A problem I've been seeing in the other threads (particularly the Writing Support Group Thread) is that no one gets as much feedback as they want, since there are so many people posting their pieces/ideas/questions that inevitably some things get skipped over. Therefore, I have started: The SERIOUS BUSINESS Critique Thread 1.) Nobody posts their work here until the previous piece has been commented on. Giving one critique is good for getting one critique. If you want another, you must treat it as an entirely new piece by critiquing another person's work, then posting a link to your previous post. So ideally the format of posts after that would be Critique of the previous post, then whatever the poster wants feedback on. Although you may post a critique without posting work of your own. That said, the next poster will get a free review of at least seven solid lines from me, so the next next poster will not be obligated to post their own review. 2.) For critics: Post the good points AND the bad points of the piece, even if it's just a list. I have also noticed that constructive criticism is limited to "Thorough yet polite detail of what the critic finds wrong, then a line or two of what the critic liked". It's leagues ahead of other sites, but disproportionate emphasis on the flaws is not the best criticism, either. 3.) Ideas and questions do not go here. This is for completed pieces or good-sized chunks of prose/poetry only. 4.) Don't take anything personally. We are critiquing your writing, not you. 5.) Please specify if you are posting original work or fanfiction. Let's hope this works out.
edited 2nd May '10 6:05:05 PM by Leradny
A piece of writing I had posted earlier on:
The modest street of homes seem quite empty and devoid of people with the liveliness from before, save for a young couple who kiss their lips so tenderly by the side. The sun makes a brief shine of light through the grey clouds before being covered in obscurity once more. The yoki seems to lead over to the entrance of one of these homes.. Clare waits. She just stares hard at the closed, wooden entrance. Nothing happens for the longest time, and no one comes out. Welling up enough courage inside her, Clare makes a decision, and starts to the door. Its eclipsing shadow falled on the meek looking man inside the house, who had his head perked through the crack of the door. It would like to come into his parlour and have a good rest. “Can I come in?” “Who are you?” he asked. “I like your house. Can I come in?” “What the hell is this?” the man said. “No, you can't come in.” “Are you sure?” It raised a hand from the sack it carried to push the door all the way open. “What.. what are you doing?!” the man asked, trying to use all his strength to keep the door from opening. The door opens slowly anyway.. it hurts Clare stands, frozen still as her hand lays on the cold iron handle of the door. The scars left on her body tingle and ache as she tries to will herself to open the door against hesitation. Humid sweat goes down her forehead and cheeks. Then her moist hand slowly and surely turns and twists the handle, and she opens the door with narily a sound. With halting steps, Clare enters the household. The first thing that greets Clare is the lingering smell of sour stale rot. As the greyness inside shows itself to the pouring light through the door, she makes out the unkempt and tattered state of the house. Overturned furniture and a very large pile of scattered cloth litter the parlour. There's one archway into the front hall – and another leading to a dining alcove and through there the kitchen. Clare shuts the entrance door ever so slowly, leaving only the dreary grey shining through the drapes for light. For the moment, she stands in indecision, not sure what to do next in the way she is now. She just stares out from under the hood at the mess. The suppression pill seems to be wearing out – the drag of her greatsword no longer seems to pull her down with all its cumbersome weight. Still though, there's a certain lethargy that is still lingering through her self. She tries to sense the presence of the Yoma – its yoki now the stench of a perfume overwhelmingly saturating the air. It's all too much for her to determine where it might be lurking even. But something inside tells her that it will be all right. Very slowly, she unsheathes her greatsword (so heavy!) almost falls over in the effort, and wields it with her two hands. Step by step, Clare makes her way into the open hall, sword wavering. A grisly and pulverized body lies - fleshy stumps of legs propped up against the wall in the unclear darkness. Everywhere is stained by the dark red of blood spots. Now the stink hits her full on it hurts Her breathing comes down harder, unsettled, taking in the decayed air. Some moaning, heard muffled through the walls. A little pause, before Clare makes her way to where the cries come from, avoiding stepping near the body. It twitches a little as she creeps her way past it; the eyesockets, though eyeless, still seemingly eyeing her. The mahogany door lies closed at the end of the hall – the handle dulled and worn. Clare lays her fingers on the cold cast-iron, turns it slow— it opens in a soft creak. The chamber here is with rags and towels hanging sagged beside washbasins – the windows have all been covered up with the hanging curtains. There's an uneven dripping sound, for one of the towels, stained a bit red, leaks its spare drops into the basin. A door right in front shows hints of the outside light creaking through the cracks, while another door on the left wall.. It's the same weak moaning – right through the left door. Clare holds her sword down as she heads over to the left – finds it hard just to pull it open— as it grabbed one of the bound and tied young children in its hand, and went on to