► THANKSGIVING 2010 CONTEST

[{ PASCALINE }]

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[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,10,true][atrb=width,440,true][bg=dddddd][atrb=background,http://i56.tinypic.com/2vds329.jpg] THE BLUE will be holding a writing contest this month in honor of the United States' Thanksgiving. As many of the members know, the fictional religion of Bluniverse has its own version of Thanksgiving: Thanksgiving in Aurealian is different from how we consider Thanksgiving. Instead of thanking Aureole for a good harvest, people thank the ones they love for being a light in their lives. Some people even thank strangers, usually saying “I am thankful you were born because you seem like a good person.” It is custom that family and friends exchange gifts to express their thanks for how much they appreciate the person being in their life. This is an Aurealian holiday that even the most non-religious people tend to celebrate. THE THEME: Please write a short story about your character that takes place on Aureolian Thanksgiving. The story can be something from their past or it can take place in the present. Maybe your character is receiving a gift because someone is thankful for them, or maybe they are giving a gift to someone, or perhaps they don't have anyone to be thankful for at all! You're limited only by your imagination. WORD COUNT: Please try to keep the story less than 1,500 words. With that said, your entry can be as a short or as close to 1,500 words as you like. DUE DATE: The contest will end on Nov. 26, before midnight on Nov. 27. SUBMISSION: All entries must be posted in this thread. Good luck, everyone! The staff and I look forward to reading your entries!

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[DIETRICH BRAACH]

MIRROR

He talks and they listen.

“Do you know why it’s called ‘Thanksgiving’?” He looked expectantly at them. Captain Von Braun – call me Cap’n! - scratched his chin thoughtfully, ignoring the way the crew stared and waited for his response. After a dozen loud slurps from the bottle, he finally shrugged and admitted a silent defeat. Everybody knew Dietrich had the answer even before he asked them the question. It was just how he was, with a glib tongue and never-ending stories that entranced and entertained them. Trying to escape from such sessions promised disastrous consequences, and now a rare few tried to do so after experiencing the brunt of Dietrich’s sharp insults and petty pranks.

“Well?” He looked around, sea-green hair swishing back and forth as he smiled widely, eyes showing the triumph of knowing something they did not. Those who tried to speak up were quickly shushed – surely you don’t want to be the receiving end of his antics! – and some gave little encouraging remarks to the man. Their attention made his eyes sparkle with a certain mischief that he was capable of and more. “I’m sure Cap’n know the answer. He was just playing along with me, right Cap’n?” Dietrich said all too cheerfully before turning and jumping onto the table. He sat on it, motioning the others to crowd around him.

“Thanksgiving is an occasion that almost everybody celebrates… even us, the supposedly ‘non-religious’ folk.” Sharp barks of laughter at that, because they knew the self-deprecating tone might just be Dietrich’s way of making a jab at religion. “Because it is a great holiday! Everyone thanking everyone else... imagine that! So much love and happiness,” he continued, not at all bothered by a few snickers, “A stranger can safely go up to another and say ‘Thank you for being here’. Isn’t it wonderful? Maybe traumatising for some, because hey, I wouldn’t know what to do if one of those Ravages came up to me and did that.” Dietrich laughed with them before holding up a hand, signalling the crew to settle down. The generally rambunctious lot did so only after wasting some time and earning many Death Glares from the self-appointed story-teller of the night.

He raised an opened bottle and drank, smacking his lips in satisfaction from the tingling after-taste of a strong liquor. “Before Elysia and Khthonia, there was Earth. Before sky pirates and Highness’s Aerial War Knights,” he lifted a sceptical brow when mentioning the sky pirates’ greatest enemies, “There were people who lived together on Earth. They were like us, yet unlike us. They didn’t have any or many mutants, cyborgs, chimeras and the odd mixes that we have these days. Aureolian wasn't even around.” He licked his chapped lips and let his gaze dart about the kitchen where they had gathered. The blond ship doctor was not looking at him.

“But Earth fell apart, and we were divided. Homes were destroyed and everyone had nowhere else to go but down below,” he pointed down, “And up above…” He leaned forward, bottle swinging dangerously in between two fingers as his eyes glazed over like a man condemned to search and never remembering what he was supposed to find. “A woman appeared amidst those who were forced to crowd in the poisoned lands below, seeking for food and shelter. She too had lost everything. Some pitied her, knowing how it felt like. So, one of the women shared what little she had with the stranger … while others refused to help her. How could they, when they were just as poor and hungry as her? Strangely enough, at the same time, the same woman appeared on the floating islands. She received similar mixed responses, but was helped by an old woman. Then, on the seventh night, the two women at both places suddenly disappeared.”

Dietrich took a big gulp from his bottle. “Gone. Like they were never there. The world starting shaking,” he smiled softly, “And Aureole showed herself to them. Beautiful and captivating, the peoples’ hearts and souls were drawn to her. She bowed to the two women who had helped her when she was a nobody, and bestowed onto them good fortune and happiness for their virtuosity. Floating halos, she promised, will protect their souls. To those who had been too cruel, snubbing at and bullying her, she punished them by cursing them to be forever bound, even after death. There would be no redemption for them.”

