Research, Relatives and Revelations

I promised you guys my grandfather's life story, didn't I?  Like, a long time ago?  Well, I had a bunch of this typed up, but then, uh, certain events occurred and I kinda forgot about it.  Looking over my blog earlier, I found this partially typed and thought, "Aw shit, I was supposed to post this forever ago!"  So I finished writing it and am now posting it.  Luckily I was almost done, because it still kinda hurts to type thanks to that snowball incident.  My hands are getting better, though, so it's all good~

Now, without further ado, it's storytime.

--------

You guys know I've been digging into my grandpa's past, right?  Try and find out some vague information relating to the guy that taught me to fight and helped me to generally not die while on the run the first time, y'know?  The guy I trusted with my life for so long?

I knew he was a dishonest, conniving, fight-picking asshole, but...well, he left out a things that are pretty significant when he talked about his past...

Here's what he told me.

He was born in Cork, Ireland.  (Yes, County Cork is referred to as the "Rebel county".  Yes, people from it are referred to as "Rebels".  Yes, one of his arguments regarding why I should keep running was that I have "Rebel blood".  This is probably one of the more inane ones, despite being technically true.)

Where was I?  Went off on a tangent there.  Right, yeah, Cork.  He had several siblings.  A few don't matter, died as infants or toddlers, it happened, life goes on.  Terrible, yes, but the story's long enough without me dwelling on it.  I'm only leaving in the essential bits.  He could rant for hours about little details about it, so I'll try not to.  Even though I'm already rambling about not wanting to ramble.  Wow I do that a lot.  SO ANYWAY.  It ended up being him and his brothers Colin and Sam.  Colin was older, Sam was younger.  Forgot by how much.  Doesn't matter.  Grandpa's 67 right now, to give you a rough estimate.  Anywho.  Some Dubliners moved into their building when he was a kid.  They had kids: Sean, Malachy and Kathleen.  They were roughly the same ages - Sean was two years older than Colin and Kathleen was Sam's age.  Malachy was about my grandfather's age.  So the kids immediately all become bros and hang out a lot, since it was back in like the forties or fifties or whatever way back when when you actually had to have social contact to amuse yourself, and you had to go outside, too!  Weird, huh?  But yeah, they were all good friends.  Malachy and Gramps were pretty much inseparable, but then the latter started having feelings that were a bit stronger than friendship for Kathleen.  And since she's his best friend's sister, that could potentially be ugly.  She reciprocated said feelings that were a bit stronger than friendship, so they talked to Malachy (and Sean) about it, expecting a big fight.  Turns out, they were pretty much okay with it.  So my grandpa married the love of his life Kathleen and they lived happily ever after forever and ever the end.

Except no.  Not even a little.

Sean and Malachy gave them their blessing, that much is true.  But see, something happened in the next few months that kinda threw a monkey wrench in their budding romance.

Kathleen was Chosen.  And she Rebelled.

The group naturally stood behind her.  They dug up whatever weapons they could, teaching each other the fighting skills they knew.  Colin and Sean went around to pubs, trying to get people to teach them any Theurgy MAGIC mOtHeRfUcKiN' mIrAcLeS Theurgy they could.  (Apparently this was how you learned pretty much everything in Ireland back then - my grandfather memorized plenty of songs and poems in this manner, too.  Because those things are TOTALLY the same thing. </sarcasm>)  They would then try and teach it to the rest of the group.  In this manner, my grandpa learned pretty much all of the Theurgy he knows.  Which isn't really that much.

But yeah, they had occasional skirmishes that built up to a final showdown on the banks of their own lovely Lee.  (Ten points, my eternal amazement and probably my grandfather's respect if you got that reference.)  The River Lee, that is, which flows through Cork.  It was a rag-tag group of misfits against a number of Enforcers and White Masks that changes every time he tells the story but I'm almost certain is always embellished.  It ended with victory on neither side.  The remainder of the Enforcers got their asses out of there.  Sean was killed.  My grandfather had his right eye torn out.  (He wears an eyepatch now.  The smacks to the knee with a shillelagh I get every time I make a pirate joke are so worth it, SO WORTH IT.)  Colin walked with a limp for the rest of his life.  Malachy's missing the little finger on his left hand.  Kathleen ended up saving my grandfather's life by tackling someone who was about to kill him, ending with them both in the Lee.  Considering that she and the dude she tackled were both Chosen, this went about as well as you'd expect.  Yeah, my grandpa's first love got melted right before his eyes.  Er.  Eye.  Probably one of the reasons that he's such a bitter old bastard now. The group kinda fell apart after that.  They all went their separate ways, aside from my gramps and Malachy.

Fast forward to the Troubles.  They both join the IRA, Malachy as a medic because he's since become a pacifist and my grandfather as a sniper because he's really fucking good at it.  They later found out that Colin had joined the IRA, too.  They found this out after hearing a report of his death from an explosion.  Sam also participated, but for the other side.  He was shot and killed.  War-torn and weary, they kinda ragequitted towards the end of that clusterfuck of a "war".  My grandfather says that most of the reason for his desertion was because he had a growing price on his head and it was getting too dangerous to stay in the British Isles, let alone Northern Ireland.  They decided to go to the so-called land of opportunity, AMURRICA.  I mean America.  That place where I live.  Yeah.  They went their separate ways soon after.  Malachy kinda faded off the map - he hasn't been in contact for years.  Grandpa doesn't even know if he's alive.  Grandpa met my Grandma, and the rest, as they say, is history.

That's what he told me.  I have no reason to doubt any of that, nor do I have any evidence against it.  That's not the whole truth, though.  I've dug up some new, interesting facts.

This first one I knew but never really saw the need to tell you guys.  That name he gave you way back when, C.B. Devine?  That is both accurate and inaccurate.  Charles something-or-other-starting-with-B-that-I-can't-remember-right-now Devine is indeed the name of my grandfather.  Here's the thing, though: the man that taught me to fight, the man that got his ass royally handed to him by WhiteSuit, the man whose ass I had to save from a Commune (with a little *coughormaybealotcough* of help, of course), that man?

He's not my biological grandfather.

C.B. Devine died years before I was born.  After that, my grandmother met a man named Glenn Lynch from Cork.  They ended up getting married.  This is the "Uncle Chuck Norris" we all know and love and/or hate. 

(I'm going to be clear about this.  I still consider him to be my grandfather, even if not by blood.  I never saw him much before the shit hit the whirling device here and I went to him for help, but that's still more than I've seen of C.B.  And maybe he's one of the biggest assholes I know, but he's helped me so much.  I can hold my own in a fight thanks to him, among other things.  And that "Rebel blood" thing is true - some of my ancestors were from County Cork.  On my mom's side, dunno if it was from C.B. or my grandma.  It doesn't matter, really.  I'm getting off topic yet again.  Back to Grandma and Glenn.)

And then, like the good Catholics they are, they got divorced.  There are many reasons for this - because he's an asshole, because he's so fucked up from all the conflicts he's been in, because he never really got over his Dublin girl, because she didn't approve of his profession, even though it really raked in the dough.

That last one is one of the things I just learned.  I knew he had all kinds of shady, quasi-legal connections, and I figured that's how he got his money, but I never knew exactly what he did.

He's a hitman.  A gun for hire.

Can't say I really blame her.  Being in a relationship with a killer who is indifferent-to-happy about his job is probably not a good idea, despite what my own baffling emotions seem to want to believe woah shit ABRUPT SUBJECT CHANGE TIME!

Remember how I said Sam - my grandpa's younger brother - got shot during the Troubles?  He was killed by a sniper.

Three guesses as to who it was.

Yeah.  I'm not 100% sure about that particular incident, but I have some pretty strong evidence pointing in that direction.  They were in the same neighborhood, and I can't find any records of any other snipers assigned to the area.  If it was him, I don't know if he recognized who he was shooting, but...fuck, still.

So yeah.  Sorry to burst your bubble if you thought of him as some crazy-awesome freedom-fighting badass.

(Not that he isn't, but, y'know, perspective.)

Until next time.  Stay classy, world. </Ron Burgundy>

(P.S. I have begun retaliating against Servo's constant sticky-noting with the Tennantface meme.  This is quickly escalating to an all-out war.  Bruce help us all.)

Lack of Updates

So maybe you're wondering why I haven't been posting much lately, despite being more or less back in action.  Or something.