the kitchen In the darkness of the pantry, three children, naked and bruised, lie on their side against the cold ground – their hands and feet are bound by many rags of cloth. They whimper, as they struggle along on the ground. Oh shit..! Clare rushes on down, lays her claymore by the side, hurries her hands to untie and rip their bonds apart. The boy.. the girl... the other boy (somehow familiar). Her hands fumble. She could not help but notice their wrists and ankles are a ghastly purple. Now these bonds are but shredded rags. The children shake, shivering in the cold. Clare raises a finger to her mouth - “Shh. Shhhh shh.” She gives a little smile and takes off her hood to show her face. “It's okay.” And they look to her, and manage their smiles too - they are in good hands now. “Okay, ” she goes, hushed. She helps them all up, and hefts the claymore from the side. Clare inches her head out the door, looking around the laundry room to see, before she notions for them to follow. She doesn't want them to feel so cold anymore, so she rummages through the piles of cloths for anything that resembles clothing – swaddles them and opens the back door to outside. / The backyard seems bare, enclosed by hedge bushes and with a withered, leafless old tree at the corner. Clare leads them over to the tree's shelter, with the concealment of the tree trunk and hanging branches. The children huddle together, as they go to sit down and look upon Clare in her poncho. “Stay here, ” she goes to them, before she heads off— “But where are you going?” the girl asks worryingly. “Where's Mama? Papa?” A beat. Clare could not bring herself to say anything for a moment – the body down in the hallway brings back so much pain and horror and the sadness in her mind for her own.. Papa.. Mama.. The tears well down from her silver eyes, her heart under so much pain. The children do not say anything – just bewildered and frightened, that someone so brave would just cry all of the sudden. But finally, she manages to bring herself to say something, with all sincerity. “I will find your Papa and Mama, ” she goes. “And I'll make sure.. that monster.. will never bother you ever again.”
edited 2nd May '10 12:23:33 PM by QQQQQ
save for a young couple who kiss their lips so tenderly * by the side. The sun makes a brief shine of light * through the grey clouds Its eclipsing shadow falled * on the meek looking man inside the house, who had his head perked * through the crack of the door. “What.. what are you doing?!” the man asked, trying to use all his strength to keep the door from opening. * The scars left on her body tingle and ache as she tries to will herself to open the door against hesitation. * worryingly *Weak Points
As detailed above, some of your word choices and turns of phrase are odd or indistinct. You also have a problem with keeping the piece in present tense—there are shifts into past tense here and there which are quite jarring. The single use of "Oh, shit!" was also incredibly jarring. I would remove the profanity, or make it more prevalent overall. I also couldn't get a sense of the world, since the name "Clare" is European, as is the greatsword/claymore, but "Yuma" and "yoki" bring to mind Eastern magic. Also, she is using a greatsword in what appears to be modern-day Earth. You seem to be trying for a stream-of-consciousness tone to add an element of surrealism, with the odd page breaks and a careful (lack of) use for punctuation. But as you are not quite there yet, or not aiming for a stream-of-consciousness tone at all, it just seems like stilted regular prose that gives an extremely vague sense of place and time, and jumps from POV to POV far too quickly for me to get a sense of the characters. I also have to wonder what happened to the man at the door, as he just disappeared when Clare entered the room. Oh, and your use of "so" tended to shift emphasis to a subject that shouldn't have gotten it (the young couple in the beginning, for example), or added emphasis to the character's emotions which was completely unfitting for a piece with such a detached tone (Clare, at the end, seemed rather too emotional for the calm, collected personality you'd established, all because of a two-letter word that popped up twice in the same paragraph). Please tone down your use of ellipses and em-dashes. They cause the tone to swing between wildly purple and oddly beige. Sometimes in the span of two sentences, which is confusing and not very enjoyable. I also find you to have a case of Talking Heads in the beginning conversation, which is probably to add mystery. But you can keep one person's identity vague while still describing the surroundings and the appearances of people who you don't need to hide. Good points: I may have gotten a vague glimpse of the world, but I appreciate what I did see—particularly the addition of a horrific element, along with the detached wariness Clare gained upon seeing it. I also liked how you characterized Clare herself. She was professional, yet caring towards the children, and while her outburst at the end was unexpected you did point out that the children themselves were surprised. Since the empathy was intended to add some character depth, I would suggest you just drop a few more hints towards it so the reader won't be taken completely by surprise like I was. Your dialogue flows quite naturally, which stands out a lot against the prose. I applaud you for even attempting to write a long stretch of prose without talking. This isn't a horrible piece, it just needs some coherency in order for the readers to enjoy themselves fully. I am quite interested in the world, and what Clare's exact occupation is that she goes about hunting for monsters while still having the capacity to care about other people. If this is ever revised, I would like to read it again.