Dietrich brandished the empty bottle like a sword, stabbing furiously in the air. “But that was not all! Aureole reprimanded the people from both places, chiding them for forgetting. Working together and tolerance was the key to survival in this new world. She told everyone to thank the people around them, to voice their appreciation for being here to tide through the tough times. And they did. People were moved by what they heard, and many could not stop crying in happiness…”

“What’s the point of Thanksgiving? We still have ta work when it’s supposed ta be a holiday, Ma!” a young Dietrich whined while rubbing the damp cloth on the floor. They were cleaning the noble-with-a-funny-accent’s house for what felt like hours. His mother had to tell him stories to distract the sulking boy.

Now, the good-natured woman sharing the shade of his eyes and hair smiled. “We give thanks to those we love and care about on this day. Strangers too, because without them, we might never be able to taste your favourite pastry or admire those pretty jewellery. Everyone, Dietrich, has a purpose and reason to be here… to be alive.” She wiped her hands against the apron. “That’s why we should be thankful for that. I am thankful to have you too.” Dietrich turned away with a pout, not wanting to let his mother see the blush spreading across his cheeks. He was a big boy now! Big boys did not show their emotions so easily!

He felt her pulling him backwards and fell into her lap with a yelp. Looking up with widening eyes, he did not know what to say when his mother whispered those words, pressing something into his palms, “Thank you for being born. Thank you for growing up and becoming a man in the future. Thank you for being yourself…”

Dietrich swung his legs and grinned happily, having just finished explaining the origin of the Aureolian Thanksgiving and demanding the crew to thank each other. The playful man had also coerced them into praising him at least once for the rest of the night. Alcohol flowed like water, leaving Dietrich with a happy buzz that was sufficient to make the smile a permanent fixture. “Say, what’s that you holdin’?” Somebody was sitting next to him, pulling at his arm to have a closer look at the mirror in his hand. The carved decoration surrounding its sides no longer shone. It might have been worth a satisfactory bag of venny over ten years ago, but was now a worthless object.

“This? It’s a mirror, you idiot, isn’t it obvious enough?” “Oh… … I-I-I know it is! But watcha lookin’ at it fer?” “Oh… I’m just staring at the greatest person ever.” “So ya starin’ at yaself? Boy, ya really are narcis…narzi…na…” “Narcissistic?” “Yea, that word!” “... do me a favour and just use a different word next time.”

“Not saying goodbye?” She blocked the doorway. He did not know what he could say to avoid hurting her. The same eyes glared back, demanding answers when he had none. With a strained smile, he gently grasped her arm with one hand, the other retrieving the mirror. It felt so long ago since they had spoken like this.

The rain quietly dancing outside and the darkened silent room inside lent a subtle sorrow that seeped into his heart. He embraced the silent woman. With a quivering hand, he lifted the mirror, urging his mother to look into it at the same time as he did. He stilled his hand and smiled at their reflection. Mother and son. Alike and different. “This is the person I love the most.”

His eyes stung. Say it, his heart urged, say it, his ears drummed with the words that thundered in his blood. I will remember you when you are gone. I will remember you as my mother. I will remember you when I have no one else. I will remember you, and forget everything else.

The other person was still rambling on.

“Thank you for being so fabulous.” He announced suddenly, holding up the mirror with the ever-famous proud smile and signature toss of hair. His crew-mate only chuckled. “Ya really do love yourself the most eh?” Green eyes rolled back condescendingly. “Of course!” He glanced at the mirror, almost seeing her face in his reflection.

He talks and no one listens.

[taiga]

[bg=222222][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=width,500,true][atrb=style, border-radius:10px] Please, don't tell me anymore, There's a weight in your eyes, and it weighs on my heart...

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"It was 2:00AM when I saw the fairy...."

There was only black that filled the emptiness of her room, ebony casted shadows jumped upon the walls, like mad men bound to there room. There was no light, but without light there darkness could not exist. So why could Elynna see a ethereal glow, a wondrous golden beacon sitting in the center of her room? It sparkled and bubbled baptizing the dreams of Elynna's kith. Elynna's lips curled into a cottony smile as she lay awake on the day of Thanksgiving. It was 2:00AM when she remembered a time when she was happy, a time when her life was peppered with the shining dust of the fairies wings. Raising her arm, her hand opened slowly as she reached for that memory. It was 2:00AM when Elynna reached for the fairy, it was 2:00AM when Elynna's heart reached for a precious memory.... Taken away, far away from that dark room an onto an crisp autumn morn. The wind crashed upon the deck of the airship where three people stood. A large man who held a tiny young girl within his grasp, at his side a beautiful women. The ship sailed slowly across the azure skyway, cruising with the crafty clouds that drifted along the open blue.

The amber sun was setting, gorgeous rays of mixed hues and saturations created a vivid spectrum of light, an ambient sun was rising! The girl within the large mans grasp stared with wide blue eyes, almost as wide as the outstretching blue itself. Her mouth was shifted into a wide smile as she pointed, the parents only smiled an gazed upon the sun along with the girl.

"Mommy, daddy can't you see it?"

They both giggled and said "Of course dear!"Her eyes sparkled as her father sat her down and both her mother and father stood before her. A gust kicked up, tossing her locks about.

"Do you know what today is dear?"

"No Mommy."

The tiny girl said puzzled as she put a finger to her lip and contemplated a serious end result.