Two reasons: one, we've been laying much lower than I had been last time, thus nothing really noteworthy has happened because we are oh so sneaky.  Or we're a really low priority or something.  Doesn't make a huge difference as far as I'm concerned.  Two, my own paranoia.  I've been very careful this time around, like I've said.  That means letting as little information that could POSSIBLY have negative consequences for me onto the internet as I can.  This means making every attempt to break my habit of spewing my feelings all over this blog and elsewhere online (though I'm finding it somewhat difficult at times), not even giving the tiniest hints as to our location or when we're on the move, not mentioning what supplies and weapons we have on us, the works.  I'm taking every precaution.  I take measures offline, too.  I specifically packed some of the more toned-down clothes in my wardrobe for this so I can blend into the crowd better.  As much as I'd like to look like a fantasy/action hero or something, it's not good for being incognito.  If I notice anything even a bit suspicious, I generally decide we should hightail it.  I usually use the term "skip town", so it's kinda become an in-joke among my companions and I that I react to every situation by skipping town.  It's kinda like an image macro meme.  "Homeless guy looks at you?  Skip town."  "Squirrel makes noises at you?  Skip town."  "Phone rings?  Skip town."

The sad part is, it's fairly accurate.  I'm of the opinion, however, that you can never be too paranoid.  Never.  Which is one of the reasons that I no longer really sleep, I just kinda collapse from exhaustion after a few days or so.  That, mixed with the insomnia and the dreams.  Fuck that shit.  Curtain and Servo really, really don't like that sleep schedule.  They worry about my health.  They shouldn't worry.  I can handle it.  I'm more concerned about their safety than my own, anyway.  They're in danger because of me, so if something bad happens to them it's because of me and I don't want anything bad to happen to them because of me because enough bad things have been my fault already and I just want to do what's right and not have anyone get hurt or anything but it's so much harder than I'd have ever expected because morality can be so damn gray and subjective and sometimes none of the options seem right and goddamn it these are emotions.

Still working on the hiding emotions thing.  Anyway.

Our main strategy right now is to basically ride this out until WhiteDress replaces me.  Which I hope is soon, because winter rapidly approaches.  Because running in winter could seriously suck.  Funny enough, back when I was on the run the first time I sometimes thought to myself "Look on the bright side!  At least it isn't winter!" because I am just AWESOME at tempting fate like that.  Of course, winter is somewhat good, too, because waterproof gear is super easy to find around now.  And waterproof gear is imperative for when it snows so I don't die while playing in said snow.  Because I fully intend to play in the snow, no matter how idiotic that may be.  The reasoning behind it is complicated and I don't feel like explaining it here and you likely wouldn't get it anyway.

I've also managed to get in contact with my grandfather.  Apparently he picked a fight with someone he shouldn't have, and now he's in a bind.  I can't elaborate for security reasons and also because that's all he told me.  I should point out that he is much, much worse than me when it comes to avoiding these types of situations.  I mainly end up here due to a lack of foresight.  He intentionally picks fights.  My trolling is nothing compared to his, and unlike him I almost never mean any harm by it.  Anyway, I'm gonna start ranting on how much of an asshole he is, so I'm gonna derail that train of thought.  We've agreed not to meet up since he knows some Theurgy and Mist Travel and whatnot and I went to enough goddamn effort to stop that from being able to track me down.  (I found that Null Stone using his "little black book" of quasi-legal contacts that he gave me, though, so I have to give the guy some credit.)  Unfortunately, he said he'll probably be out of contact for a while.  "Assuming I regain contact at all," he said.  Any news is better than no news, I guess.

I think that's all I have to say that I feel even remotely safe about posting.  Really, even this much is freaking me out a bit.  I figure I should let you guys know at least something instead of leaving you completely in the dark, though.  Until next time, I'm the Doctor.  Stay safe, folks.  ### </made-up-on-the-spot tag>

P.S.  Just found a sticky note folded up in my jacket pocket.  SERVOOOOOO!!!

If WhiteDress can do a fucking important blog post in the form of a rage comic, then I can do mine in a goofy manner, too.

SO RIGHT.  Yesterday I emailed WhiteSuit to ask how he felt about the Occupy Ames protest seeing as he's one of approximately three people I know in Ames.

I was just like:

And he responded like:

So, naturally, I was like:

And he was like:

(Whoops, I just made a heartwarming moment kinda terrifying.)
Anyway, I was like:

My memory of the confrontation itself later is kinda blurry and I don't really wanna talk about it anyway, so here's a summary of what I did:

Does that help you picture it?  Yeah, it was nothing like that, but if it helps.  The cornerstone of my actual strategy was the element of surprise - meaning, there's a reason that I told absolutely no one the fact that I've learned to Mist travel.  And since I did that to escape, I suppose one of my little secrets is out now and I have no reason not to tell you guys about it.  I've got plenty of other cards up my sleeve.
Anyway, so when I was finally in the clear I was like:

In case you hadn't noticed:

Anyway, then reality kinda sank in.  The reality that I am now on the run (again), with no foreseeable way to get out of it like last time, and that my dog and I, though alive, are in pretty rough shape already.  And I was like:

So.  That's pretty much it.  I'm laying low in a different town for the time being.  We'll see how things go from here.  Perhaps with more Doctor Who gifs, as they always cheer me up.

And speaking of Doctor Who gifs that cheer me up...

Until next time~!

LastLord

So.  Guessing you all heard.  I got re-Chosen.  Because I am clearly brilliant.  Mm-hm.

They're coming for me again.  Tonight.

I've got everything I need to go on the run packed.  I have for a long time.  Just in case.

I've got more weapons, more possible strategies, more physical ability, and a big dog.

My odds of surviving the night (and not ending up in a Commune) are far slimmer than they've ever been.  And that's saying something.  I recall MT saying once that being Chosen twice gets you direct contact with Tall, Pale and Faceless himself.  And...well, if that's true...I don't really think I can win.  I don't even think I can not lose completely.

So.  What am I gonna do?

Try my damnedest.  Never give up.  Keep running.  Bite, scratch, shoot, slice, and smack my way out of whatever comes at me, or try to.  Y'know.  Same old, same old.

I have several new tricks up my sleeve I've been keeping on the down-low.  They may come in handy, may not.  We'll see.

But.  No matter what happens.  If I go down, I'm gonna make it as difficult for them as I can.  And I expect you guys to keep calm and carry on if I do.  I'm trusting you to do so, okay?

This could easily be my last entry as a Rebel.  Of course, if somebody up there takes pity on me, maybe it won't.  But I kinda doubt that.  I'm the last of the Time Lords once again.

And...well, that's all I can think to say.  Should've written this in advance, just in case.  But it can't be helped now.  Not much that can be helped now.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got an awful lot of running to do.

WANGST TIEM

Disclaimer: This entry of my blog is going to be almost entirely whining about those silly things we refer to as emotions.  If you didn't like the fifth Harry Potter book, probably just skip this entry.  Because this will likely also be a novel, as there's a lot that I need to rant about and get off my chest.  I might tl;dr at the end if I feel like it.

You've been warned.

Apparently you're still reading, so here goes.  I seem to have forgotten the crushing boredom that comes with living a somewhat normal life in small-town Iowa.  Y'know, the reason I ended up at all those chat sessions in the first place.  Any reprieve from the endless gnawing ennui without being like the other kids and resorting to alcohol, sex and drugs seemed okay in my book.  And then I got Chosen and went on the run.  Now, I'm by no means saying that I ever, ever want to do that again, but you gotta realize that I was hopped up on extreme amounts of adrenalin nonstop for...two months-ish?  Yeah, back then what I wanted was reprieve from excitement.  And now, after all that, I'm finding it nearly impossible to readjust to my old life.  I don't connect as well with most of my old friends and classmates.  I can't seem to make myself care about school.  I can't seem to make myself care about much of anything, really.  I just feel...really out of place.  And, of course, there's the boredom.  It's crushing.  I barely managed it before I went on the run, now it's threatening to drive me completely batshit insane (instead of just somewhat batshit insane).  I CANNOT READJUST.

There have been a few escapes from the boredom of it all, though.  I got in a high speed car chase with a friend of mine a few weeks ago.  He was driving, hopped up on new cough medication and having just fallen in love.  (Newly lovestruck teens are absolutely hilarious.)  Also the cough medicine made his vision really really bad.  So when he saw one of our mutual friends waiting at a stoplight in her boyfriend's (race)car, he decided that the best idea would be to chase them.  Meanwhile, I'm clinging to my seat and the holy-shit-handle as we zoom around corners in residential neighborhoods at 90 mph.  Yeah, that was fun.  Also slightly terrifying, but I've been through much worse.  And then we drove into the woods, he got high off whipped cream and we went star-tipping.  Apparently those are things.  But being in the dark woods at night with only a friend who has just gotten high after initiating a car chase and does other illegal things for fun set off my horror movie senses pretty majorly, so we got the hell out of there.

