыңыз, said Holnifa reading her face.

They entered hand in hand to confront the mother only
now discovering her youngest's absence. Seeing them together
reignited her fury but Holnifa raged her case citing the absolute
inadequacy of her home wherein she had been isolated by the
plebeian judgment of her illiterate peers, how she was deprived
of the affections her siblings enjoyed, decried the shamed life of
the crippled forever burdened and burdening that precluded her from full initiation in the tuqim by the neglect of her tutelage in its history and the cessation of her instruction in the crafts traditional to girl kind and that furthermore her prospects of upward mobility were dashed as she could expect no dowry for her disfigurement and so what was it to have a friend? however uncouth?

A shaman was sent for and his prompt arrival hinted at a soul wise to evil, that there was neither quarter nor hour favorable or no to its propagation butt hat to time and place it was indifferent. An adherent to the Tengrism. Solemnly bedraped in dyed jute and musteline spliced with sea shells wherein worlds were purportedly echoed. He wore bead bracelets on his wrists and a totem round his neck. He listened attentively to the mother's complaints and then dismissed her and sent for soup.

He studied them while they ate. These girls in their chaps of mud, the one who sipped from her palm, the other who employed daintily a spoon. He studied their ornaments, the necklaces of gem or ear, their bracelets and fetishes. He asked how their clothes had gotten so muddy and Holnifa told him of their burrow and he asked if they would show him to it and when they were finished eating they did.

He shined a flashlight in those dark confines a few minutes then sent Holnifa to fetch a tool bag from his abode and she set off. Him and Dachni sat at the lip of the burrow not speaking. She came back ten minutes later hefting by main strength an enormous duffel bag. It was slung across her and she was bent almost to the waist in its port.

She dropped the bag at their feet and flopped in cinematically exaggerated exhaustion against Dachni.

Wuhhh.

Dachni pulled her across her lap. Yes you.

Yes?

She tickled her sides and she scrunched up laughing.

The shaman smiled. He opened the bag and distributed spades to the girls and leaned back inside the den and made shaving motions against the walls and the girls catching his drift clambered inside to scrape themselves a larger room. He contributed nothing to their efforts but by morning there was room enough to stand and lie down and by that time the mother coming in general inquiry discovered their works.

Apoplectic she was but the shaman had been twice divorced and he weather her tirade stoically and dismissed her. He turned to see the girls peeking out from the den. He clapped his hands and ordered them back to work. They withdrew slowly. He went away. He returned strapped with a backpack and slung over both shoulders with bags and carrying plates of hashbrowns and biscuit sandwiches of sausage and cheese and egg. They breakfasted and he opened up the bags to reveal basic household paraphernalia.

He laid out cutlery, a lamp, a gas stove, solar panels, a
small generator and batteries for it, and rugs and mats. He supervised their decorations, a quiet dictator, gently suggesting this wall mat be arranged so or this carpet need not be so straight. He oversaw the creation of the shanyrak. Dachni above and Holnifa loosing the soil between the roots. Last of all he inscribed Ομφαλός over the entrance and Holnifa hung wind chimes on its left and Dachni strung a rista of ears on the right.

The girls admired their work and the shaman blessed the house and laid hands upon them and intoned a prayer and went away. They clambered inside and looked about smiling ear to ear. Holnifa twirled like a dancer. They sat everywhere. Feelings of possibility in them. They read a book. A little later they went up to the top of their house and studied the shapes of clouds.

Throughout the hours envious tykes would find excuse to detour near their hovel and in their brief sauntering by would turn up their nose and fabricate injustices to tell their parents.

The girls retreated to their den and peeked out and competed to see who could compose the vilest curses to ladle upon their enemies.

сізге говно жаңбыр көрейік.

Holnifa covered her mouth in shock at herself.

Whats that mean?

Mean...

Well?

She was too embarrassed to repeat herself. She pointed
at her rump with genuine modesty and mimed defecation.
She'd no more than done so but that she flew an embarrassed
fit and promised she was not so vulgar.

