Preposterous Ponderings

22nd May 2012

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Some Thoughts and My Personal Korra Shipping

Okay, so here’s how I think it should be, but because I want it this way it probs won’t be:

Korra might like Mako now, but I actually am not in support of this current ship. I like the idea of Mako and Asami, though Asami I’m not a huge fan of as a character. She seems kind of meh, but I’ve seen some improvement in recent episodes, and I think she’s someone who can really develop and grow. I’ll give her a chance. Regardless, I think Mako x Asami is pretty cool.

I love Bolin. He’s a wonderful, lighthearted, warm and selfless guy. He doesn’t play the role of brooding hero, while also not being goofy to the point of utter childishness. He might actually be my favorite character in Legend of Korra to this point. I also felt in “The Spirit of Competition” that Korra and Bolin had better (and more positive) chemistry than Korra and Mako had. I would love to see a development where Korra sees more in Bolin as the series progresses and for her to fall in love with him.

So I guess I ship Korra x Bolin and Mako x Asami.

16th April 2012

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Woowwww… I just realized I haven’t been on tumblr in like three months O.o

10th February 2012

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A Pretty Long Excerpt From Tree in the Sky: Chapter Five

V: To Travel West

Before the sun was little more than a hint of pink on the horizon Cecil had packed all of his most important belongings and burdened poor Phoebus with them. The horse looked rather miserable with bags, pots and pans hanging off his sides.

Cecil guided Phoebus along the main road of the city that he had come to call home. No one else was there and it was silent, save for the steady clip-clop of hooves and the patting sound of Cecil’s boots. The poet (poet no-more, by now) looked at all of the darkened buildings and sighed. He would miss Tyranele City, that much was certain - but there was nothing left for him here, and he could no longer afford the costs. If he had been made a Poet… he stopped his thoughts there. That was a dangerous and angry path of thinking.

Before long, Cecil and Phoebus came to the Southern Gate, and Cecil stopped. He looked to his left, where the ocean lay, and listened to the rhythmic pulsing of powerful waves. Then he looked to his right, where the sky was lightening even further. The path before Cecil was a three-pronged fork - the middle path heading south, toward the capital; the left heading east; the right veering off westward. The west path interested Cecil more than the other two. That was the path that would lead him and Phoebus home. Carrick awaited just past the trees on that horizon.

Phoebus snorted nervously in Cecil’s ear. The poet reached over to pat the beast on the cheek, saying: “No turning back now, Phoebs. Let’s head home.” He clutched his steed’s reins, and guided him along the westward leading path. What he did not see, as the pair walked away, was that a miniature pine marten scampered through the gate after them and leapt, without a sound, into one of the pots at Phoebus’ side. It curled into a tiny ball and promptly fell asleep.

“This could be good,” Cecil told his horse with a happier tone now. “I’m ready to find myself. Clearly, I wasn’t meant to be a poet,” he added with a slightly sarcastic inflection. “And since that’s the case, it’s high time I returned home to figure out my true calling. Maybe I’m supposed to work at the Mills.”

Phoebus looked pointedly over at Cecil, who saw the gaze and said: “Yes, I know they didn’t kick me out of the academy, per se. But I saw the pity on Mr. Avesti’s face when he said I could stay. They think I’m crazy. I don’t know,” Cecil finished with a sigh, “maybe they should. Certainly you think I’m perfectly sane.”

Phoebus did not answer. After all, he was just a horse. Instead he did what Cecil could only define as rolling his eyes.

“What do you know?” Cecil grunted. “I doubt you can understand me anyway.”

Phoebus could. He gave Cecil a reassuring nuzzle, and the poet smiled.

They walked for a few hours. The going was slow, though, because of Phoebus’ burden. Cecil could not ride on the horse’s back - he feared he would be the weight that snapped Phoebus’ spine. Instead they wandered slowly along the Ontegut Plains, enjoying the scenery as the day continued to grow lighter.

The Plains were covered in lush, emerald grasses that swayed in the breeze. Here and there, clusters of wildflowers poked over the surface of grass, peppering the landscape with speckles of blue and yellow. The flowers danced brightly around the pair, and Phoebus and Cecil both had their noses turned up into the wind as they enjoyed the pure scents of early spring. Pollen floated on the wind and seemed to glow faintly in the warming morning sun. Cecil, pleased with the scenery, reached out and ran his fingers along the crisp grassblades in order to collect some dewdrops on his fingertips.