Other than that, there hasn't been much interesting going on.  Homecoming's this week, I guess.  Been sewing an outfit for Spirit Day.  Found an old billy club at an antique shop.  It used to be black, but a lot of the paint's chipped off, especially on the handle and the business end.  It's obviously been used a lot.  The rawhide wrist strap is broken and retied in three or four places, too.  22 inches long from top to bottom.  It's really cool, except I keep really wanting an excuse to use it.  And violence is bad.  butgodisitfunsometimes

I've been swinging through phases pretty quickly, too.  Since I've changed so much over the summer, I guess that's my brain's way of  trying to figure out who the hell I am now and where I fall in the CIRCLE OF LIIIIIIFE?  I dunno, but I'm gonna be really, really brief here as I could write a book on this stuff as well.  I've gone from depressed suicidal existential nihilist (kicked my own ass a little to get myself out of that because goddamn am I dumb sometimes), promptly went full-on Killjoy (y'know, that group of characters that fights against something they can't possibly win against and they're fully aware of this, don't care and have decided to live forever by making one memorable last stand?  Yeah, goddamn am I dumb sometimes.), and seem to have finally regained my common sense.  I discovered that I actually have faith in humanity - pretty strong faith, no less - and these Wall Street protests are raising it to dizzying heights.  See?  Who needs Fluffy when we've got Anonymous?  People can take care of themselves on their own.  We're endlessly inventive, and everyone's got at least a little good and bad inside them.  If we can get more people to act on the good instead of the bad, we can do anything.  It's only been a few million years since we crawled out of the mud for the first time, and look how far we've come.

Anywho, I know I probably have a lot more to rant about, but I can't think of anything at the moment and I've probably already written way too much.  Been digging into my grandfather's past, should have that posted relatively soon, provided I don't procrastinate really badly like I usually do.  And with that, I bid you all a fond adieu.

tl;dr: Boredom isn't cool, car chases are cool, billy clubs are cool, going through phases rapidly can be cool or not cool depending on the phase, self-preservation is cool, my crazy IRA grandpa is cool...ish...oh, you'll see.

Okay, seriously, gotta wrap this up.  DOCTOR OUT!!!

P.S. - I suppose I should give you guys my email address if you want to contact me.  I can be reached at firestarterviii@gmail.com.  If you drop me a line, I'll be sure to get back to you.

HEY I HAVE A BLOG DON'T I?

"Felt the need to get out of town for the day, so I'll try to get a blog post up tonight or tomorrow. Theurgic bombs rule, by the way."

I posted that on my Twitter on Monday.  It is now Thursday.   Sorry about that, I was procrastinating.  I do that, in case you hadn't noticed.

So anyway.  First, I shall post a song that has lyrics that are relevant to my current situation because Nein seems to do it all the time.

Actually, this song fits for pretty much every situation (I made a case for To Kill a Mockingbird for a school project with it once), but it's a little more accurate here, I think.  Moving on.

So.  I decided that I didn't particularly want my Soul owned by anyone, let alone the being formerly known by Nein and I as Skinnybitch (though I use other names if I refer to him by a name at all anymore and she's probably calling him the Master by now...).  This created a problem, as said Lovecraftian beastie did, in fact, own my Soul.  Clearly there was only one way to fix this: by blowing things up.

Okay, not in the V for Vendetta sense.  But they're still called bombs, so I stand by my usage of words.

Anyway, Vadiir that guy that keeps changing his name SELLOUT MT gave me a bit of advice.  I'm not entirely sure how he worded it, but here's what I wrote down:

"1. Light bomb
2. Put on mask
3. KABLOOIE
4. ????
5. FREEEEEEEEEDDDDDOOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMM and also a schweet mask"

...yeah, he didn't word it like that.  But you get the idea.

I was gonna do it on Saturday, but we had to go up to Mankato, MN for school shopping and we didn't get back until about 9 PM.  (I got a beautifully hideous suit vest while I was there.  AND BRUCE CAMPBELL'S AUTOBIOGRAPHY~!!! <3)  So Gramps and I decided to put it off until Sunday.

So I sat around being antsy, unable to focus for long on much of anything (INCLUDING BRUCE'S BOOK!!!) and I couldn't sleep worth a damn (but that's nothing I'm unused to).  I got a phone call around 2:30 AM.  It was my Grandpa.  The following conversation ensued:

Me: *upon answering the phone* Yeah?

Him: You awake?

Me: No, I'm talking in my sleep.

Him: Watch your lip.

Me: You ask dumb questions, I give snarky answers.  I thought we'd covered this.

Him: And you wonder why you got Chosen.

Me: I think I've got it pretty much figured out.

Him: ANYWAY.  Since you're most definitely awake at this ungodly hour...

Me: I'M ALWAYS AWAKE AT THIS UNGODLY HOUR.  I go to sleep at like 3:30, man!

Him: And this is why I will call you every day at 5 AM until you're back to your school sleep schedule!  Now, may I get to the reason I called or not?

Me: Fine.  Shoot.

Him: I had a small realization a few minutes ago.

Me: Oh?

Him: It's technically Sunday.

Me: ...you magnificent bastard.

Him: Shall I be there with a Theurgic bomb in twenty minutes?

Me: See ya then.  Allons-y!

Him: Alright.  And stop quoting things so damned much. *hangs up*

About twenty minutes later, he showed up with a bomb and I met him, mask in hand.  I lit the bomb, said "Viva la Revolution, bitch" in what I hoped was a badass manner and then put my mask on as fast as possible and holy shit.

That's the best way I can describe it.  Holy shit.

I had to sit on the ground until everything would stop spinning.  For a while after it I felt pretty sick, but I was warned about that.  When I finally started to get a grip, I burst out laughing.  And then I couldn't stop for a really, really long time.  And every time I thought I was close to regaining my composure, another stronger burst would come through and I'd be gone again.  When I finally managed to stop, my grandpa shook his head and said, "You really have to stop rolling doobies."  And then I was gone again.

I haven't laughed that much in a looooooong time.

(Also, I don't smoke pot, nor have I ever.  Just clearing that up.  It was a joke.)

After he left I decided to just pull an all nighter because, hell, it was already getting to be morning.  Most of it was spent figuring out exactly how badass the mask makes me.  Yeah, it's true, stronger and faster and all that.  I soon had the idea that I could probably run up the side of a building and backflip off of it.

As it turns out, I was wrong.

After my vision stop blurring and I was able to breathe properly again, I figured I should probably call it a day--er, night.  And with a final glance at the rising sun, I headed back up the stairs and went to bed.

And right as I was nearly asleep, I got a call on my cell phone.  At precisely 5 AM.  Guess who from.

I sent it directly to voicemail, shut my phone off and went back to trying to sleep.

All in all, not a bad day.

On Monday (the day Nein and The Artist Formerly Known as The Artist Formerly Known as MT were supposed to have a Session), I went with my mum and sister to visit family in a little town about ten miles away and we stayed there for most of the day.  I spent the entire day in fidgety worry.  And I haven't heard from either of them since that last chat session on Friday.  Well, technically Saturday.  Of course, I haven't tried to initiate contact with either of them either, heh.  I wonder if/how they've changed...

Anywho, I think I've probably rambled enough.  Talk to you all later.  Hopefully.  This is Dr. Death Defying, signing off. *Star Spangled Banner plays*

Off the Run

Been a while since I've posted anything.  Figured I should let you guys know what's going on.

We went back home on my birthday.  Since I'm no longer being actively pursued, we decided to just stay home instead of going back on the run.  It's pretty nice, I'm never taking my bed or wifi or air conditioning for granted again.  My cat is...less than fond of Axel.  Understandably enough.  We're trying to condition Axel to not kill every cat he sees, though, so they have to be together every now and again.  They'll just have to suck it up.

Axel's training is going pretty well, too.  He's potty trained and he'll sit and lie down on command.  I'm also training him in case of an emergency, namely when to sic/when not to sic and who to sic/who not to sic.  He stays by my side without wandering off or going after every small animal he sees, too, which is good.  My cousin has a German shepherd puppy about the same age and they are now bestest buddies.  One of my friends adores German shepherds and is really jealous of my little part-German shepherd mutt.  She's also still pissed that we dropped her back off at home from my escapades in evading the Chosen, but she'll just have to suck it up, too.