Dachni slapped the mud and laughed. Draw theys eyes and fit em up each others ass to see em shit.

The mother parleyed in the afternoon. Her concession was
a relent on her daughter's inamorata. Her terms an adherence
to basic civility.

No drinking. Polite at table. Use forks and spoons. Dont be loud. Dont destroy anything.

Gonna drink aint bein rude an what the fuck is utensil?

At bedtime Dachni shed her clothes. The mother was long gone and Holnifa had appropriated further bedding and she was fluffing their pillows and when she looked up she turned scarlet. There was a space heater in a corner but it hadnt been charged and the breath of the girls plumed the air. Holnifa laid out their blankets in a hurried flurry and Dachni picked up a corner and slipped in.

Is ye comin?

Holnifa covered herself with a blanket and changed into
her pajamas and got in. Dachni threw a leg over her and buried
her face in her shoulder.

Mm-mfff.

The following night there was the soft press of lips against
her nape and thin lines of cold up her shirt exploring.

No. Quit. Be quit.

Mm?

Quit.

Dachni snickered and nibbled her ear.

Dachni.

She toed her pants down in clockwork motion and Holnifa
swatting at her exploring hands and making throaty little
growls.

Dachni.

Yeeees?

No.

Hmm.

An older brother came in the morning bearing formal
invitations to dinner. Holnifa accepted gladly and they sat
together at the lip of the den speaking with incredulity of the
unlikeliness of life's outcomes.

Dachni listened but could understand nothing. They
looked back at her. The brother wore a look of ambivalence. He
said a final thing and rose and went back.

She made her bathe. Pulling her clothes off Dachni went
ooh lala until she held up a sponge.

Was that?

Holnifa narrowed her eyes. Squeegee you.

She heated water on their electric stove and gave her a
good scrub down before a liberal perfuming. Jasmine. Dachni
pinched the bridge of her nose and sneezed a fine particle mist.
She had begged an iron earlier in the day and expending the
last of their batteries pressed their clothes.

They arrived in good order. Holnifa in resolute optimism
and Dachni altogether ridiculously debonair. A toothless dimwit
keeping the pretense welcomed them and bid them to the tor.
The food was served. The family all inquired of Holnifa, her new
quarters, her independence.

Тамаша. Мен оны қатты ұнайды. Біз үйленген жетуді
көздеп отырмыз.

The mother coughed out her drink.

What does they say?

Holnifa giggled uncontrollably.

He know...home.Бұл не? Жақсы.

Good.

Yes.

The mother was aghast. This suited Dachni just fine. She reached for Holnifa's collar and pulled it down. There was a constellation of hickeys on her daughter's neck.

Holnifa eeped and pulled up her collar but the mother was furious and so endured the dinner with a seething undercurrent of hard bridled hostility maintained by the teeth and all Holnifa's anticipatory powers that upon the momentarily delayed request of potatoes erupted into an objection that her child was being allowed against her will to play house with a pedophilic psychopath and the older siblings and uncles agreed to a banishment from polite company to their own bawdy and inventious devices.

Last edited by bluewpc; 01-17-2017 at 11:10 AM..
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Old 01-16-2017, 12:29 PM
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My my... how do you say?
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Old 01-16-2017, 04:58 PM
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I'm not sure how you say...
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Old 01-16-2017, 05:21 PM
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I'm still very worried that that crazy little scarred thing is going to eventually eat the one armed girl. I mean, literally. Carve her up piece by piece and ingest her. I don't trust that bitch.
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Old 01-16-2017, 05:37 PM
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hahaha well youll be in for a surprise. But not for a long time. I don't know if I mentioned it before but I've decided to self-publish Things Fall Apart and I'm in the process of doing a last line edit. pg 154 out of 651 so I've got another two months and this is what's taking up most of my time. Somewhere inbetween then and now I have to create a cover and I have a number of ideas floating around in my head for that.