On the Ontegut Plains, rocks grew. This was not a magical feat, as had once been believed. Cecil learned at the academy that it was actually the result of the constantly shifting soil, and the icy winters in northern East Aggros. What happened was simple: ice built up under the rocks in the winter months, pushing them further out of the ground. Meanwhile, the soil would shift so the rocks did not fall back into their previous positions. So, the rocks did not actually grow - they were the same size the entire time. After telling Phoebus about this phenomenon, Cecil added: “But I prefer to think that they’re magic rocks. That’s what I’ll tell my children someday, at any rate.”

By the time the sun was almost directly overhead, Cecil and Phoebus had only reached the third hill away from Tyranele, though the hills were large and the city now looked quite miniature from where they stood. Cecil’s stomach was growling painfully, and Phoebus had long since begun eyeing the grasses with greed. It was then that Cecil finally decided that the time had come to eat. He perched on one of the more grown-up boulders and reached into the pack on his back, producing a wrapped up loaf of bread and some cheese. As he stared down at the distant city, he pondered grabbing an egg from the better protected side pouch on his bag, but decided he was too hungry to make a fire and get utensils off of his steed’s back. So, taking his knife out instead, he sliced the cheese and bread and began to eat voraciously. Phoebus had already mowed down a large section of the fields in his appetite.

The wind had picked up a considerable amount as they reached higher elevation and now Cecil found himself hunched over, with his back to the wind, in the effort to keep from freezing. Thick clouds were building around them, creeping in from the west like gray-bellied whales. The sun pierced through here and there, lancing the sky with its brilliant light. Cecil sat on the side of the hill, watching the distant city as he chewed slowly. “It really is such a beautiful country we live in. But I don’t think we’ll reach the lake by sundown, at this rate,” he said. Phoebus looked up at his master, shrugged and continued eating.

A few minutes later, a rustling sound brought both horse and master out of their heads. Cecil wheeled about to see who was behind him, but no one was there. Upon closer examination, however, Cecil saw that something was odd about one of the growing rocks. All of the rocks on the Plains were composed of granite, and were either gray or pink. This one rock - a little bit smaller than Cecil though not much - was composed of the blackest stone, and glittered in the sun. Cecil had only seen that kind of rock in one other place, and as he crept along the hillside, he suspected he already knew what it really was. Picking up a twig from a nearby bush, Cecil inched closer to the rock. It was just outside of his reach now and, swallowing loudly, he poked it.

In an instant, the boulder launched into the air. It unfolded into none other than Obsidian, but he looked different now. Rather than hunched over and bulky, he was tall and skinny. His features were more defined, and now he even had a nose and mouth carved into his face. He was no longer shrouded in fire, either, and his stone skin glittered in the midday sun. Cecil stepped back and said: “Have you been following me?”

Obsidian sailed high in the air, and he fell slowly back to the ground. It was as though the wind was holding him aloft. When he landed his feet seemed barely to touch the ground. The unusual man bounded along the grass up to Cecil, who stepped back for a second, until he realized that he was not preparing to attack. Somehow, the man seemed happy - as though some unspoken source of misery had been lifted. He danced about Cecil with glee, his actions seeming to say: you found me! Now you go hide.

Cecil laughed a little in spite of himself. “You’re really not so scary after all,” he said. Obsidian came to a halt and shook his head. The stone lips looked almost to have curved up with delight. “But then what were you doing in Tyranele?” Cecil asked, still a little suspicious. “You could have killed someone.”

Obsidian shook his head violently and shrugged.

“You don’t know?”

More head shaking. Now Obsidian seemed sad. A thought occurred to Cecil then. “You didn’t want to do what you did?” Obsidian nodded a sad nod. “But, then…” Cecil began, but the stone man stopped him then. He held up his shiny hand and shook his head more, clearly not in a mood to discuss it. He bounded back and, in one leap, was up at the top of the hill. He bounced back and forth from one foot to the other.