"Today is a special day Elynna, it's Thanksgiving!"

"Thanksgiving?"

"Yes!" both her parents said as the father held her hand. It was warm, really warm she thought as her mother held the other. Even with the rushing of the wind past her face, she wasn't cold.

"Thanksgiving is a day where people simply thank the ones they love for being a light in their lives. Even people of whom they haven't met!"

"Really? That sounds wonderful!"

Elynna said as she turned in a 180 dancing in place.

"Elynna dear..."

"Yes?"

"Thank you so much our shimmering star, we both love you!"

Tears rolled down her fathers cheeks, and her mother wiped her own eyes. Elynna could only stare up. The life liquid in her own eyes built up, and she herself began to cry too.

"Thank you Momma, and Papa, you are my guiding light!"

Such words from a tiny life brought a sincere smile to both there faces, and they hugged her. Open armed they squeezed her with all the love and emotions she could bare. On that day she was really happy, happy because her parents loved her. Happy because they didn't regret having her. They truly loved her to the bottom of there hearts. It was 3:00AM on that early autumn morn when Elynna tried to grab a hold of the fairy. The golden glow vanished from the room when she opened her clasped hand. Her hand fell to the side of her bed with a soft thud. Her hair obscured her vision as her eyes averted themselves from where she saw the fairy and onto the ceiling. A tear rolled down her face and onto her cheek. Its taste was salted. Bitter. A smile shaped Elynna's mouth as her eyes shut, and her pools were flushed into a world encased in shadows. However that same warm feeling overtook her body, and warmed her soul. In that world of infinite black, there was a golden glow, a illustrious beacon that guided her way to into the realm of dreams.

"It was 3:00AM when the fairy left..."

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There was hope in the end...

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[/b][/SIZE] ...
MOOD Excited
WEARING Sexy
WORDCOUNT 1017
SONG Flyleaf, Have we lost
CREDIT erin aka lowearthorbit @ caution

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[brahm]

forgiving ; forgetting

Some people wish they were stronger.
Some people wish for love.
Some wish for money.

Their wishes, though all differently phrased, are really all quite the same.

Those people all wish to forget.

To ask for strength is to forget your weaknesses.
To ask for love is to forget heartbreak and loneliness.
To ask for money is to forget about poverty.

So, then, what, you say, is to ask for forgetfulness?

Well, maybe this will help you figure it out.

the lonely mother and her goddess

"Please."

The solitary word echoed through the broken, crumbling sanctuary.
Alone, knees raw from the hours they'd spent on the ground, a twenty-six year old woman cried to her deity.

"Aureole, please!"

Her pockets were empty. Her clothes were ill made. Her stomach was heavily laden with child. Her eyes were fountains of tears. Her sins were none.

Still, in this time of most grievous need, she was alone. She had no family. She had no had friends. She had no love.

She had nothing.

"Aureole, I know what happened was wrong... Save me; don't make me do this!"

Heaving a heavy breath, she gasped as a sudden cramp forced her on to her side. They came at irregular intervals; accosting her with pain and leaving her trembling.
The cramp, now subsided, left an emptiness in place of the pain. One of the many gaping holes that were slashed in to her spirit.

Before this, she had never been a soulful person. Aureole had always been there, but praying wasn't something she did regularly.
Not until now, anyway. Not when she really needed the goddess's help.

Feebly, as she rolled in to a tight ball (as tight as a pregnant woman can get), she realized it was all her fault. What right did she have to ask for help when she gave nothing in return but for when it suited her schedule? Aureole had no reason so bestow any magical favor unto her.

The life growing inside of her was eight months old. And she would never be free of its burden, because she deserved that burden.

"Some way... Can't I just... forget what happened?"

a burden born
one week later

Agony seemed to tear her limb from limb.

Gripping the side of the bed, she shrieked in pain. The howl mellowed in to a choked sobbed as the doctor told her to continue pushing.

Somewhere, in the back of her mind, she thought, I deserve this for my stupidity.
Her labor was not proving to be an easy one; it had already been twenty-two hours of unrelenting pain. She felt something jerk, and threw her head back in horrific distress.

"Ma'am, keep pushing, please, you're doing great!"

The doctor, though supportive and kind, did nothing to ease the hysterical sobs that racked her body. Long ago she'd lost track of where one scream started and the other ended.
To imagine; a birthday party had caused her so much grief. The message Aureole was sending was as loud and as clear as a punch to the gut.

No more alcohol.
No more parties.
No more carelessness.

In the midst of the torturous labor, the woman wondered if she should consider entering the church. Really make an effort to prove to the Goddess she had worth. Even having given birth to a bastard child.
When she'd first discovered she was pregnant, she had decided adoption would be the best route. She was no good for the role of a mother, working fourteen hour day in a dingy little shop and then spending another three at the pub. Thus it was decided the child would find a home in someone else's arms.
Sadly, even knowing the baby would go to someone else, she'd demonstrated poor tendencies in her pregnancy. She had worked at the shop in to the beginning of her third trimester, but had been forced to stay at home after she'd almost killed the baby in a mechanical mishap.
In those ten or so weeks, she had done nothing but beg for salvation; to forget the sin she had committed. Though sex out of wedlock wasn't considered a sin nowadays, she felt distant and ostracized from the world. Like a plague, doomed to do no right.