Axel isn't the only one being trained.  I am slowly but surely becoming a badass.  First, let me elaborate on my grandfather's skills: he's great with hand-to-hand fighting, knives, certain types of guns (mostly old pistols and rifles), and that damned shillelagh.  Not so much with Theurgy.  See, he learned everything he knows from another of his war buddies who was also helping the other other guy not end up working for ol' Tall, Pale and Faceless.  (I'm really gonna have to tell you guys the whole story at some point, because explaining it like this is getting difficult.)  Well, anyway, this guy taught my grandpa some stuff and then got killed.  Grandpa didn't really care to learn any more after that.  Or, at least, he didn't find anyone to teach him.  Could be either.  Anywho, he's gonna teach me the Muggle fighting skills and find someone else to teach me Theurgy.  He's got connections, apparently.  Oh, and since I don't have a shillelagh he's gonna try and translate that fighting style to be used efficiently with a baseball bat because my current skills with said weapon amount to flailing around like an idiot with it and probably putting myself at more risk than if I was unarmed.  And yeah, I'm not bad with knives (aside from accidentally cutting myself all the time), but I got (un?)lucky that last time...gotta learn how to actually fight with them.  Also learning to fight effectively unarmed instead of running, flailing, scratching, kicking for the crotch, etc.

Two of my friends are in Taekwondo and they've agreed to start teaching me some of their moves.  Another of my friends practices parkour, same deal.  Yet another has decided to create a weaponized version of the glomp and teach it to me, despite the fact that she nearly kills me every time she gives me a NORMAL glomp.  Which is often.  I love my friends.

So...yeah.  I'm a Rebel and apparently a Threat because of my connections (a phrase which here means "ability to contact Vadiir and his willingness to help me out every now and again"), so I guess I should learn to fight like one.

...I hate fighting so much.  I really don't like violence in general, despite my sense of humor and my taste in movies.  But it's a fact of life, I guess...

...like how I've killed someone...

...I'm not a killer...just a kid in over her head...

And now I'm down again.  Gonna cut this entry off before I start angsting and wallowing in self-pity.  Not my thing.  I'll go make brownies and blast some loud, fast, rebellious music instead.  Ciao, folks.

Big Damn Heroes

They may say that there is no good and bad, no right or wrong, no heroes or villains.  Maybe that's true, maybe it isn't.  But I think last night counted as a Big Damn Heroes moment, no matter what we are.  Maybe just Big Damn Rebels.  But I digress.

For those of you who don't follow the chats (I'm guessing none, but just in case), I found my grandfather.  Or, rather, they did.  He was being held captive in a Commune.  Said they'd let him go if I joined them.  And I agonized over that for a looooong time, let me tell you.  I knew Grandpa would want me to leave him and continue my running.  I also knew I had a conscience and that if I ran he'd die horribly and be turned into a White Mask.  (I met one of those, by the way.  Didn't kill it because I had no Ash Williams-y weapons.)  If I get into all the details about my choices, though, I'll end up writing a novel.  And this is probably gonna be a really long post anyway.  I might detail everything in a future post, who knows.

Anyway, I tried thinking of a third option.  The only one I could come up with was a rescue attempt.  My only useful skills as of now are in dodging, running, escape, and generally not dying.  Not a great set for storming a place filled with people far more powerful than yourself who /will/ kill you if they can't make you join them, and doing it alone, no less.  So, that was pretty much out unless I was going for suicide.  And then ol' Tall, Pale and Faceless would get my Soul anyway.  So...yeah.  Pretty much out.

We had been talking about the Evil Dead series earlier, and I thought to myself, "Man, if only I had Ash with me, he'd kick all their asses with ease!"  But, unfortunately, I don't know anyone that badass because no one that badass exists.  (Sorry, everyone that exists.  You just aren't Ash Williams.)  So I asked Vadiir for advice on Formspring.  He offered to help me.  And, although he's no Ash Williams, he's a pretty epic badass.  So I made my mind up.  It was rescue mission time.  *puts on sunglasses*

Vadiir showed up and we headed to the Missouri Commune while Wilt laughed at us over in Limeyland.  Actually, I don't know if the chat ever figured out that I wasn't going it alone.  Probably better that they didn't.  But anyway.  We left Axel (my dog, in case you didn't know) tied to a pole and snuck up to the entrance as quiet as could be.  I was expecting a stealth mission; get in, grab Gramps, get out.  I seemed to have forgotten that this was Vadiir we were talking about.  He kicked the door down and charged inside.  I just grabbed Ziggy and followed him in, having no idea what else to do.  (Ziggy is my bowie knife, by the way.  Yes, it actually exists.)  The halls of the Commune were eerily quiet and empty as we charged through.  No one in sight but us, no sound but our footsteps.  This went on for a while (freaking me right the fuck out, might I add) until we turned a corner and nearly got shish-kebab'd.  Knives flying at us, lots of them.  I mostly dodged them all, getting away with a few scratches.  Vadiir dodged a few and parried the rest.  Yeah, as it turns out, HappyRobin (former Leader of the Missouri Commune and 4th Circle Theurge) is versed in Aertheurgy and uses it to throw knives at people.  Knives that she can control and make them turn corners and stuff.  And she had such a cute-sounding name, too.  How misleading.  We mostly countered this by hiding behind things for a while.  Vadiir told me he needed to get close to her, that he could take her down with ease if he could close in.  I then did something that will allow me to live up to, I think, all of my various names and titles.  I doubt anyone will ever question why they call me the Jester, the Fool, or anything referencing the Doctor - including LastLord - again.

The following exchange happened.

"Hey Vadiir, you know how I sometimes have brilliant ideas?"

"Sure?"

"...this isn't one of them.  Sorry!"

And then I leaped out from behind our cover, running and waving my arms around all while yelling, "LOOK AT ME I'M A TARGET!!!"

It may have been one of the dumbest things I've ever done, but - and here's the thing - it /worked/.  HappyRobin turned her attention (and her knives) to me.  I once more relied on all those skills I'd learned from playing dodgeball in school.  There's a reason I was always the last one "out".  No one could ever hit me, even when I was outnumbered ten to one and the other team had a ball each and all threw them at the same time.  Well, apparently it works with knives, too.  A few papercuts and one relatively deep gash on my shoulder, sure, but otherwise I was fine.  And, while she was distracted by the madman with a box nutcase with an apparent deathwish, Vadiir had enough time to get in close.  There was fire and the flash of metal and she was on the ground.  Dead.  Or, I'm pretty sure she was.  Vadiir...made sure anyway.  He really does enjoy stabbing things.  Yeah, that...wasn't exactly fun to watch.  Her removed her Soul, too, so she won't be Resurrected.  That part happened either before or after all hell broke loose, can't remember.  Yeah, after HR died, chaos ensued.  Chosen came out of fucking everywhere and nowhere, probably the whole damned Commune. My plan, as usual, was to...well, not die.  I was waving Ziggy about as I ran, mostly as a warning, because I really do know how to use it.  One of them caught up to me and I saw him pull his own knife.  Not even thinking, I yanked myself out of the way of it.  My arm snapped back and buried my own knife in his neck.  I was immediately covered in blood.  My face was covered, my shirt was covered, hell, my pants were nearly covered.  He staggered back and collapsed, blood still spraying out of his neck.  I was horrified.  No...that's not a strong enough word, but I really don't think one exists.  So I was horrified.  Still am.  You gotta remember, the most devastating act of violence I'd ever inflicted on anyone before this was probably that time I kicked Bodie in the shin hard enough to break his skin through his jeans.  (In my defense, he deserved it.  Bullies, eh?)  And I felt bad about that.  But this...I murdered someone.  Stabbed him in the throat and watched him bleed out.  It...I never wanted to kill anyone.  That would be to sink to their level.  Like Nietzsche said.  But...I...I guess in war, you just have to do things, even if they kill you a little inside.  Even if it means ending the life of someone who was maybe just like you at some point...but, no.  I digress.  Gotta stick to the story.

I stood there in shock for...I don't know how long.  I was shaken out of it by someone grabbing my hood and dragging me off towards a hallway.  Lucky for me it was Vadiir.  We ran down a flight of stairs at the end of the hall, dashed in the door at the bottom, and promptly shut and barricaded it.  Their basement was all stone walls and floor, cobwebs everywhere.  A dungeon of sorts.  And chained to the opposite wall was my grandfather.

"Looks like you made the stupid decision," he said with a smile.  "Atta girl."

I picked the locks pretty easily.  (I learned that skill because I once put a chain and padlock around my neck to be like Sid Vicious and promptly lost the key.  Yeah, I was dumb in middle school.)  When he was finally unhooked, he staggered a bit before returning to his usual cocky gait.  He grabbed his shillelagh leaning against the wall and gave Vadiir a wary look, apparently having just noticed him.

"It's alright Grandpa, that's just Vadiir.  Don't worry, he's cool.  He's on our side."

"Is he that English guy that was after you?" my grandfather replied warily.

"I'm not going to kill her," Vadiir shot back with an edge to his voice.

"Hey," I said, trying to stop the stupidity that appeared to be brewing.  "How about we save the distrust until after we get the hell out of here?!"