edited 2nd May '10 5:07:04 PM by Leradny
Leradny, are you familiar with the Claymore series? Of the shifts into past tense, I use it in the vision/memory that Clare perceives as she goes to the front entrance of the house and as she opens up the pantry door - from the Yoma's (the monster) point of view. Other than that, the rest should be all in present tense. Hopefully this might offer some clarity on the 'talking heads', 'disappearing man' and POV incoherency. Does Clare really seem that detached? Hmph.. I was thinking of her being increasingly unnerved as she explores the derelict household, but perhaps I wasn't clear enough on that part.
edited 2nd May '10 5:56:05 PM by QQQQQ
Ah. That does clear up most of the points I made—I am not familiar with Claymore, but just make your POV shifts a bit clearer and emphasize Clare's increasing sense of fear. *adds "Please specify if you are posting original or fanfiction" to the rules*
edited 2nd May '10 6:05:24 PM by Leradny
Hello, everyone. This'll be the first time I've posted anything of this story in public. It takes place in a world I've been building for a couple of years now, but I've really only just started writing this out in story format, so I only have a little bit to review right now. Anyway, without further delay... Cress turned, cutting through alleys and yards between the old dirt roads. The town of Fiddlehead was bustling around her; the streets were filled with more people than she'd ever seen at once, the crowd occasionally giving way for a carriage or a passing car. She cut across a grassy yard, slipped between a pair of small wooden houses, and came to a long, straight dirt road, leading out of the village and into the woods that were just visible on the horizon. She fell in behind a group of adults heading the same way she was – if she listened closely, she could hear them whispering excitedly among themselves, although she couldn't make out quite what they were saying. Where they were headed was already obvious, though, thanks to the flyer Cress clutched in her hand, a small printed sheet of paper that read 'Tempo Allegro Performing Tonight – admission free for children 12 and under'. They rounded the corner and came to the edge of town, where normally there would be a small empty field between the houses and the woods. Today, though, a huge big-top tent had been set up there, covered with bright patches of red and green shot through with orange that all seemed to swirl together. Off to one side of the entrance was a stand stocked with all kinds of souvenirs – banners, picture-books, and small figurines and statuettes of the troupe's performers and other images that Cress guessed were related to the show. Cress approached the main entryway and help up her flyer for the attendant, who took one look at her and nodded, waving her through. The inside of the tent was dominated by a vast outdoor stage, nearly as tall and as wide as the big top itself. The stage was completely empty - there was no painted background, no setpieces, not even any obvious place for the performers to sit, just a giant black canvas for a backdrop and some stage lights mounted on top.. There were four lampposts stationed at the corners of the room, but instead of being topped with lights, each one had a soundstone mounted on top, hooked up to a recorder. A few dozen portable chairs had been set up facing the stage - the crowd's murmuring continued until everyone had filed into their seats, and then gradually died down as the lights dimmed to black. The ambient music of the hills faded with the lights, until hardly anything could be seen or heard at all. Somewhere behind the set a soft tone started to build, and the stage started to glow again, lit up seemingly under its own power. A trapdoor opened at either end and two figures rose up from underneath, both wearing a simple white unitard and a brightly-painted mask with stripes matching their own. They stepped off of the rising platforms and toward the center of the stage, lifting their arms along with the music, and both the dancers and the sound joined together, revolving slowly around the middle of the platform. As the song took shape, so did the scene around them, with the platforms on the edges becoming a pair of tall, thin towers joined by several others, separated by rocks, sand, and little patches of tall, wavy grass that suggested a shoreline. The melody picked up and the canvas background began to ripple with a pattern of light and dark as if the light were being reflected off the surface of the water. The scene came to life as the lights shifted colors and the two figures on stage leapt to the sides, creating a booming splash that swept across the backdrop. They climbed up the poles, jumping from one to the next until they were back to the tallest pair, and the illusory water rose higher with every step until the room was fully submerged. The pair spread their arms wide and sprang across the stage, passing each other in mid-air and dragging waves behind them that crashed together, causing the background to fill with a spray of multicolored bubbles. They began to dart back and forth, playing with the ripples, which changed shape, swirling around and scattering as if they were schools of brightly-colored fish. A patch of grass grew into coral that burst into bloom, changing into a huge fan that spread its way across the set and bounced the light through its branches, turning the room a deep reddish-purple. The ripples became a wave that became a giant razor-toothed maw which chased the performers back and forth across the stage until they ran themselves into a