But a little sneak peak since this will be the last post for probably some months:

Dachni mooching her friend that night thought she tasted very good and she thought about that and then she rolled away.
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Old 02-11-2017, 05:56 PM
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And its happened I finally published me novel. Eli, Eli, lama sabachthani?


https://www.amazon.com/dp/B06VTNG1TH...ngs+fall+apart
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Old 02-14-2017, 06:04 PM
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And we continue now. I've published me first novel Things Fall Apart so aside from managing that and working on Maximum Iron Babushka As Fuck I am ready to proceed



An hour later in bed she would not relent. Dachni got her pajamas off and pressed her hairless sex against her thigh. It was cold enough to cloud the breath but sweat was dripping from her face. The wind stirred the trees outside. A corded whine of branches. She went stiff all over and her foot made little involuntary jerks. She stretched out over her friend breast to breast but this denouement would not be enjoyed for Holnifa needed wipe the glistening slaver of mucous from her thigh.
Жексұрын.

Standing outside the storehouse the next morning she paused to check her grocery list. A pictograph receipt that detailed the house needs. She squinted at the images a minute then pocketed them and parted the flaps and went inside.

An ornery quartermaster tabulating winter stocks marked reproachfully her entrance.

Сіз бұл жерде жол берілмейді, he said.

Hello, she said.

The room was full of plenty with bins of extra. She went down an aisle picking out canned tins on the basis of their labels and brought them to the counter and went back to gather other things. The quartermaster took the stack and set to restocking them.

Hey.

No.

Esent no steal. Деньги.

Деньги.

Let it pay. Node need on fightin over it.

The quartermaster brought her groceries back to the counter. She shopped on. She took heads of broccoli, apples, onions, leeks, bringing each up before going back. There was little meat. Mostly spitted hogget.

Gotta meaty her bones shes twig sprite, she told the quartermaster.

She hefted the leg, vertical spit and all, and brought it to the counter.

Whats yer tally?

The quartermaster rung up her purchases. He told her.
She fetched out of her clothes crumpled wads of dollars, rubles, hyrvnia. A handful of gold, another of silver, insufficient to betray anyone.

Whoever pricey stost, she said.

She came back to find Holnifa trimming the roots about the entrance of their den, the face of it freshly planed. Her brother had brought a heavy curtain for a door and she suspended it between two nails.

Its lookin pretty nice, said Dachni.

Is pretty nice.

Got some rice.

Ok.

Theys some ice.

Ok.

Ye got lice.

Dachy.

Dachni laughed. Got ye chocolate too. Youll like it ifn ye had it afore.

She stooped to go inside but Holnifa erupted before in a birdlike clamor.

Whuh?

Holnifa pointed at her boots.

She looked down. Chocked with mud. Wholly encased.

What about em?

Holnifa rolled her eyes in a high exasperated sigh and took the rice and the tins and flour and put it inside and knelt at Dachni's feet and undid the laces of her boots and pulled them off and clapped them together in cloddy explosions of mud.
Сізді тазалаңыз.

She set the boots aside and turned Dachni around and steered her inside and about the room by the hips and situated her on a little cushion purloined from her mother's.

A kettle was warming on the stove and as it began to vent a plume of steam Holnifa turned off the heat. There were two china cups with a silver tea bell in each and she poured them full in her elegant air of propriety and they sat together sipping quietly in their peace and contentment and she turned and kissed her very gingerly.

Dachni mooching her friend that night thought she tasted very good and she thought about that and then she rolled
away.

Holnifa sat up. Is wrong?

Dachni pulled on her shirt. A walk. Wont be no long.

Көп ұзамай қайтып келіп.

She walked along the arroyo and the wicked minx eye of a moon rose. The willows were of a strain that could bear sub zero conditions and they were in full bloom. As with most things she held that the greater sin was not to disbelieve in god but that god should quit belief. For man, as the pilot would say, may well abrogate the management of the seasons but what dark age of lost faith would reign if god abdicated?