They seemed to agree on that being a good plan.  Vadiir opened the door and started stabbing and flamethrowing.  My grandfather waited for anyone that got past Vadiir.  I watched him kill several people with one whack of the shillelagh each.  He snapped necks and caved in skulls, mostly, but there was one unlucky sonofabitch that got hit full force in the Adam's apple.  He coughed up a bunch of blood and staggered until he hit the ground, still gagging.  I think he choked to death.  This went on until we three were the last ones standing, covered in blood.  We made our way outside the complex and blew it up for good measure.  No, we didn't walk slowly away from the explosion, not facing it.  Would've been awesome, but this isn't some action movie.  Not to my knowledge, anyway.

We found an abandoned farmhouse and stayed the night there.  We talked for a while, but Gramps was understandably pretty exhausted. (Actually, we all were, but Vadiir and I hadn't been captive for god-knows-how-long.)  He went to bed relatively early and Vadiir and I were left awake.  So he and I talked and stuff.  At some point I finally got around to making myself Immune as opposed to just carrying a vial of blood around.  We both went to bed at some point, but I didn't sleep much (if at all) and I kinda doubt he did, either.  When he left in the morning, Grandpa told him that he was alright.  For an Englishman.  He said it with a grin, though, that I'm pretty sure meant that he thought Vadiir was a pretty cool guy, English or no.  (My grandfather's a bit strange.  He's not nearly as stereotypically Irish Catholic as he acts.)  I never realized how much I'd miss those little faux racist comments.  I never realized how much I'd miss my grandpa, I guess.  He absolutely adores Axel, too.  And, while he was still talking with Vadiir and I, he finally told me a damn thing or two about his connection to all this.  Apparently he's a pretty good Alchemist (capitalized?  I dunno, probably) but not so great at Theurgy.  He's gonna teach me what he knows, though, since I can practice it without killing myself now.  Well, probably.  Heheh.  It also turns out one of his IRA pals was Chosen against his will a long time ago and my grandfather tried to help him out of it.  It...didn't work.  So...well, at least he has experience with this kind of situation.

He's gonna start teaching me some Theurgy tomorrow.  This is gonna be good.

Oh, and Nein?  HE IS PISSED AT YOU.  Just thought I'd let you know.

St. Louis

I really need to get out of here.  Sure, big cities are a great place to get lost in the crowd and hide, but there's so much crime here, so much hardship.  Some guy actually tried to mug me at knifepoint.  I got a new knife (a pretty nice switchblade) and I left him on the ground.  Never fuck with an armed Chosen.  As if I needed weapons, I just kicked him in the naughty bits.  Hard.  I heard a crunch.  It was great.

I saw a stray puppy and fed it what was left of my hotdog at lunch.  You know what they say about feeding strays?  How they will follow you around forever if you do?  Yeah, they do that.  At a distance, of course.  And while I was in the InnerCircle chat yesterday, I heard him barking.  So I looked out the window and noticed a few malevolent masked men (and maybe women, wasn't really looking) headed towards the building I was in.  One of them showed up inside.  I had let my dog inside.  A dog that is a mongrel of some sort, but is definitely related to a wolflike breed, probably a German shepherd.  He didn't take kindly to people going after his meal ticket, apparently.  In any case, that masked marauder's arm should probably heal decently.  Maybe.  And I'm still alive and running, obviously.

So yeah, I have a new dog that I don't have to teach the command "Sic 'em".  His name shall be Axel.  Or Rocco.  Or maybe Jagger.  I haven't decided.  But he shall be my new companion.  I hope he lasts a little longer than my previous ones.

Speaking of which, Grandpa, if you're reading this (which I'm sure you aren't unless you magically figured out how to work the internets), call me or something.  All I want is a status report, just to know what's happened and how you're doing.

Anywho, planning on going to a Market tonight and buying some useful trinkets.  I would have gone last night, but I passed out.  It happens.  So I'm going to buy my new companion a collar and leash today and I'm gonna work some magic so I can take a shower and stop reeking of BO and anger.  But mostly BO.  Yeah, it's pretty bad.

I'm really hoping to find a Relic or something that makes me unaffected by normal water.  Seems unlikely, but that would be awesome.  I miss swimming and I miss sitting in the rain.  Wishful thinking, I know, but it keeps me sane.

Well.

It keeps that little shred of sanity I have left intact.  Heheh.

Really quick update

He's worse at staying dead than Kenny, Rory, Jason, and Captain Jack (either one).  Combined!

Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to find a suitable way to celebrate.  Fireworks are legal here~!

Heheheh, did they really think it'd be that easy?  You can't keep him down~!

Roller Coasters

Bad day yesterday.  Started awful, became awesome, got far worse.

First Stripes came after us.  You know how that went.

Then Nein talked to Vadiir via email.  I later learned that she wanted him to talk her out of joining the Commune, but that's for later.  He decided to use Mist travel to pick us both up and drop us off in America.  We told him about the whole apocalypse thing.  My stalker memory was pretty useful in that.

So, that had turned a terrible day pretty good.  For a while.

WhiteSuit told Jenifer that if she joined the Commune, he'd stop chasing me.  She accepted his offer.  They left last night.  I feel absolutely devastatingly guilty about that.  Especially since I had been considering giving him a similar offer for a while now, her freedom for me.  And it didn't even really make a difference.  I'm still Chosen, I just will end up getting chased by some other Commune.  Or Abandoned, which I'm hoping for.  "Yes, you'll get to share your fate with KarmA and your lover."  WS's such a shipper.  And a terrible person.  I didn't think I could feel much worse. Shouldn't have jinxed it.

Vadiir's dead.  CrimsonBranch slit his throat in his sleep.  He had been weakened because of Mist travel.  I honestly don't know how I can feel all this guilt at one time and not drown or something.  But yeah, I was on the chat at the time.  CB was mocking me so much.  Talking about blood and licking goddamned everything and he wore Vadiir's mask and he...presumably did some rather unsavory things to it...and he burned it.  The motherfucker burned Vadiir's mask.  And kept his knife.  Rage.  Fury.  Anger.  You have no idea.  I managed to keep myself outwardly pretty composed aside from a few outbursts at the beginning before my rage turned to fury, and my fury is cold.  Therefore, I was able to keep my composure quite easily.  He wouldn't have wanted me getting all emotional and doing something stupid and/or self-destructive, anyway.

I feel worse right now than I ever have.  Never has giving up the fight looked like such a wonderful option.  But.  I can't do that.  That would be pretty much the opposite of what Vadiir would want me to do.  He would want me to keep running.  To keep living.  And I'm going to respect his memory.  Not to mention, he's worse at staying dead than Jason Voorhees.  So what happens if he comes back to find out I've an heroed/joined the enemy?  Also, if I join them, I can't be friends with Alexis and KarmA anymore!  It isn't like I'm friends with any of the Chosen anymore!  Well, not counting Nein.

To Vadiir and to Nein, I'm sorry.  I'm so, so sorry.  I could repeat the phrase until time stops and it wouldn't be close to how I actually feel.  I just...I'm sorry.

Just...fuck.  No contact from my grandfather yet, either.  I'm all alone in a world that's after me.  And I'm not giving in.  I never thought I could have this much resolve, this much strength.  I always thought I was a total coward who would resort to pleading when running failed.  Heh.  I guess I've toughened up somewhere along the line.

So here it is.  I will not die.  I will not join any Communes.  I will keep running and I will keep on living.  I will bite back on my anger until it is time to let it out.  I will not let my fear show.  I will honor those lost and keep up the fight.  For Vadiir.  For Nein.  For my grandfather, wherever he is at the moment.  But mostly, for me.




...

I love you, Vadiir.
Stop being dead before your time or I'll make you regret it.

Close Encounters

So, right.  I tweeted it, but in case you don't follow me (@DoctorSaxon, in case you didn't know), the Iowa Commune's Session was yesterday.  Or was it today?  I'm losing track.  But anyway.  Since it was a holiday, they decided to try and take us in.

Except no.  "They" isn't the proper word.  More like "he".  Yep, WhiteSuit himself decided to show up, and he brought his Relicblade and his Demented Horror Mask and his damned red eyes.

Yeah, let's not talk about that.

He showed up a little after midnight.  There was a struggle.  Some parts are blurry, some I'd rather not remember, some I can't really believe could happen but have stuck in my memory.  Like, I can swear I saw Jenifer holding a Ring Pop and staring at it dumbfounded.  Pretty dumb, huh?  But I digress.  So basically, Grandpa went at him with Theurgy when he showed up.  And...it was a pretty epic fight, I think.  My memory of it, like I said, is a bit hazy.  But my grandpa can move like a fucking ninja.  Seriously.  If WhiteSuit had been slightly less, y'know, monstrously strong, he wouldn't have had a chance.  As it is, however...it was kinda like fighting a dragon that happens to use the sword that could kill it (and everything else).  Not easy.