"One more big push, Ms. Powell, you're almost there!"

Letting out an ear-splitting cry, she collapsed on to the bed. In her body, she could feel the baby's presence no longer. There was silence in the room for a moment. Tear continuously streamed down her cheeks, but she refused to open her eyes and rub them away. She did not want to see the product of her mistake, even if the goddess believed she deserved it. Even if she thought she deserved it.

Out of the tense silence, a small, high-pitched wail began to resonate within the brightly lit room. It grew louder and louder until she was tempted to scream just to cover up the sound.

"Ms. Powell? You gave birth to a girl; she's gorgeous... Would you like to see her?"

She could only shake her head. Eyes tightly closed, she heard the doctor sigh and placed the baby in to a warmer beside her bed. She turned away from the child, afraid to look at it an only see her mistakes.

After what seemed like hours of cleaning up the utensils in the hospital room, cleaning her off and settling both the mother and daughter in for the night, she finally was able to shut her eyes against the rueful world and fall in to a sweeter, kinder oblivion.

forgetting ; forgiving

the next morning[/center]

It had been thirteen hours after the laborious birth was Ofelia Powell next opened her eyes.

The room was blindingly while, and filled with a mass of stalwart men. When she blinked her eyes wide, the men, grizzly and aged, yelled a hearty, "Surprise!".
Her jaw dropped at the site of her coworkers, still dressed in their uniforms, huddled at the foot of her bed like adoring like children. How had they know she'd been in labor last night? They'd barely checked up on her all week.

"We been sittin' 'round in the waitin' room for the past day and a half hopin' ya'd wake up!" One shouted over the crush.

"H-How didja know I was..." She gaped.

"We been keeping tabs on yer apartment e'er since ye left work," Another spoke, "We know how ye like to ge'in trouble, li'l missy!"

For the first time in weeks-- in months-- a grin broke out on her features. She'd imagined the men had forgotten her, lifeless as she had been. But they'd never left her side.

It was only then, as she scanned the men, did she spot the small bundle of blankets held by at least four hands.
The men were holding her daughter.

"Is that... her?" Ofelia murmured, pointing weakly to the pink blankets.

One of the men shot a glance between her and the child. "Yeh, that be the li'l girl. Fe, ye should 'old her. What a precious thing." The man looked endearingly down at the child and smiled. Four of his teeth were missing.

She hesitated. The longer the gazed at the small mass of pink, the harder it was to look away.
While she had spent last night avoiding the sight of the child, she was now desperate to see.
At the time, she attributed it to a morbid form of curiosity. She had simply wanted to see the shape of her sins.
When the men delicately gave the fragile package to her, she held it instinctively in the cradle of her arms. Right next to her heart.

The face of her daughter was small, but pink. She had a shock of brown hair, dark and thick like her mothers. Her cheeks were soft-looking and her small frame was warm against her mother's breast.

One of the older men sighed. "A shame tha sucha cute li'l thing is goin' ta be put out fer adoption. 'Specially on Thanksgiving."

Barely able to tear her eyes from the small, stunningly beautiful being in her arms, she looked up. "What did you say?"

"I said, 'tis a shame sucha cute li'l--"

"No! After that!"

"Eh? It being Thanksgiving?"

"It;s Thanksgiving?" Ofelia dropped her gaze to her daughters blushing face and then out to the window.

Three birds sat on the sill. Not one of the men noticed.

Her father had once taught her long ago that the purpose of such a day as Thanksgiving was to show the people around us that no matter what they have done wrong in life, they have always done right. That no matter what, they are always forgiven.

A small tear leaked from the corner of her eye and fell on the nose of the child. Still staring out the window, she began to smile.

Aureole, this was no curse. You have blessed me.

Letting out an involuntary laugh, tears began to flow more heavily until she was crying with a type of joy she had never felt.

I had lost something; you have given it back to me. A guiding light to help steer me home. Thank you, my goddess. Thank you!

The men watched her awkwardly as she repositioned the child to hold it closer to her now. The baby girl, still sleeping in it's cocoon of blankets, remained blissfully asleep.
Ofelia slumped back on to the bed, taking the child with her and all the while laughing through her tears.

"Ma'am, are ye feelin' okay?" A younger boy squished in the throngs of greasy men asked. She rewarded him with the warmest smile any of the men had ever before witnessed.

"My boy, I'm much better than okay. I have my baby and I won't be lettin' her go."

Just as Ofelia said those fate changing words, the doctor stepped in to the room. "Ms. Powell? Do you think you're up to naming the child?"

Unlike before, Ofelia didn't hesitate. "Zera. Me pa's favorite bird." She smiled through her tears up at the doctor, "And an omen of forgiveness."

The doctor, smiling, nodded. "Are you still going to put the child up for adoption?"

"No, I'll be keepin' me girl." She clutched the child tight as a resounding cry of joy made it through the crowd on men. "An' I don't think I'll ever let her go."

a lesson learned

epilogue[/center]

Eight months, Ofelia Marie Powell had spent begging a god she barely knew to save her life. To rescue her from her mistakes. To let her forget this tragedy she'd played out for herself.