An oystercatcher called. Pipits. Diurnal creatures all. The wind that drove the reefs of overcast stirred the catkins. It groaned the pen posts. The animals groaned. Is the cold against the skin the precedent of the creeping death? No. The firstborn would not have heard. Like the first stars dead in the void. A man is in a moment either good or evil. Lapsed to one or the other. And knowing that evil can be go to by the least of ways she gave thanks to the simplifying fact that life was not so long any man be given two chances.


On their morning serenade Holnifa turned them towards the whalebone kerege of the shaman. It issued a strange sound upon its rapping. The esik was pulled back and that wizened face stared out at them.

Сәлеметсіз бе, he said.

Сәлем. көмектескеніңіз үшін рақмет, said Holnifa.

Whatre sayin?

Holnifa squinted at the shining of a sun like an incandescent moon peeling back the darker shades of the gone night.

Say. ThankThanks.

Well aye. Hank ye thieves.

The shaman felt the hem of Dachni's shirt between his fingers. Ол суық үшін киінген емес, he said.

What?

Holnifa squeezed her worriedly. Суық оған алаңдатпай емес.

The shaman held up a finger and withdrew into his yurt. When he came out he had a pair of looms and a pair of chairs and he stood them paired to another. He passed out balls of cotton yarn and tied the end of his to the beam of the weaving frame and warped it. Holnifa followed his example, a tongue stuck out the corner and Dachni smiling not following at all.

Work woman, commanded Holnifa.

Dachni laughed. Yes yes yes.

They warped their frames and taking their shuttles made of mirrors began to woof them, following the instruction of the shaman. It was hard work and the girls neither proficient but performing to their capability and as they wefted their shuttles would pass in parallel and in that moment a glimpse would be had of that infinite reduction that ever occurs between two ineffabilities as each man is.

They managed shawls. They dashed about with them as capes ridiculous as comicbook superheroes.

That January there was snow and unbeknownst to her she turned nine. What little water was left in the arroyo contracted into shelves of ice men quarried with picks. A deputation turned out to dig a well. The siblings had taken to visiting and they hosted them each week. The two brothers and the sister who never ceased to admire at their digs. They served them beef dumplings and they fawned over this independent seven year old so advanced beyond her years who conducted herself honorably and with perfection.

The mother did not visit until late December. She trotted them out to loom a sweater but Dachni was gone, drawn to the quiet saddling up of a party of mounted falconeers.

Hey, she said.

The big man she addressed wore his mustache widely and his arm was cocked out as a perch for a hooded eagle.

Здравствуйте.

What is yalls?

Hunter.

Dachni grinned toothily and made a checking noise with her tongue. Saddle an extra then, thisses gooda nuff on that.
Жоқ No go with. Go to woman.

Fuck the no. Youre missin on a guaranteed kill. Two at the least.

He tapped the tree of his saddle.

Thinkle your bees.

Holnifa came and took her by the arm. Go us. Us to ана.
Dachni threw an arm around her shoulders and pressed her forward. Shoot ye can come too. She looked up at the man. How much would ye bet the first whatever gets downed by this rifle?

Не?

Bet. Money. Деньги.

She fished in her clothes and came up with a silver
bezant. Whats yer say?

The falconer turned to consult with his fellows.
Now the shadow of the mother was fallen on them. Come to sew. I teach you.

Aint no seammess.

Come.


Fuck off. What does yall say?

None said but one and he said why not. A horse was saddled and adjusted to her stature and they watched her mount and watched her strap a scabbard to the pommel and sheathe the nagant in it.

Is ye comin?