I've no idea how long it lasted.  Probably only a few minutes, but it felt like hours.  But there was fire and blades and gunshots (most fired by me into the air, I don't trust my aim with guns) and blood and a blinding flash and a loud boom and I went flying off the side of the mountain.  I thought I saw another person or two, but that's purely guesswork as I was immediately in the trees and unable to see out of them.  I slammed into pretty much everything on my descent, which was only stopped by a freaking river that I had to hop out of asap because the water starts hurting after a while.  I don't think it's as bad as the other Chosen since I don't think my Sickness is too advanced and I haven't been Session'd, but it's enough and I'd rather not be Mist, thanks.  (Vadiir told me all about the Chosen and water since we're totally bros now.)  I dragged myself out and started running as best as I could with my injuries.  I ran until I passed out.

I woke on the roadside and have been walking (more like limping) along it, occasionally hitchhiking, trying to find somewhere to lay low (check) and trying to find my companions.  Nein tweeted earlier, so I think she's alright, but she never got back to me...and I've no idea about my grandpa...so I'm kinda stuck here until I get a lead.  If you've got any ideas to offer, now would be the time.

By the way, I'm not in France anymore.  Just thought I'd let you know.

Sorry

I haven't posted anything here in a really long time and I've been kinda skimpy on Twitter updates.  I figured I should let you guys know what's up.

First, I'm allied with Vadiir.

Let that sink in for a second.

No joke.  I apologized to him, sincerely, for everything I'd done.  I figured he'd just tell me it didn't matter how I felt or that it was far too late or something.  The last thing I was expecting was for him to accept it and stop chasing me.  He even checked in on me through Twitter.  Told me not to die before my time.  "Or I'll make you regret it."  That's probably the nicest thing he's ever said to me.  I had a dopey grin for a long time after that, and I haven't been doing much grinning lately.

This leads me to my next update.  We know how to make Theurgic Bombs now.  Y'know, like the ones that royally fucked up Cardiff in the best possibly way.  Vadiir gave me instructions over Twitter and Alexis confirmed it.  Meaning we can create Theurgic Voids and un-Choose ourselves if we want.  We currently lack some of the materials, however.  In the meantime, we're working on plans of what to do when we have them.

Oh, also, we're in France.  Why France, you ask?  Why not?  Really, we're just kind of roaming the earth.  I've always wanted to visit the Bastille, too.  I love it.  Always have.  It's a symbol of resistance, and that's exactly what I'm doing right now.  Resisting.  Besides, I was born on Bastille Day!  July 14th!  It's perfect, no?

Hey, that's coming up pretty quick here, isn't it?

Celebrating my birthday on the run.  Oh joy.

Quick Update

So I figured I'd check in and let you guys know I'm still alive for the moment.

We finally managed to pick up Nein and we're all traveling together now.

We're like a hilariously dysfunctional little family.  Grandpa hasn't hit her with the shillelagh yet, but that's because of my careful warnings to her.  He's gotten /very/ close to it, though.

We spent yesterday at Six Flags.  Shit was so cash.  All of us snuck in.  So, free admission!  And we went all all the fastest and scariest rides.  Grandpa said they were tame and in his day they didn't have fancy roller coasters and blah blah blah old people stuff.  Except he said it with a grin on his face that said "I'm annoying the hell out of you two and you won't say anything about it because you don't want to hurt my feelings or get hit with a shillelagh".  You'd be amazed by how much of his old Catholic Irishman act is fake.

So anyway.  Good day, not dead, not proxified.  Still running, still miserable, Sick, and in constant terror, but it's getting a little better.  It isn't good, not by a long shot, but it's...less awful.  Maybe one day it'll even be bearable.  I doubt if it'll ever be okay, but it's...better.

Down With the Sickness and Chaotic Neutrality

It rained today.  Well, that's charitable.  More like it sprinkled off and on.  Summer rains and whatnot.

So, being the defiant little wannabe Time Lord I am, I went out and sat around in the rain whenever it started up.  I've always liked rain, it's so mesmerizing.  I've just never been particularly fond of getting soaked in my clothes.  Jeans and sneakers don't exactly dry well, and that's what I'm almost invariably wearing.

So I sat out there in the rain, and I'm sure I was quite a magnificent sight.  A small-statured sixteen year old girl with bags under her eyes and paranoia and despair in them, in a TARDIS t-shirt and soaked to the bone sitting cross-legged on the ground or pacing about, glancing around nervously wherever she was.  I probably looked like a newly stray, lost little dog - which is more or less what I am now, I guess.

It was nice.  The rain, its monotonous rhythm and the cool drops on a hot day made me feel better than I have in a while, very calming.  After a while though, the raindrops started to sting.  It wasn't because it had started raining harder, no, it was still barely sprinkling.  It was the water itself hurting me.  It wasn't bad, only barely noticeable, but it means that my Sickness is getting worse.  And this doesn't really bode well, given my current strategy of not getting slaughtered by Vadiir involves a lot of water.  Given my condition, Grandpa can't teach me any major Theurgy, and I have yet to really figure out how to use any of his Relics to my advantage.  He hasn't told me what half of them are, in any case, let alone what they do.  Or which of the things in that chest are even Relics; there's a bunch of conventional weapons in there too.  Knives, guns, explosives...leftovers from the Troubles, indeed.

I noticed something else, too.  I don't even have a shred of neutrality left.  I publicly sided with the Circle that one time, but that was just so they wouldn't break off contact.  I was never on their side, I realize that now.  I was always on Mark and his father's side.  Moral code at work.  But I had friends in that Commune...well, that's probably a charitable term.  I like to think we were friends, though...but it doesn't matter anymore, does it?  In any case, I tried to be neutral.  In fact as well as position.  I really did.  I sat on a fence for so long, staying shifty to save my own hide.  And, as it turns out, I was doing the exact opposite of what I should have been doing.  My constant dissenting on both sides, my jokes and snarkiness, my not caring what they thought of me...but, I'm the Jester.  It's my job to do all of that...  But.  It doesn't matter anymore.  They told me it was war and that you couldn't stay neutral in war.  Even for those like me who would rather conscientiously object than anything.  It turns out that if you don't choose sides, one is chosen for you.  Or, in this case, you're Chosen for a side, heh.  They Chose me to be on their side.  I didn't want to be.  So I'm on the run.  I had my side Chosen for me.

I'm against them, and I'm against their boss.  I've always been against their boss.

They may change my mind at some point, but if they do, it won't be me you'll be talking to.  Remember my true allegiance, because the Doctor and Hanna may be one and the same, but neither of us are [proxy name they chose for me that I refuse to repeat because FUCK THAT SHIT].

So, I offer you some advice.

Neutrality's awesome, but not here.  Not with these guys.

Pick a side.  Always be indisputably on one side or the other.

Because if you don't, you may not like where you end up.

This is war.

Pick a side.

And please pick the right one.

Current thoughts

Yeah, that song?  Currently how I'm feeling, thanks to Stripey and the rest of the Shankill Butchers.  (No, you're not getting a choice in being called that.)  But I'm not so bad as to be at "21 Guns" though.  Yet.

Oh yeah, ran into Vadiir again last night.  This time I grabbed him before leaping into a river and I dragged him in with me.  Turns out that water is really bad for the Chosen.  It hasn't started affecting me yet, but it got to him immediately.  He managed to get out of the water pretty quickly, so I'm doubting it killed him.  Shame.  Or not, I'm having the same conundrum the Master had when he had the Doctor in a wheelchair.  YouTube search "The Master Can't Decide" if I've lost you.  (The /real/ Master, by the way, the Time Lord, not some skinny bitch who thinks incorrectly that he owns my soul.  Oh, new nickname?  Everyone start referring to Slendy as Skinnybitch.  It would certainly cheer me up.)

Also, they're gonna make me an Enforcer if they catch me.  I still can't figure that one out.

So, my choices at this point are:
A) Join the Commune
B) Run forever, or until I'm 27, in constant terror and danger
C) Fight back and no doubt lose
D) Get murdered by Vadiir
E) Suicide (better to die than be killed)
F) This is all just a dream.  INCEPTION.
G) Cake
H) Vote Saxon

As usual, the last three aren't really options, as much as I wish they were.  But I'll eat cake and vote Saxon anyway, those dirtbags can't stop me!

...the Doctor would run until he had to fight, and Ash Williams would fight and have won in a matter of minutes, but I'm starting to grasp the differences between reality and fiction.  Also, I'm neither Ash nor a Time Lord.

So, guys.  What would you do?

(Oh, and Stripey?  I don't really like hugs from people I /like/.  And I despise you with every fiber of my being.  Just keep in mind that, if you try to hug me, I will drop my moral code and stab you as many times as possible.  Just so we're clear on that.)