All along, all she'd really needed was forgiveness. Of herself and of her past. Only when the young woman realized she'd been granted with such a vision of a child on a day meant to celebrate the good in people did she realize that she had never been punished at all.
After her father's death, the woman had lost her way in the dregs of society. Threw herself with equal veracity at both her work and her drinking. She'd lost sight of what was important.
Seeing her strewn from the good path she'd once followed, the goddess had given her a gift; a light to lead her back home in the darkness.

A beautiful, unblemished child, blessed by the goddess's love from birth.[/font]

(yay. super done. C: I know Thanksgiving isn't mentioned until the end, but it is a massively integral part of Ofelia's progress in forgiving her mistakes and realizing she wasn't being punished.
Of course, Ofelia still drinks. She never fully gave up her ways, as it was those very tendencies that produced Zera. Only now, blessed with her "guiding light", as Ofelia has titled her daughter, she can control her habits and doesn't let them control her. She has something more important to think about now; her daughter.

Hope I did okay! ♥)
edit: rulz. just realized this was approximately 600 words over the limit. sorries. xD

[anima]

it seems like my eyes have been transfigured

SOMETHING DEEP INSIDE HAS CHANGED - THEY'RE OPEN WIDE

but hold that trigger →

[This letter is dated on Thanksgiving Day, five years ago.]

What am I to be thankful for?

On this day called Thanksgiving people of all races and creeds will come together as one body under Aureole to give thanks for the light that they provide in each other’s lives. But as I sit here in my darkened room atop our family’s Adnian manor--locked away from the outside as a prisoner for the sixth day and seventh night, I find myself wondering what I, Dampierre Genevieve Chevalier, am to be thankful for.

So what am I thankful for?

Is it my royal bloodline? To be deemed a lady at birth is something to be thankful for indeed. With this four letter title comes material wealth. Material wealth such as this manor, what was designed to be an extravagant home has become my penitentiary. Wealth such as the butlers and maids hired to wait on the members of my family and I hand and foot, who have become my captors, empowered by the warden of this institution to keep me hidden away and out of the public eye during this holiday season. So is it my bloodline that I am to be thankful for? I think not. My bloodline at this point in my fifteen years of life has become the shackles that bind me to the ground, keeping me from happiness.

Then is it my family? Am I to be thankful for my family?

I am sure that there are orphan children living in the Down Below who would be thankful for a family like mine. Nine siblings and two parents under one functional roof seems to be the stuff of fairy tales in this post apocalyptic age. So why is it that I find myself eager to trade places with the poorest orphan caught in the cycle of poverty? My father. How I hate my father. The warden of this institution specially designed to constrict my wings and keep them from spreading. Blinded by his the conservative Aureolan beliefs bestowed upon him by his father, and the aristocratic lifestyle which he has become so accustomed to, the old man is blind to the fact that it is his hands that are de-voiding my frail frame of life.

Could I have asked for a more uncouth daughter? No woman should work with machinery!

Straighten up and hold your tongue--your voice is most unbecoming of a lady?

Why can’t you be more like your brothers and sisters?

His words echo through my thoughts even as I scratch these letters upon this parchment. And what of my nine brothers and sisters? Eight of them are the mindless pawns of the man who we call father. And what of the one? My one brother, whom I love, has become the main focus of the man trying to destroy me. And now even he hates me for what I have done.

As I look down at my hands I see the slender fingers that saved my brother just eight days prior to this night. At the same time, my pale orbs fall upon the instruments which changed him into an abomination--a cyborg. But what would any sister who ever loved their brother do in my situation?

On that night I looked upon my brother as he lay in ruin, a bloody mess from a tragic fall. On that night I had a decision to make, preserve the only person who has made my life worth while with my natural talent with machines, or leave him to die because of the dated world view of my father. Of course I picked up the pieces and put my brother back together. And as I who love him, install hatred into my brother’s heart with the tools used to save his life with tears in my eyes, I know that the man responsible for all of this is on the other side of the wall, laughing softly.

So what am I thankful for?

If there is a Goddess, I pray for Her forgiveness in my inability to find someone to be thankful for on this most auspicious of days. For I who know everything am unable to find even one person to be thankful for. But there is one thing for which I am thankful.

Freedom.

For in the darkest hour of this night of nights I escape from my prison. Signed in blood. I will not return.

Living freely from this moment onward,

this could mean danger ←

POST MADE BY ASHTON OF ON THE EDGE

[wtfjuice]

The Hunter's Bounty

Within the Wasteland

The First Day, Adolfo stood upon the edge of a chasm overlooking the vast wasteland. A place devoid of natural vegetation, a place he could only imagine must have been something much greater. No Hunter would want to live in this world. Camouflage was far too difficult to come by, and often times if you could conceal yourself, the elements were usually the death of you. This heat was relentless and winds were searing sheets of unwelcome pain upon his human flesh.

This was no place for a Hunter.

Until the end of the First Day.

On the Second Day, Benelli rose from the remains of what appeared to be a type of scientific facility. These facilities were far and few between, and waking up in one was usually bad news. His skin felt heavy, as though he were burdened with an ever-present weight. His fingers tingled, and flexed them, feeling the light sting of puncture in his calloused hands. Had it not been for his awareness, he may have caused himself injury...not that it would have mattered.

Around him, he could hear the sound of voices, distant voices. However, these were not the sounds one would hear across an empty room, or a shout from across the street...