Holnifa withered under the hunter's attentions, her mother's disapproval. She took Dachni's offered hand. Dachni grinned and pulled her up. At this the mother began to squawk.
Quet hawlerin, said Dachni. Shell get back in piece.
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Old 02-26-2017, 05:39 PM
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They rode south a half dozen riders fanned abreast, the falconers resting their arms on their baldaks and the outsized eagles jessed and motionless as avatars of justice. Theyd not ridden an hour before a hare was spotted. The foremost of the riders unhooded his eagle and launched it with a thrust of the arm. Liquid grace. The feathers shivering in the wind. The hare ran and the eagle banked to port and rose on the updraft and swept back in. The hare tried to clear out from under that looming shadow but it did narrow upon it and the eagle followed and it was dead.

Two more such quarries were caught in identical manner and a mature ibex brought down with a volley of eagles. The first took it to the ground by the outstretched flank of its neck and the second swooped in after and they pecked until their hooked beaks had severed the jugular.

Last of all they killed a wolf.

They had mounted a shale outcropping overlooking a featureless stretch of plain and there it was some many hundred yards away and below.

Dachni spat. That son of a bitch isnt no bother to a buddy.

The eagles all four were deployed. Remicles bristling, their shadows pursuing their flighted casters upon that patched grass takir ground. The wolf saw them too late. The eagles had divided into pairs perhaps by some instinct left over from the dinosaurs. The first pair veered in from the right and dragged the wolf down by the nape. It twired on the ground snapping blindly and the raptors flapped clear and dropped back down. The other pair raked across its belly waking dust. A blurred sphere of feathers and fur rolled in piteous yelping and now a fine spray of blood. The eagles retreated to the safety of the air and the wolf blind and jetting blood, coughing blood, stumbled in a rigmarole thigmotaxis that conveyed it weirdly across the steppe at the speed of a trot before the eagles crashed it again to the ground where it suffered a death of drowning.

The hunters gave a whoop and surged forth. At the kill the riders fell from their mounts and rabated their birds with morsels of elk.

When Dachni rode up she could see that it was that butchered thing met with priorly on the plain. Lobos at thy ignominious death. What luck had you whom could claim even this end preferable to life.
Riding back Dachni spied two long channels of bent grass leading off to the north.


Theres a horse, she said.

She roweled her horse into a gallop. The cries of the hunters faded behind her. Holnifa clung to her yelling жоқжоқжоқжоқжоқ. But she did not stop. The hunters fell in and they followed the trail nine miles.

Their shadows were long to their rights when she caught the riders up. Two who turned to see what followed, the falconeers declaring their goodwill in the same moment Dachni fired. The riders were almost three hundred yards away and one of them simply laid back out of the saddle. A second shot caught the other rider just as he was turning his horse and his hands went to his neck. He slumped forward and listed to the ground.

Neither man was dead. One lay bubbling a pink froth out the hole in his chest. The bullet had laddered up his spine and exited out the back of his neck. The other was gulping the blood welling out the ragged perforations his fragmented teeth had torn in his throat. She stripped them without dispatchment and then she bound them in randem arms to feet to cantle. The hunters watched impassively and they rode on and by and by the men died.
She headed the little column of hunters smartly into the ail. Some gathered to see. Then more. Dachni dismounted and helped her friend down in a gesture of chivalry and stood proudly over her kills.

Musa pushed through the crowd.

What have you done?

They shot first, said Dachni. See this rifle? Its suppresser built in. Never even knowed they was shootin until a pouch of dirt pop up. Dont know why he was. He might not have even knowed what he was shootin at.

She held the rifle up for Musa to examine but when he reached to take it she pulled it away.
Sees it just ya grubby butt.

Musa looked at the dead men. He looked at the hunters but they offered no contradictions.

Dachni leaned on her rifle. They aint important in this world, she said. Ye might think they is but they isnt.

He looked at her.

Ifn was important wouldnt be dead.

Last edited by bluewpc; 02-26-2017 at 06:06 PM..
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  #89  
Old 02-26-2017, 06:35 PM
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Still one hell of a story. I keep waiting for you to fuck-up, but you don't.
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  #90  
Old 02-26-2017, 07:03 PM
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Is there a reason apostrophes don't show up?
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