My grandfather...

...is absolutely, utterly, and entirely insane.

And he's brilliant.

No wonder he joined our little ragtag group.  He was nuts enough to come with us and badass enough to help greatly. (Note: he whacked me with the damned shillelagh for swearing (that's twice now))

Of course, he's already made enemies with Stripes, but that's expected.

I think we may actually have a shot at victory.

Just maybe.

Promising to Die for Ireland

Yes, the title is an Angela's Ashes reference.  If you haven't read it, do so please, it's amazing.

Anyway.  Stripey made me realize something yesterday.  Our email conversation before I really started my getaway led to a Harry Potter metaphor when I said that my policy with the mask was the same as how the trio handled the locket Horcrux in the last book.  And the metaphor really works in a lot of ways, too, not the least of which being that I'm a Chosen one.  Get it?

Anyway, I'm getting sidetracked again.  I asked him where my Dumbledore was and he said that he'd killed him and Voorhees ate the body.  Well, I realized that I have never really had a Dumbledore, and could really use one in my current situation.  But who do I know that's so wise and can teach me things to help out against all those hell-bent on my destruction?

Then I remembered that my grandfather is a former member of the freaking IRA.  He kept all his memorabilia, too.  Including his weapons.  A burglar tried to rob him a few years back.  Grandpa shot him in the chest before the guy knew he was there.

Now, I know what you're thinking.  "Goodness, Doc, the Irish Republican Army was a group of terrorists!  Wouldn't associating yourself with them - and using their tactics, no less - go completely against that moral code, you know, one of the main reasons you refused to join the Commune in the first place?"

First off, FREEDOM FIGHTERS FOR THE GLORY OF THE GREATEST NATION ON TH' FACE O' TH' EARTH, not terrorists.  If you ask Grandpa, at least.  Second, I don't have many more options left.  Even I can't run forever.  Not like this, anyway.

So we showed up at his house this morning.  He opened the door only a crack, as he always does, and when he saw me his one visible eye widened.  "Jaysus, Hanna, what happened to ye?  Ye look like hell!"  So he let us in and I explained the whole situation.  He just took it in solemnly, nodding every now and again.  After I finished, he said, "Och.  I was hoping ye wouldn't get wrapped up with these guys, you were always such a nice and peace-lovin' girl..."

"You...wait, you know about these guys?!  Why haven't you said anything?!"

"Och, aye, I'll tell you all about it later.  Right now we need to get packed and outta here.  An' we'll be takin' my vehicle, your puny little thing is ruddy worthless for combat 'n holdin' th' supplies we'll need 'n all sorts o' odder things..."

The friend I have codenamed Liz, who happens to own the car, didn't like that.  "Hey!  My car is awesome!  It's gotten us this far, it'll go forever!"

He just gave her an amused look.  "You won't survive long in a war with that attitude, lassie.  Sacrifices have to be made sometimes, an' if ye don't like it, you can see if th' enemy's any better."

That shut her up.  Which was kind of amazing, because usually nothing shuts her up when she's mad but the other person's surrender.  Of course, my grandpa's still in great shape.  He could destroy a lot of guys less than half his age in a fair fight if he needed to.  Which is good for our sakes.

So we moved our stuff to his vehicle, which happens to be a modified truck of some sort, and he grabbed some stuff for himself to pack.  Among his luggage is a crate that, when asked what it contains, he'll only give us a devilish grin.

He's promised to teach us how to fight back as best as he can and as fast as he can.  And he, in turn, made me promise that, in the ("rather likely") event of his death, I'm to scatter his ashes back home in Ireland.

We're back on the move now.  Grandpa's happier than I've ever seen him.  Crazy old bastard.

Given the events of the week, I'd pretty much forgotten that I have more problems than just the Iowa Commune to worry about.

Specifically the fact that they weren't they only proxies I'd pissed off with negative consequences for me.

I'm referring of course to MT.  Or rather, Vadiir.  Or The Artist Formerly Known As MT.

You know, that guy I had no shred of hope of encountering and leaving with my life.  Before he knew fire Theurgy.  Oh yeah, did you know that?  He knows goddamned fiery magic.  Oh, and he had a short range teleporty thingy with him courtesy of Stripes.  This bodes well for me, eh?

Now, I know what you're wondering.  "Oh my goodness, Doctor, this guy certainly is tough! Surely you couldn't defeat him and the teleporter would make him nigh-inescapable!  How EVER did you manage to use your endless wiles to your advantage and manage to survive such a harrowing encounter?"

Simple.  I did something almost as likely to kill me as our fiery friend.

"But Doctor, how could something so deadly save your life?"

Well, I won't give you a play-by-play this time, we all saw what happens when I try that.  So, to save you from reading a novel and to save me from typing one when I should be doing other things - like sleeping, if I can manage it - I'll just tell you how it ended.

It ended with me, with several newly acquired gashes and ON FIRE, jumping off a bridge into a river all while screaming "ALLONS-Y!"  (Not "Geronimo".  Tennant's still cooler, Stripeypants.)

That's right.  I jumped off a bridge into a river while on fire.  Maybe you should start calling me "Captain" instead of Doctor, savvy?  Heheh.

Surface tension is some pretty amazing stuff, too.  I owe a few broken ribs to it.  Once I hit the water, I was paralyzed underwater for a few seconds and when I finally broke the surface I was somewhere entirely different.  Also, I was soaked and dead tired and hurt pretty badly, so my swimming wasn't exactly strong.  I managed to grab a log and float downstream until I washed ashore.  I coughed, I sputtered, I shook, and I collapsed.  And I saw that thrice-damned mask, still hanging by a chain from my beltloop.  Grinning back at me.  Mocking me.  So I tried to destroy it again in a ragefit until I decided to ragequit and spent the next several standard units of time curled up in a ball clutching my head.

I called my buds and gave them directions.  They showed up a while ago to pick me up.  My various burns, cuts, and fractures have been attended to as best as we can.  I hurt like hell, everywhere.

We're on the move once again.  I'm lying in the backseat, watching out the window.  It's the beginning of spring, and yet there's already corn sprouted everywhere.  I used to hate it with a passion, it was EVERYWHERE, it was my home state.  It was everything boring about my life.

What I wouldn't give now to just get lost in a cornfield and never come out.  No chases, no knives, no fire.  Just corn.  I miss the boring.

Right.  I'm going to try and get some restful sleep for once, god knows I need it.  Talk to ya later, guys.  Doctor, over and out.

Killjoys, make some noise!

I really really love this music video.  It's so awesome.  BEHOLD THE SCI-FI GLORY!

I was watching this today and I noticed some weird coincidences.

Like how the people chasing our ragtag group of heros, those Draculoids, they all wear...white...suits...  Of course, Stripes doesn't actually wear a white suit (or I've never seen him in one, anyway).  And Korse, the bald dude, tells our ragtag group of heroes to "keep running".  Also other things that no one really cares to read and I don't really care to type.

AND THEY SAVE THE LITTLE GIRL IN THE SEQUEL, BY THE WAY.

Also, anyone notice that #nationalrunningday is trending on Twitter right now?  Irony, much?

WhiteSuit

I'm gonna kill him.

He's not even taking this seriously! (Though that's probably in our best interests, but still.) He's toying with me, and it makes me fucking mad.

He took all our stuff and hid it, for one thing.  He taunts me than I've ever taunted anyone, and you guys know me.

And on top of everything, he's dragged Nein into this.

She messaged him to try to get him to stop chasing me, and so he sent the goons at the Missouri Commune after her.  It's not fucking fair, she just wanted to help!  And look what it got her!  He didn't have to do that!

And it doesn't help that he spent nearly the entire email conversation we had today hitting on me in a really creepy way.

But he said something today that worries me.  He said that way back when in that Mibbit chat with Slendy (god, it seems like so long ago) that his saying "It should be noted I am also a liar" was a prediction of the future, someone else is going to say that.  So we have another liar to look out for now.  Five bucks it's goddamn WhiteStripes.  Asshole.

And that doesn't mean that the Slender Man isn't a dirty liar, as well.  I'm enough of a Doctor Who fan to know that the Master's Utopia is bullshit.

And look at that, Stripey.  Repeating the fucking Doctor Who joke.  U mad, bro?

Memorial Day

I did something today that was potentially really, really dumb.

Every year, my family has a get together on Memorial Day weekend, always Sunday.  I decided to show up for a while.  I got there kinda late, so everyone of age was a bit tipsy and all the kids were getting tired.  Well, except my cousin Dylan, but he's always bouncing off the wall.  He was running around yelling about Mother Russia and terrorists and all sorts of strange things.  In fact, he immediately decided that I was a "unique red-headed Nazi" and tried to shoot me with a baby.  So I yelled at him in German and he ran off.  After that, I only talked to him in my German accent that he couldn't tell was awful.