Cecil and Phoebus exchanged odd looks. Phoebus was still chewing his meal, but looked awed by the strange creature before him, and hung his mouth slightly agape. Cecil was similarly thrown off by Obsidian, whose demeanor could not contrast more from what it had been back in Tyranele.

A sound, like a pair of boulders falling upon one another and sliding across each other’s surfaces, echoed from Obsidian’s stomach and, for a second, he reached a hand over to clutch his gut. He tried to hide the motion immediately after, but Cecil had already noticed. “Are you hungry?” The man half shrugged. “Well,” Cecil began slowly, “I don’t know what men made of stone eat. All I’ve got is some bread and cheese…” he picked up the loaf and chunks of cheese. “Would that be okay?” Obsidian nodded hesitantly. “You don’t have to worry, you know,” Cecil said, catching on to the man’s hesitance. “I have plenty of food, and you’re not intruding.” He had already made a small sandwich with the bread and cheese and profered it to the man.

Obsidian snagged it in a flash and crammed it to his stone lips. Somehow, without opening his mouth, the food was pressed into his gullet and he made a tremendous gulping noise that sounded like the sloshing of water. The sandwich was gone in one swift motion. Cecil stepped back with surprise. Phoebus had dropped his food from his mouth at this point. “Goodness! It must be a long time since you’ve eaten.” The man nodded. “How long has it been?”

The man held up four fingers, then he shaped his hand into a circular shape, twice.

“Four hundred?” the number confused Cecil. “Four hundred what? Days? Hours? Months? Years?” At “years,” Obsidian nodded vigorously and pointed at Cecil. “Four hundred years?” More nodding. “Good Yelrin! Then eat! Take the rest of the loaf and cheese!”

After Obsidian finished cramming the food into his impossible mouth, he, Cecil and Phoebus stood staring at one another. Each was waiting for one of the others to do something. Phoebus acted first. He winnied softly and stomped the ground under his hoof a little. Cecil acted next. “Erm… well…”

Then, Obsidian held up a finger and leaned forward. With his other hand, he reached to his back and for a second Cecil thought he was scratching. Then, after a few moments more of scrabbling and scraping, the stone man produced from his back - from under his skin it seemed - a familar, gold inlaid sword with a jewel on the hilt. He held it out for Cecil to take. Cecil held up his hands and backed away: “No, no I could never take that. It’s not mine to take.” Obsidian tried again. “No, really, I don’t want it. It’s a royal artifact, and it should be in the West Aggrian castle.”

Somehow, this made the man even happier and, after hopping from one foot to the other some more, he did with the sword as he had done with the food, and devoured it. Cecil cried out. “Did you just eat that?” The Obsidian Man shrugged. Then he ran over to Phoebus and, in one swift motion, he ducked under the horse and gripped him from the underside. With no apparent effort, he lifted Phoebus off the ground, supplies and all, and ran up the hill. He moved no slower now than he had without the new burden. “Wait!” Cecil yelled. “What are you doing?”

He had never seen a horse look confused before.

Obsidian turned around and, with his head, gestured that they should begin walking. That was when Cecil understood what was going on. “You want to help me?” Obsidian confirmed this, and Cecil smiled over at him. “That’s very kind of you, but why? Because I fed you?”

Obsidian put down Phoebus and then, quite abruptly, knelt down and burst into flame with a roar. Cecil yelled and Phoebus winnied and the pair backed away. Then, Obsidian, still aflame, placed both hands in front of him and moved them in a downward motion - the same motion that Cecil had given Obsidian back on the bridge. Then, Obsidian stood up straight again and the fires receded.

“As thanks for me calming you down?” Cecil asked. Obsidian nodded. “But really the ocean did a better job at that than I.” Obsidian shook his head and pointed at Cecil. “You really want to help me move all of my things back home?” Another affirmative. “Okay, if you insist, then thank you so much,” the poet said with a wide grin. Obsidian stepped back to Phoebus, who proceeded to back away from him. “Oh! Wait, wait. Maybe you should take just the supplies.”