corner and the jaws snapped shut. The music hung on one note, drawing itself out while the jaws hovered suspended in mid-air, until an explosive crescendo shattered them apart into millions of tiny droplets and the dancers came tumbling out. The music came to a halt and the lights rose back to full. The crowd broke into wild applause, complete with catcalls, as the two performers backed up to make room. They were joined by several more as the other members of the troupe came out from behind the set and took the stage one by one, each taking a bow in turn in front of the dissipating ocean scene. The ovation went on for what felt like hours, until finally the stage lights went dark. After the show, Cress stood alone outside the tent, admiring the souvenir she'd picked up - a small wooden figurine, dressed in the same white unitard and painted mask as the acrobats. It had become dark out by the time the show was over, but the field outside the tent was still lit up by a few spotlights and torches on tall poles. She passed by the stand again, where the troupe was gathered, signing autographs and answering questions. Her ears perked up as someone called out to her. "Cress!" It was Rose, standing outside the entrance and waving her over. Cress walked over to her and they started the short trip home. "That was amazing, wasn't it?" Rose walked with her usual quick, springy steps. "Yeah! I've never seen anything like it." Cress kept glancing down at her new figurine. "Hey, Rose...have you ever thought about joining up with something like that?" "What, you mean running off and joining the circus?" Rose snickered into her hand. "Really, though, I dunno." "Well, how do you do that?" "I don't know. You need to study a lot, I guess, and have some kind of special training..." "Like what?" "Well, why don't you go ask if you want to know so badly?" So she did. Cress turned around and ran right back to the tent, where, luckily, the troupe was still standing out in the open. Cress crept over and stood on her tiptoes to see through the throng of people gathered around them; she could just barely make out the troupe's leader talking. She piped up. "Um, excuse me, sir?" The troupe leader looked down at her. "Yes?" "How could I join up with you guys?" He flashed her a smile. "Come back with a Solfege education and a few years of experience, and maybe someday you'll get to work with us, hm?" He turned to answer another question, leaving Cress blinking to herself. She stood and watched for a few more minutes, while the acrobats spoke to their fans and even put on another improvised show. The gears in her head turned and turned - Cress had already made up her mind. Skipping ahead a bit to another scene... Cress hopped down the stairs and made a beeline for the front door. Halfway through the kitchen, however, she froze in mid-step as a loud 'a-hem' stopped her in her tracks. “And just where do ye think yer going?” Anna said, arms folded over her chest. “Um, ” Cress turned to face Anna and looked up slowly, blinking. “I was just going out to practice. What's wrong?” Anna sighed. “Look here, Cress, I overheard ye talking to Rose. Yer thinking of running away, aren't ye?” “No!” Cress' eyes widened. “I mean, I wasn't gonna just run off...” “Good.” The older woman knelt down to look at Cress eye-to-eye. “Because I don't want ye to go running off and getting into trouble all by your lonesome. Now, what gave ye the idea to leave home in such a hurry?” Cress' ears perked up. “I went and saw the Allegro show. They were really amazing – they had great acrobats, and a lot of really powerful musicians, and they even built their whole set from scratch right there on the stage.” “And now ye've gone all starry-eyed about going off and learning to be a real musician somewhere?” Anna shook her head. “Cress, I know ye want to go off to school, but yerjust too young to live on your own yet.” “But-” “No. Yer too young and I cannae let ye go out into the world alone.” “But the schools accept all ages-” “No.” Cress stared at Anna with her mouth halfway open for a few more seconds, mind racing to come up with some defense, then hung her head and turned to leave, mumbling, “Yes, ma'am.” She walked out the front door and sat by the road, tail curled limply around to one side, staring down at the dirt. A short while passed like that, Cress sitting by herself and dwelling on the conversation. She was almost completely lost in thought when a tap on her shoulder made her snap her head up. “I'll make ye a deal, ” said Anna, standing over her. “If ye can find out about this school, and pass whatever tests they want you to take, and prove to me beyond a shadow of a doubt that yer ready to go and live off in some strange place by yerself, I'll let ye go.” Cress perked up again, a huge smile plastering her face. “Really? Thank you, Anna!” She jumped to her feet and threw her arms around Anna's waist, giving her a tight squeeze. Anna chuckled and gave Cress' head a gentle ruffle. “Yer welcome. Now go practice, and be home before supper.” ...and that's it. You can probably tell, but in the first part, I wrote the performance scene first, then went both backwards and forwards, fleshing it out as I could, and writing the opening paragraph last. A few things I'm concerned about include whether the conversation between Cress and Rose is too simplistic or quick or something, and whether the language during the performance is too purple, for lack of a better term - it's supposed to be something that could really capture a kid's mind and make her think 'I want to do that when I grow up', but I'm not sure if I overdid it.