My cousin was there with his electric guitar and amp, and my uncle had his bass and amp, and they sat on their amps and we all sat around them and they played and we all sang.  It was a beautiful drunken scene.  Everything from "Smells Like Teen Spirit" to "Hey Jude" to "Puff the Magic Dragon" to every AC/DC song ever got played, and only half of the people knew the words or chords to a song at any given time.  I had to remind my aunt - who was a bona fide hippie back in the day - of the words to "Hey Jude".  Another one of my cousins took over for a while, he played mostly Metallica and 90s stuff, though.  He knew some Green Day, and only I knew the words.  Naturally, they made me sing them.  Talk about awkward.

I talked to my parents.  They were a little tipsy, and with some arm twisting and coercing, they agreed to let me go on a road trip.  Mum also gave me some money in case I needed it.  They both had that sad our-little-girl's-growing-up face that every kid learns to recognize.  I didn't tell them about my current situation.  I knew they wouldn't believe me.  Hell, I barely believe me.

I wasn't at the party very long.  Liz and Amy had gone to grab some more supplies from their places, and a few minutes after they showed up I noticed a masked man standing almost out of sight talking on the phone.  We left in a hurry.  I hated to rush goodbyes, but we had to get out.  One of my cousins, the one playing guitar earlier, hugged me out of the blue.  It caught me off guard since he isn't normally a very huggy person.  At all.  We are pretty close, though - people joke that we're siblings sometimes, and we formed a team because we're usually the only one to get the others' various quotes and references.

"Stay safe," he said.  "I can't have a Tag Team Awesome without you."

I came closer to crying right then than I've been in years, and I'm not a very emotional person.  The fact that he was clearly plastered didn't seem to take anything away from it.

We stopped at my place to grab a few more things and left town.  It's just us now.  The three of us against a group of ruthless super powered people bent on catching me working for an unknowable Eldritch monstrosity.

I hope I just found myself in a fictional tale, because that's probably the only way we're getting out of this at all, let alone victorious or unscathed.

Yesterday

So.  Bet you're wondering what went on yesterday.  Would have gotten to ya earlier, but given my current situation, it was kinda hard to find time to sit down and write up a blog entry.

At about 1:30 I went to the park.  My logic was that no one would have the balls to attack and kidnap someone and force them into a mask, kicking and screaming in broad daylight in front of lots of people.  Of course I'd forgotten that the Chosen are FUCKING INSANE, ALL OF THEM.  And have a boss that can fucking manipulate reality as he sees fit.

So anyway, I was standing there, leaning against a shelter house wall so no one could sneak up behind me.  I was perhaps a little stressed.  Okay, strung out enough to have a bad stomachache and prone to absolute panic at more or less nothing.  When two o' clock finally rolled around, I was nearly at my breaking point.  And they showed up out of fucking nowhere.  Seriously, I was looking one way and I moved my head and there are like eight or nine people in spooky masks just fucking STANDING there as if it were nothing.  How I didn't die of a heart attack right then and there is beyond me, but I've been Chosen to work for a being that by all means shouldn't exist.  Obviously, normal logic no longer applies.

So one of them walks foreword a bit, I assume it was WhiteSuit, and he told me that I could just go quietly or they would take me by force.  I, of course, made an attempt to choose a third option and sprinted off at full throttle.  I'm pretty sure they saw that coming.  Mostly because it's exactly what I told Stripey I'd do via email earlier.  So I'm running for my life and they're after me, and they're catching up, but I've got home field advantage.  See, in the park I was in, there's this big hole in the ground you can't see because the grass grows over it.  I ran right over it, making sure not to actually step in it, and then I heard a yelp and a thud.  I think one of them broke their ankle on it.  Meanwhile, I'm wondering why the hell no one's calling the cops or even noticing this chase scene.  And then I remembered their boss and all his super magic powers and damn near stopped to smack myself.

Then I remembered that my back-up plan required my friends to show up and notice me being in trouble.  I prayed to whoever would listen that I wasn't royally fucked.  Anyway, they weren't due for another half hour or so at least, so I needed to stall.  So I made the fucking brilliant decision of running into the adjacent woods.  Now, process that for a second.  When have the woods /ever/ boded well for a Slenderstory protagonist?  Exactly.  I have no idea how I'm not currently in Ames brainwashed other than the luck of the Irish - no that's not enough, that combined with divine intervention.

Anyway, I ran into the woods.  I weaved in and out of trees, going for the zigzag thing rabbits do.  And then I got hit in the back of the knees with a flying tackle.  I kicked the person in the face, hard.  Four times.  Their mask got covered in mud and I'm pretty sure I cracked it, but they didn't so much as flinch.  So I kicked them in the throat with all my might and they let go.  (No, I don't know what gender the person was.  All I could perceive was their mask, it seems.)

So I was up and running again, but now they were way closer.  Close enough for their fingers to brush the back of my jacket as we ran, which was a bit worrisome.  I figured that my best bet was to maybe GET OUT OF THE DAMNED WOODS TO SOMEWHERE WHERE MY SCREAMS COULD MAYBE BE HEARD, so I headed back towards the park with them hot on my tail.  When I broke out of the trees, though, there were three more of the fuckers waiting for me, one of them being Stripey, who just so happened to be holding a certain mask.  You know the one.

The Grinning Jester Mask.  Custom made just for me, the hapless kid they refer to now as LastLord.  (Which is really a pretty fuckawesome name, but I refuse to go by it because of the whole principle of the thing.)

Everything just kinda stopped.  It seemed like all that existed was me and that mask,  It was like it was some part of me that had been long lost and was just being reunited with me.  I was infinitesimally close to just putting it on and going with them, I think the only way I could have avoided it was divine intervention.  Naturally, my phone rang just then.  Nothing to snap someone like me out of a trance like a Doctor Who ringtone.  I snapped out of it and realized that my arms were being held by someone.  I managed to tear my way free - quite literally, I scratched them up pretty badly - and barreled of in another direction, Stripey right behind me.

Now, I knew they needed me alive, so I wasn't even remotely expecting him to pull a fucking knife on me.  I entirely forgot I had mine on me because it's about as good a weapon as a stick of celery, and that's for someone experienced in knifeplay.  He caught up to me easily, maybe because I'd been running for a while, maybe because he was really fast, maybe some other third thing.  The point being, I saw a silver flash fly through the air and I swerved to avoid it.  Of course, I didn't swerve enough.  Pain shot into my upper arm and I felt it start bleeding.  Upon closer inspection later, it's a pretty deep gash, it'll probably leave a scar.

Did I say the last thing I was expecting was for him to pull a knife?  No, that isn't right.  The last thing I was expecting right then was for him to get hit by a flying tackle.  I just kept running.  I heard the honk of a car horn and  I looked over and a friend of mine, let's call her Liz for the sake of this, idling in the parking lot, back door of her car hanging open, gesturing wildly to me.  Turns out she'd been the one that called me earlier, too.  I dove inside gratefully and another friend of mine who we'll call Amy dove in to the front and Liz floored it.  We got the doors shut and just drove.  Turns out that Amy was the one that tackled Stripey and she got a gash in her side for the trouble.

They had bags we'd packed in case of needing to go on the run because of this specific situation, including two full of my stuff, so I've been typing this as we drove.  We can't stop for more than an hour or so at a time, though, because they show up.  We got our cuts dressed and I'm all covered in bruises.  Amy and Liz will drive and sleep in shifts since I don't drive.  They're gonna teach me, though.

...yeah.  I don't know how long we can keep this up.  At least it's summer and we aren't missing school, but there's still money and food and other basic necessities to worry about.  I'm glad to have endlessly loyal friends, though.  I don't know if I'd be so giving as to willingly put myself in a situation like this for a friend.  I like to think I would, but...

Right.  That's pretty much it.  I'm spent and my arm hurts from that cut.  I'll try to keep you guys updated

I don't know where we'll go from here or what we'll do.  All I know is that they'll take me and probably kill my friends if they catch us.  But first they must catch us.

EDIT:  I hope you remember what my Twitter was, because I deleted it just in case.

First post?

So.  Hay guys.  Is this paranormal?

I keep seeing this really tall skinny guy following me around.  Also I've been having some memory loss and nightmares.  I'm also compelled to draw strange things like crossed out Os.  I'll post a series of videos of my experiences, since it's only natural to film my experiences, and will narrate them in white text on a black background.  They'll be called "entries".  Also, none of my accounts will be hacked by a generic crazyperson using crappy codes.  That's just silly.

Wat do?


[end parody]