Nineeyena and Lon'qu: C support.

Written by Ninny herself.

It's kinda funny how things work out. Here I am, sitting under a tree in a fantasy world with a notebook...and I can't write a damn thing. What is there to say? The sky is blue, the sun is shining, the grass is green - cliche, cliche! It's like actually being in the kind of world that I would write about has made my imagination evaporate and summon the horror that is known as writer's block. And yeah, you can defeat the monster through sheer willpower, but without inspiration...everything turns out to be terrible.

I tap my pencil against my paper. Y'know, the whole situation reminds me of a college essay I wrote; in it, I entered a fantasy world through a magic door using a pencil for a key. Wow, that summary sounds really shoddy. But it does remind me of the fact that I hadn't felt too inspired for that work, but I did it anyway, and it turned out well. Of course, I actually had an idea then. But I have nothing right now.

Maybe I should write in first person. I never do. But ugh...I actually really hate first person. Often the narrator just becomes narcissistic or whiny and it's just bad. Plus, I'm always afraid that I would slip into the character - and I don't think I'd be a very good character. My thought pattern is atypical compared to most people - and people - non-autistic people - don't understand the simple fact that I am who I am. Even a stream of consciousness wouldn't get my exact line of thought.

But I guess that's human - to think that no one will understand you.

Footsteps sound behind me and I glance back. Lon'qu. I don't say anything, turning to face forward again. It's quiet for a minute, save for the rustle of the tree leaves above.

"You shouldn't be out here alone," Lon'qu finally says.

"I'm close enough to camp." Strange that the gynophobe would be the one to fetch me. Maybe Shanz or Robin asked him to babysit. Don't let fragile, quiet Ninny fall into harm, Lon'qu! But it sounds like he can't argue with me on my distance to the Shepherds' tents; he's silent as ever. Quieter than Kellam, amazingly. (It still doesn't make sense for Kellam to be so silent in metal armor. Better to utilize that skill in other ways. Pickpocketing maybe. That's what I do if he was one of my characters.)

"What are you doing?" the swordsman asks, walking a little closer. Still keeping his distance of course.

"Writing." Well, more like trying to write, but close enough.

"What are you writing about?" Awfully inquisitive. But his question is amusing. What would he say if I said I was writing about a world similar to this one…? "What do you write?" he adds before I can answer his first question. I shrug.

"Anything really. Prose and poetry mainly. Adventure stories and sad poems." I turn back to look at him, still quite a few paces away. It's a good distance for both of us. I sometimes get a little nervous when people - men and women - get too close for comfort. Men more so.

"Can you read me something?"

"Why so curious?"

"Shanzira said you were a good writer. Though she is something of a braggart at times...I wondered if she was embellishing the qualities of her friends." Good point. Perfect girl must have perfect friends. But she wasn't lying. As one of the most modest and meekest people in existence, I can say that with (some) confidence.

"Yeah, I guess I can read you something…" I mumble in response, flipping through the notebook. What do I read? Some of the stories in here are long, some of the poems lack soul, there's some random notes for myself that won't make sense… "These are just two unrelated poems…" I say as I finally find something amidst the graphite-smeared pages.

"I woke up on the wrong side of heaven

where the ocean raged and roiled

a flaming sea a-broil

and I wonder how I fell

into these deep fiery pits of hell."

"That one was untitled," I add. "The next one's called 'He Fell.'"

"Wings burned up, he fell

from the sky to the nether,

into the sordid pits of hell.

Wings burned up, he fell

far beyond the depths of the poor man's well

Wings burned up, he fell

never again to walk together."

Triolets are supposed to be funny, but I wrote about Lucifer falling.

"The first one sounds like a sequel to the second one, dealing with the fallen angel." Lon'qu muses. Can't disagree with that, seeing as they deal with similar subjects. But I wrote them at different times. "But Shanzira didn't boast too far out of line...you are quite good."

"Thanks."

"Ninee-" he begins before I cut him off.

"Nin or Ninny." I kinda hate that old username. Reminder of the times when I was a bad writer and roleplayer. And not even the kind of bad you can laugh at. "Just call me one of those two names." Ninny might have originated as an insult in the English (Ylissean?) language, but in a way, it's sort of an endearing way to say 'idiot' because it lacks the harsh sounds. Lon'qu pauses before continuing.

"Nin...would you share some more of your writing with me?" I turn away from him, looking back toward the horizon.

"Yeah, I can do that."

"Thank you." I hear him shuffle his feet. "I was asked to watch out for you." Of course, someone had to. Why else would Lon'qu willingly go look for a woman?

"Hope you have some potatoes to peel then. I'm going to be here for a while." I say as I finally start writing in my notebook.

This is why I like having the actual people write their supports. Because holy wow.