No

These sounds, these voices were soft, and for a moment he stood still and listened.

"I am thankful you were born because you seem like a good person."

Finally, his head turned and in the distance he could perceive what appeared to be a small campsite. Two tents were pitched, and from what he could tell at this distance, there were three people outside, surrounding a single campfire and eating what would be considered a decadent feast from small tin cans.

It was strange. The Hunter stood what seemed like half a mile from this encampment, and yet he could hear them perfectly. He could see them just as well, even with the full moon at the apex of the sky, their forms were plain as day.

It was then the Hunter examined himself and what he had become. It was only then that he remembered what had occurred not hours ago.

--------

Upon the ninth chime of the First Day, Adolfo pushed a single black claw corded to a leather string across a table. At the other end, a man in what appeared to be a lab coat retrieved the black claw and held it up to the dim lighting of the room.

"And this is your payment and proof then?" The intellectual man glanced of the silver rims of his dusty glasses as though to scrutinize the disheveled, foul smelling man.

Adolfo slowly nodded his head, parting his painfully chapped lips and reply with a thick, raspy accent, "I got rid of the 'wolves' that have been terrorizing your facility. Now it's your turn to fulfill your end of the bargain."

Adolfo was a man who spent his days in the wilderness, he never shaved, he hardly bathed, and when he ate, it was often from the seared carcasses of the animals he killed. Searing was not his usual means of eating, but he had been sick a few times from eating mutated flesh, and a lesser man would have keeled over within minutes from such a poison.

Adolfo was a man who wanted to be the perfect hunter. And this fragile human body tired too easily, sickened too easily, and could not excel where the animal form triumphed. Humans appear to be the only race that haven't evolved past their average limits to become something more durable, something more attractive, something more dangerous.

He chose the form of the beasts he hunted on the Rise of the First Day, The Wolf at its purest, untouched form. Wolves nowadays still ran in packs, still survived and reproduced as they did many years ago, but they lacked their previous perfections. Their shredding jaws were once bone-cracking and they no longer had the thick pelts that kept them conditioned in the heat. They were weak now, surviving in darkness and hiding in caves to escape the heat.

The transformation would change him, not just physically but mentally. He wanted to become the wolf, he wanted to become the Perfect Hunter. His mentality would shift to that of the beast, and likely change his already deranged mind. The thought of hunting the deadliest creatures brought an inhuman chill to his spine, even as they gas filter was placed of his mouth.

That hour, he went under sedation, and three hours later he awoke in a foreign location.

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That morning, upon the first chime of the Second Day, Benelli would begin his hunt. As he stood over the bloodied bodies of the humans in the camp, the inhuman chill returned.

Dropping to all fours, he lowered his head in a brooding manner before uttering to himself in a guttural speech, "I am thankful for this moment..." He lifted his bloodied hand toward his face, the fur drenched red from the slaughter, "I am thankful to bounty I am about the receive..."

He rose to his feet, now standing upon the furry hind legs that still took time to adjust to. He gazed into the sky, peering at the full moon just slightly from its previous apex. Flexing his chest muscles, the Hunter took in a deep breath of air before craning his head upwards and letting out a long, haunting howl.

Still not used to his intricate lungs, he drew in his breath once more to end the howl. In the echo of his howl, he would simply bask in its resonance; but there was no echo. The howls of the mutated wolves would cut through the air like a knife, chiming into the chorus and overwhelming the Hunter's previous cry.

A wide, toothy grin stretched across his face. His fanged were still flecked with the blood from the previous hunt, tingling his taste buds and fueling his excitement.

"...and I am thankful for what I have become."

Benelli lowered his eyes to the feast before him and crouched down again, opening his cavern of bone-cracking jaws and uttered in as jovial tone as he could muster, "Happy Thanksgiving."

From birth till death, the Hunter is thankful for but one thing: His Prey. Without his Prey, there is no Hunter.

Happy Thanksgiving!

((This is my first post here constituted as actual roleplay. Hope you like it =D))

[tehobekima]

"So she left me and took the damn dog too."

"That's rough man, and to do it on such a day too. What an ungrateful bitch."

"Yeah but at least I've still got a bud like you. I'm thankful to have that. And beer of course!"

Clink!

"Thankful, you have things to be thankful for on this day?"

The two burly men at the bar with their bottles still raised turned to face the mysterious stranger sitting with his legs kicked up on the table behind them. A dark hat was covering his face and his arms were hidden beneath a black poncho. "What's your problem stranger?" one man demanded before taking a swig of his beer, "it's Thanksgiving! You gotta be thankful for everything on this day. Even scum like us know that." The stranger chuckled his sentiment. "How heart-filled and mushy. There ain't nothing to be thankful for. Life doesn't give you anything."

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"Launa, my angel! Could you help mommy with the pie?"

The girl responded with a loud, "Un!" before skipping up to the counter and standing on the very tips of her toes to reach the pastry above. Her fingers slid across the tinfoil container, pushing it towards the edge. Gravity proved to be her enemy as the pie came crashing down on the dirt-ridden floor, Launa's mother barely having enough time to pull her daughter out of the way. "Are you okay sweetie? Did you get burnt by the pie? Did it get in your eye?" Her mother cooed at the girl while stroking her thick and tangled mane. Launa's eyes were filled with tears as she stared at the shattered desert smeared across the kitchen floor. She couldn't work up the courage to say anything at all. "It's alright dear, I'm just thankful you weren't hurt. That pie is worthless in comparison to my little dumpling's health."