All right, I'm going to give the next poster another freebie as it's been a week, but anyone after that should really start posting critiques on their own. This is not the "Get Critiques From Leradny" Thread. Whyte Shadow: You did overdo the difference between the performance and the conversation, though I appreciate the idea behind it. It wasn't a difference in quality—more like this was a collaboration and the second half (with paragraphs no larger than three lines) was written by an entirely different person who only matched the tone of the first half (with paragraphs no smaller than five lines). You will want to trim down the first half, at least by splitting some paragraphs in half so they aren't as overwhelming. The Funetik Aksent for Anna didn't really work for me. Since she is apparently Cress' guardian and not even Cress talks like that, it came off as gimmicky and out of place. I'd advise you to change it to standard English. The above points aside, I quite enjoyed reading the piece. Your style is simplistic even during the performance, but expressive and polished—the first half demonstrates that you have a good sense of atmosphere, and the second half has very natural dialogue. Very Slice of Life-y. Just tone down the difference between the two a little bit. Even without any changes, I am quite interested in reading more of this.
life is hard U_U@ Whyte Shadow: Things to work on
life is hard U_UGhosts: A quiet young girl has a chat with a psychologist. Not everything is what it seems.
Thank you, Leradny and Latia. I'm glad you liked my writing, and I really appreciate your suggestions - I'll definitely take them to heart. :> You make some really good points. One thing you both mentioned was the accent - you're right that if Anna has this sort of accent, Cress should, too, and probably also Rose, since it's a regional thing. I imagine the Fiddlehead accent being roughly equivalent to Scottish, but there's no Scotland, so I can't really just say it's a Scottish accent. Any idea how I can communicate that they speak in a certain accent without actually saying it outright or writing in it, or should I just rewrite everyone else's dialogue, or what? I'll see if I can't do a critique of Ghosts, too.
An accurate depictionto Latia: Critique:
edited 11th May '10 4:56:42 PM by Morgulion
This is this.
X_XProbably not really following the pattern, but since someone just got commented on, I'm always up for a SRS BSNS critique of my thread. No need to wait until that is critiqued to move on, though. It's getting kind of long and already has a small spinoff. EDIT: Wait; shit. I didn't see that. I'll critique the person above me when I get back.
edited 10th May '10 8:00:43 PM by harmattane
Ce ne pas un post.
X_X@Morgulion: I was a little bit confused, especially at first, but I think that's mainly because the piece is from out of a larger piece, and I don't get to be introduced to the setting or characters here. It feels like I was just dropped into the middle of something that was already going on, between people I don't know. Your descriptions are the best part of this, and how much you enjoy writing them shines through, but if I could give you any suggestion for those, it would be to integrate them and the discussions of what the protagonist is thinking more smoothly into the action. It seems like things pause to give us that information, but it doesn't have to be that way. Over all, your love of writing is all over this, and because we readers can feel your excitement, we enjoy it all the more. Just keep a close eye on whether or not you're getting carried away with some elements, and the work is going to shine. If you missed it the first time, someone else may go ahead and post their writing now because it's unreasonable to make everyone wait for someone to critique my unreasonably huge piece. I was just putting it out there as a challenge because I'm interested in serious critiques.