Pushing herself out of her mother's grasp she looked up at the woman. "Really? You're not mad, mommy?" Her mother shook her head and smiled. "Of course not sweetie. I'm thankful to have these little messes to clean up. They remind me I have a inquisitive and helpful little girl I wouldn't trade for the world. I thank Aureole every day, not just today, for giving such a bright sun to me." Launa rubbed the snot and tears on her sleeves and looked up at her mother with a beaming smile and puffy eyes. "I'll clean it up momma! I'll help! It's easy!" Her mother chuckled and handed her a stained washcloth cloth before standing back up. "You do that sweetie. I'll finish setting the table for daddy."

The girl watched her leave before scampering around the kitchen to find various soild objects scattered about. When she had finally found enough to build a somewhat stable tower, she claimed her creation up onto the counters where she rummaged through the cabinet above to find a small plate with only a chip missing. Scooping the mushy pie onto the plate Launa eyed the room before sneaking out the backdoor. Outside the air was thick and the twisted metal that decorated her backyard loomed above her. She approached the sharp structure and sat the plate down and herself down before it. And she waited. Minutes passed and turned into what felt hours and the pie remained untouched.

"Launa!"

The shrill cry penetrated the gloomy atmosphere. She turned slowly, her eyes puffy and her nose snot-ridden once more, to see her mother with the exact same expression running towards her. Falling to her knees she wrapped her arms around her and sobbed heavily onto her frail shoulder. "Oh thank Aureole you're here, you're safe! I was so scared! I thought you were taken away from me!"

".... Where's my sun mama?" Her voice was soft and almost inaudible against the older woman's breasts. Pulling back she looked down at her daughter with eyebrows furrowed. "What hon?" Launa looked up with eyes blazing with sorrow and hatred, her little lip trembling. "WHERE'S MY SUN MOMMA? WHY DID HE LEAVE ME?!"
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"That squirrel never did come back. My light was gone."

The two men looked at one another then looked back at the stranger. "...Right. Well we, uh, need to get going now... Grabbing their beers the stranger's audience left with a cross of disappointment and confusion on their faces.

[etoile1]

blame it on your karmic curse,

oh shame upon the universe

He really, really couldn't give less of a crap about this stupid holiday.

Really? Pirates observing holidays? There had to be something really, really wrong with this. But no, von Braun was adamant that 'family was key' (and what the hell was that supposed to mean?) and the crew had a whole week off. Of course he had his suspicions of ulterior motive from their captain - come on, right after that particularly valuable hold full of machine parts? - but apparently he was the only one seeing it.

Well, if their captain wanted the ship to himself for a week of drinking and whoring, who was Matt to stop him? All he'd really left old Caesar with was a snide remark about his blood pressure and the keys to the infirmary, and from there it had been a drop directly into the Rat's Nest.

Which left him with something of a conundrum. What did normal people do for Thanksgiving?

Well, Matt could hardly lay claim to being a world-renowned criminal, but hell - not exactly as if he could waltz back into mainland Elysia as simply as -

"From Eyvindr, sir? I would have thought you'd want to be going the other way, haha! Enjoy your time on the Isle of Adney!"

Okay, so maybe it was. Who said you couldn't go home again?

And really, the funny thing was he hadn't meant to end up so close to the family home. He'd not been back in this part of town for years and damnable curiosity had demanded that he wander the neighbourhood, see how things had changed. He'd been particularly drawn to the high cliff, right at the edge of the island itself, the exact same spot he'd stood as a kid looking longingly out into the blue over the glorious golden spires of the University. Jaded he might be, but even Matt could feel something clench tightly around his (most definitely cold, flinty) heart - nostalgia.

What a load of crap.

Even then he couldn't quite pull himself away, the sheer vividness of the sky making him shade his eyes against it - he'd really forgotten this, eidetic memory or not. And this moment, it felt... right, he guessed. Well, it would do, but he could feel eyes on him, and wheeling he opened his mouth to give the old bastard a piece of his -

"Shit, dad?"

"Language, Matt." Nathan Cross seemed more amused than anything, the bright blue of the skies reflected in his eyes, even as he took a step towards his son. The flinch was something neither of them mentioned - well, they both knew that the younger man was not a hugger - and there was a long moment of silence as the elderly man took up a position on the railing right beside Matt. An ex-H.A.W.K, still tall and imposing in his old age, his next words bore just the slightest tremor. "Long time no see."

Turning back, the blonde dropped his gaze to his hands, settling on the wrought-iron banister. Long time indeed - what was it now? Eight, nine years? When he'd left the corps they'd been the neat, unmarked ones of a professional, a proper doctor. Now there were marks - tiny scars from shipboard busywork, the stark ink of the tattoo curling up from his wrist, the discoloration around his years-old acid burn. Perhaps the tall, thin, bespectacled man didn't look much like a pirate, but his hands begged to differ. "I've been busy," he found himself replying, voice uncharacteristically quiet. "Too busy to... Listen, dad, I can't really tell y-"

"I know what you've been doing, Matt, it's alright." Again, the elder Cross' deep voice carried a trace of humour. "Don't think I'd just let myself lose track of you, do you?" Very slowly, deliberately, he moved his arm, resting it lightly against his son's. "I know what you've been doing, but... how have you been?"

He wanted to throw up his hands in impotent rage, demand how and dad have you been stalking me but really, with the resources of a former commander, how hard would it be to track flashy pirate crews and their changing rosters? "... Getting by," he murmured, head bowed. "Enforced absence. I... don't know how I got here, of all places, but..."

Well, he kind of did, but admitting that you sort of missed home to your father - that shit wasn't on.

"Got plans?" Was the simple answer, quiet and contemplative.

That prompted a pause. Did he? He'd been here to just get smashed out of his skull, crash with whoever he knew that'd take him - Thanksgiving tradition, to be quite honest. "Dad, I don't want to impose, I really didn't thi-"

The hand on Matt's arm caused an obvious twitch, but he didn't throw it off, and that seemed to encourage the older man. "Imposing? Son, we put up with you for twenty years, feeding you and putting you up is nothing." A faint smile, and the doctor could only glance sidelong at the face that reminded him uncomfortably of his own. "Your mother'll be beside herself. You don't want to miss that, do you?"

The faint laugh that left the blonde was... nervous, but not reluctant. "Guess I don't." A pause. "What'll you tell her? You just found me in the street?"

"I'll tell her the truth." A knowing smile. "That you found your way home again."

notes: so not only is this kinda tangential but it's also a bit shite. 927 words.
lyrics: dream on, depeche mode
credit: coded by pidge for etoile

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[kalla]

"Have a nice holiday Miss Ramsey~"

Rosalie smiled back at the man as she stepped off of the ship. "Of course Liel, thank you! Go home and spend it with your own family." He nodded back at her before turning back around and playing with some ropes his attention had been on earlier. Rosie shrugged a goodbye and turned around, her eyes scanning the area she could she. Her smile softened as she closed her eyes and inhaled deeply - the cold mountain air bringing her back in time.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

A small girl with fluffy blond hair ran around a kitchen table, giggling as she chased after the tail of a brown tabby cat. She was about five years old, with a dark brown dress and clips in the shape of twin doves holding her too-long hair back. She finally stopped, the cat having sat stubbornly down by the counter top and refusing to move an inch. She would've pouted and whined for him to move, except at that instance the door leading outside opened up and a large figure stood within it.

"Daddy!" The girl chimed and ran over to him, being immediately swooped up and cuddled closely to his chest.

"Hello Rosebud," he voiced as he stepped inside of the house, closing the door against the chilly autumn wind. She was no where near a burden to him as he walked through the kitchen to quietly talk to his wife, their words too soft for the young girl to hear, and to snatch a piece of cornbread from the countertop. He then kissed her cheek before turning his attention back onto his daughter. "So darling, how has your day been?"

She giggled lightly as he ticked her own face with a kiss - his whiskers brushing against her cheeks - and then quieted to stare at him with big blue eyes. "Wonderful! Momma's been cooking all day and she even let me taste the batter for the cookies!"

"Oh she did, did she?" He said, raising an eyebrow in mock surprise. "Well was it yummy? No daughter of mine shall be eating cookie dough that is not yummy."

This caused her to giggle again and hug him closer. "Of course it was yummy! Momma's the one who made it~"

He smiled and laughed a bit himself, "Well of course then, how silly of me to think otherwise."

"Mhmm! How silly of you indeeeed!"

The man planted himself in one of the kitchen chairs, balancing his daughter on one of his knees. "Now Rosie." She wiggled a bit to get comfortable, not paying attention to what her father was saying. "Rosalieeeee~" She looked up at him this time, content with how she was sitting. "Yes Daddy?"

"Do you know why we celebrate Thanksgiving?"

She thought for a moment, her face scrunching up a bit and her eyebrows knitting together. "Because we need a day of thanks for what Aureole has given us?"

A look of surprise crossed his face before he began to laugh, the sound booming through the room. "I see somebody's been paying attention at morning mass." She smiled and nodded, proud in herself that she hadn't been fooling around when she wasn't supposed to be. "Do you understand that though, Rose?"

A look of puzzlement crossed over her face. "Wh-what do you mean Daddy?"

"What I mean is what I said. Do you understand that?" The puzzled expression still there, she shook her head no. "My darling, we celebrate Thanksgiving, not because we need a day of thanks, but to remind us to be thankful." The girl still looking confused, he continued. "To remind us to be thankful for the family we have - our wives, our daughters. To remind us that we should be thankful for the love we give and the love we are given. To be thankful for everything we have, not just today, but every day, sweetheart."

The little girl's face lit up and she leaned forward, wrapping her little arms around him as far as she could. "I understand Daddy, I love you." He smiled himself and hugged his little girl close, "I love you too darling. You are the light of my life."

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She let out the breath of cool air, sighing as she did.

"What a pretty little Rose I see."

She opened her eyes, seeing a rather large built man with dark blond hair standing on the end of the dock. He was tall, about six two and had a beard and mustache of short, almost stubble-like hair. He was standing there in brown pants and a dark green shirt, a small bag of homemade cookies held in one hand.

"Daddy!"

It was good to be home.

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Contest is being extended until later tonight when I come home!

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Contest is officially over!

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