Ce ne pas un post.
An accurate depiction@harmattane Here it goes! Thank god for my surfeit of free time. I'll try to mark this by post, specifically your writing ones by number within the forum- first (1st with writing), tenth (2nd with writing), etc. And I may have to split it up to several posts. EDIT- this is for the first two. Also, the applied good bits are universal- my next posts will contain more critique for now. You may be ninja'd. Good bits:
edited 11th May '10 5:55:45 PM by Morgulion
This is this.
An accurate depictionLet us continue. 23rd post (3rd), 30th (4th), 38th (5th), and 41 (sixth).
edited 11th May '10 6:35:18 PM by Morgulion
This is this.
Ce ne pas un post.
An accurate depiction53 (seventh), 57th(eighth). The action rises.
edited 11th May '10 7:20:17 PM by Morgulion
This is this.
X_XYou're welcome, and I can't wait to see what you have to say about the rest.
Ce ne pas un post.
Here is a brief, first-half excerpt of a Eureka Seven fic I'm working on at the moment - the start of a 'magic carpet ride' between a nervous boy and the exotic girl.
In the dark confines of the closet room, Renton Thurston stares out through the plexiglass window, at the billowing clouds, orange and purple they are from the unseen setting sun. The wisps make their lovely patterns all around, a blanket of sorts, beneath the violet-streaked dusk sky as the Gekko-Go heads its course. There is this urge within him, just to go out, and fly, fly in this beautiful scene, out in the Nirvash. But what of this beauty, if there is only Renton there in the air, alone? It would be leaving out the touch of spice that makes the spaghetti taste so wonderful. Immediately though, he thinks of the one person who makes his heart beat faster in joy, and his cheeks flush warm with red. He pictures the flowing cyan hair that comes down to her petite neck and those alluring violet eyes. There wasn't anyone else he'd met who had such pretty eyes. He imagines her by his side, warm hand in hand, in Nirvash's spacious cockpit. How wonderful it must be to share the wonder of this moment with her, Eureka. Renton must hurry though. The sun would not wait for them before taking its rest beneath the covers of the horizon. What if I get in trouble though? Holland and the others might not like it if I just.. take the Nirvash out for no reason.. These doubtful thoughts though are soon forgotten as Renton takes one last look through the windows, and heads out into the hallways, over to the communal room where Eureka spends her time playing Maurice, Mater and Link at a game of ping-pong. Spacious windows all over reveal more of the passing outside. Renton goes to approach the fun, watching on to his amusement as all the combined efforts of the young trio couldn't seem to catch Eurkea's quick curveball. His heart begins to beat in anticipation, looking at her supple face – she looks to him too, noticing. "Renton?" Eureka goes. He cringes for but a second, as the trio on the other side of the table gaze to him in dirty looks, Maurice especially. "What do you want meatball head?" Poor Renton, almost forgetting what he would say, let alone why he followed his urges here. Link stifles a giddy chuckle under a little hand. Renton manages to regain his composure though, and slowly comes to Eureka. "Hey.. would you mind if I.. talk to you a minute?" "He's gonna do it!" Mater goes. "With her—" "Mater!" Eureka shoots the girl a scowl, before turning to him. "Yes. I would love to." She smiles. And thus, he leads her to a more private corner of the room, trying not to mind the children throwing raspberries behind his back. "What is it you wish to talk of?" she goes, looking upon him with the faintest curiosity. "Well. Um.." His mouth doesn't seem to want to move at this time, being frozen in tense hesitation. This has got to be the most insane thing I'm about to do.. man what am I thinking? "Is it something wrong?" she asks. "No.. no.." He lets in a little gulp down his throat. How to put all this feeling into proper words? It all feels like it makes sense, and yet it's all outlandish when it comes to saying it out. "I just.. I want to fly outside, with you." Eureka blinks, taking in Renton's words. Her face lightens up a bit, while his seems to blush so bashfully red. "There's this feeling that I have, " he goes, "when I look outside. It's so beautiful out. All those purple clouds floating. I want to fly out with them. But it wouldn't be, couldn't be the same if I go all by myself." His heart pounds against his chest incessantly. "I want to go fly, with you." Eureka holds her breath in, flattered, unsure. It feels like the longest and most unbearable wait in Renton's life, her just standing there, before he receives her answer of her warm hand clasping around his, and her reassuring smile. "Yes." Did he hear her right? It is a whisper of a "yes" from her, one he could barely hear, and yet she has her hand with his. "Yes." "Okay." He walks with her through the hallways of the Gekko-Go, passing by and greeting Mischa along the way – Mischa eyes them pensively before she continues down. Every step he takes, Renton feels a little more queasy, light-headed. It feels like a good dream that would burst at any moment now, but the feeling of Eureka's soft hand in his feels all too warm to be some figment of his wandering imagination. If so, then he wishes that none of the others come across them, put an abrupt end to this moment. After taking the elevators down to C-deck, Renton can hear more of the low, distaff humming of the Gekko-Go's engines, as he leads – Eureka leads him over down into the expanses of the dock, where the gargantuan Nirvash rests so in the abyssal darkness. As they step down the staircase from the light of the hallway, all of the sudden the lights go to illuminate the place in light of Renton and Eureka's presences. "Renton?" Eureka asks. "Are you sure this is okay?" A certain urge is compelling the boy now, far past proper reason. He would in all likely respect turn back if it were any other time, but not right now, not when the sun is on the verge of disappearing and the moment being missed. "Yes, " he goes to Eureka, smiling from out the corners of his heart, and they head on to clamber in one of Nirvash's two spacius cockpits. Renton snuggles himself snugly beside her on the seat, feeling her warmth emanate by the shoulders. "Shall I drive?" she asks. Now that she has mentioned it, Renton had never really considered who would be flying, in that imagination of his. It would be fine for him to show and guide the Nirvash in the painted canvas of air, while she can be free to look around and enjoy herself. Renton can grasp most of the manouvers almost as easily as Eureka can, including the famous cut-back drop turn, but there is one thing that had always troubled him the most – taking off and landing in the dock itself; the enclosed space would always threaten to collide with the Nirvash while the freedom of air never does. "How about.. you take off from the Gekko-Go, and then I take over from there?" "Okay, " Eureka goes, understanding. She wakes the Nirvash up from its sleep, and the lights of the cockpit come to their shining life as Nirvash goes to assume a stand-by, idle position. Renton takes in a gulp, feels his stomach sink in preparation for the fast lurches of speed to come. After checking up on Nirvash's status and knowing that the Nirvash is all right, she sends a command in the adjacent console to set the launch pathway up for take off. The noise of the blaring alarms and screeching of the launch gate being lifted up are numbed and dulled automatically in the canopy for Renton and Eureka's benefit. Through the opening of the gate, Renton can see the pathway angle itself downwards, to the outside purple clouds that flow past sight. When the launch gate has completely risen, the pathway lights up in glaring green and yellow light leading the way out. Out of force of habit, Eureka finds herself shouting "Eureka and Renton, Nirvash typeZERO, launching!" Renton watches her hands gently push forward the control joysticks, and feels the slow lurch of Nirvash's movement – moving so slowly to the start of the pathway— Renton blinks. The Nirvash bounds forward, its legs propelled along the track to frightening speeds – Renton is continually thrusted against the seat, teeth clattering and sweat on his face dripping back. Eureka keeps her calm, no sign of any worries whatsoever on her face as Nirvash finds itself free in the outside sky. To finish the sequence, Eureka presses a button to have Nirvash deploy out and ride the ref board to glide along the trepar waves in the air.
edited 12th May '10 7:49:08 AM by QQQQQ
An accurate depiction@harmattane Posts 65, 68, 103 (hard to find, that was.), and 105
This is this.
An accurate depictionposts 106, 113, 124, 144, 147 (end).
edited 12th May '10 2:31:36 PM by Morgulion
This is this.
An accurate depictionDouble post...
edited 12th May '10 6:48:28 PM by Morgulion
This is this.
An accurate depictionI was about to post my own piece when I recalled that QQQQQ still needed a critique- shows you what passes for memory these days. Now, my familiarity with Eureka 7 extends to having seen half an episode late at night and a brief glance of the trope page, so canonical questions are highly, highly out of my league. Since when has that stopped anyone? Good bits:
edited 12th May '10 4:26:16 PM by Morgulion
This is this.
X_X@Morgulion: Thanks again for taking the time to critique all that. Maybe I'll come back and ask for it here again, but feel free to keep reading it with no strings attached, or maybe the shorter piece I kept linking to if you find you don't have as much time. Informal comments in the thread are always welcome!
Ce ne pas un post.
The billowing purples and blues of the dusk seem much more vivid and haunting from the view of the canopy than Renton had ever hoped to see. Gold streaks from the tip of the setting sun on the right, bathing Nirvash in a yellow tinge. Eureka's purple eyes meet with Renton's - a hint of beckoning in the glint. She waits, keeping her hands steady as Renton's reachs out to grasp onto her hands, her soft and lovely hands around the joysicks. When he seems to have a good hold, she lets go. In the brief moment, Renton wraps his fingers around the dual controls, feels all of Nirvash – every nuance of its being come upon himself. He and she fly in the pretty skies, as carefree and joyful as they can be. By his side, Renton sees Eureka avidly admire all the colours, quite convinced that she is seeing the same poignent beauty he sees. "Renton! Look!" Eureka nudges his shoulder, pointing her hand down to the left. And from perking his head over, he sees a vague formation amongst a puff of cloud below, coming closer and clearer. They are little skyfish, an endless swarm, rising up and out from the vagueness, and with their beating wings they fly to be with Nirvash's side. Renton remembers from class that the skyfish would come be attracted to beautiful moments, shared in tenderness. Their lush wings seem to beat forth in time with each other, with the euphoric beating of Renton's own heart. "It's so beautiful, Eureka." As the sun becomes a faint orange haze along the dark of the cloud horizon, Renton begins to notice the sharp orange glow of the read-out displays on the dashboard - the Gekko-Go's position lies on the bare edge of the radar, almost out of Nirvash's range. By now, it would seem a good idea to turn back and call it a night. Holland and the others might be worrying, and the thought of receiving Holland's punishing beat downs makes him nervous. But Renton decides to ignore the pleas nagging inside his mind, instead turning the Nirvash over to chase the last throes of daylight. Maybe this night will be special. Maybe this night holds a wonder somewhere in the air, waiting to be touched. The stars begin to shine and glow above on the sky – a canopy of bright beacons that stretches on like an ocean of eternity. They seem to be adrift in interstellar space now; Eureka is leaning by Renton's stiffened shoulder, absolutely still on the edge of the seat, taking in all of the night. Renton too. The stars are like he has never seen them before, being such a refreshing and blissful sight. If he reaches up high, he could feel them lap and melt in his hands like snowflakes. A streak of purple trails gently down the canvas. It's a shooting star. "Hey, " Renton goes. "Wanna make a wish?" Eureka is hypnotically looking upon the purple, her warm hands clasped around Renton's. For a long while, she does not say anything. Then she turns to him. "I have. What about you?" Renton looks back to the shooting star, unsure of what to think. He feels the happiest he has ever been in his whole life, so glad of the moment, and there doesn't seem to be anything else he could ever want. Deep inside though, he knows it will all have to end eventually. The thought of this moment, lost in time feels so overwhelmingly saddening.. He tries to hide it in, and keep this happiness close to his heart, forever. But it is all too much for one to bear, and he feels it all about to burst – a balloon taking in too much air at once. He finds it hard to breathe. "Renton?" The tears come down from his eyes, rolling down his cheeks. "What's wrong, Renton?" she asks. I.. don't know. Eureka reaches out to caress – he feels her gentle fingers as they stroke over to brush away his tears. He turns to her, finding a solace in her caring, purple eyes. A sincere, appreciative smile comes upon him. She looks back, curious and unsure. His heart on the verge of caving in, Renton lets himself go, and holds Eureka so closely and dearly in his arms, his head by hers over her shoulder. He feels her heart beating faster and faster with his through her chest, her breaths brushing by his bare neck, and the overall blushing warmth from her. And for this blissful moment, they lie so peacefully still in each other's side, glad. After what seems like forever, Renton leans back from her, and looks to her straight in her eyes. He has no idea what will happen next, if only this happiness may continue. "I.." Renton finds himself trying to make words, say something, anything at all, but the words just won't come. "Hm?" Then suddenly it comes, as miraculous as it is to him as to her – Renton locks his lips with hers in a kiss. It's so indescribably wonderful. He can feel her hot breath mingling with his, the rush of excitement, and above all, a wholesome feeling of gratitude in his heart.
edited 17th May '10 8:24:18 AM by QQQQQ
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