That was how, a few minutes later, the saddle that was laden with all of Cecil’s belongings ended up on the Obsidian Man’s back. Obsidian did not mind the burden at all. In fact he seemed to be even more light-footed than he had been before. Cecil, meanwhile, climbed up onto Phoebus’ back. As they cantered up the hill, Phoebus nuzzled Obsidian gratefully. Obsidian, enthralled by the gesture, hopped high into the air and sailed up to the top of the hill. He seemed unable to stay on the ground for long without bouncing into the sky. As Cecil watched the mountain of his things bouncing around, he laughed. “My, you certainly have a lot of energy.” Then, a thought occurred to him. “Obsidian, you can move quite fast, can’t you?” Obsidian landed and nodded up at the poet. “Fast as a running horse?” The Stone Man gave Cecil a thumbs up. Cecil grinned. “Then what are we waiting for?” When they reached the top of the hill, Cecil urged Phoebus onward and they broke into a fast trot. Obsidian kept up effortlessly. By the bottom of the following hill, they were running full tilt.

The traveling went significantly faster after that. Phoebus seemed to be in a much better mood with the lighter burden, and Obsidian was delighted to be of help to Cecil. They made an unlikely trio, these three, but they found themselves enjoying the journey immensely. Cecil felt confident that they would make it to Moorlian Lake before sundown.

They skirted along the countryside nearly non-stop, only stopping briefly so that Phoebus could take a rest. Obsidian seemed untireable, as when they stopped he could not sit still and bounced about impatiently. As they neared Moorlian Lake, the landscape became spotted with the occasional crabapple trees. Cecil was not interested in eating the fruit of such trees, but Phoebus seemed happy to eat and Obsidian devoured whole branches of fruit in his voracity.

They finally stopped at Moorlian Lake later that evening. The plains turned into gently rolling hills and the trio could actually see the edge of the Grey Wood from their side of the lake. Moorlian Lake itself was shaped like a large kidney, set in a small valley between two hills and tucked back in the corner of the increasingly wooded area. Cold winds chopped across the surface of the lake, whipping up small dust devils that crawled across the beach before they faded into the night sky. Cecil led Obsidian and Phoebus to the edge of the beach, where sand turned to grass. He threw his pack down then and began to pick up sticks of varying sizes and shapes for a fire. “This is perfect,” he said. “We’re only a few miles from Denmoor, so we can get there easily tomorrow and access the market before moving on.”

Cecil set aside his bag and began rooting through it in search of some of the rice that Mr. Young had given him. Since he had access to water he could make some of it. He grabbed two of his pots off of Obsidian’s saddle, telling the man that he could take the pack off, an idea occurred to him. He could fill one pot with water for now, and fill a second pot with water for later. Smiling at his ingenuity, Cecil made his way down to the lake.

Cecil had three different pots. It was by the marten’s luck that it had chosen to hide in the third, and smallest, pot. Cecil had chosen the other two instead and it went unnoticed, still sleeping soundly nestled in its hideout.

When Cecil returned to the campsite, Obsidian snapped his fingers and a spark shot out to the pile of twigs that had been gathered, lighting it into an immediate roaring fire. “What a help you are,” Cecil said in reply. He set the water on the fire and, while he waited for that to boil, he took the other pot and placed a lid on it. He then rooted through the packs in search of twine with which he could tie down the lid, grabbing a bowl and spoon while he was at it.

It turned out that neither Phoebus nor Obsidian was hungry. Cecil, not surprised, said: “That’s what the two of you get for wasting your appetite on apples all day.” He had already been cooking enough rice for himself anyway, so he was not genuinely upset with either of them.

Cecil sat beside the fire and ate until he could no longer eat. He had not realized exactly how hungry he was until his first bite of rice, but as soon as the food had entered his mouth he discovered a ravenousness the likes of which he had never experienced. The rice was rich and smooth, and just salty enough that it neither made him thirsty nor left him disappointed in the blandness of his dinner. The poet had contemplated fishing when he and the others arrived at Moorlian Lake, but now he felt no desire or need for it.

When he had eaten his fill, Cecil leaned back and was surprised to find that Phoebus had settled down beside him. He rested his back against the horse and for a while took pleasure in feeling Phoebus’ slow and strong breathing push him forward and then back again. The sun was now dipping low in the sky and the stars had begun to twinkle in the deepening darkness. Obsidian sat down next to Cecil, and the poet was unafraid of the creature - he was harmless. “The Poets would have a field day with your behavior today,” Cecil said. Obsidian leaned back and shook with what Cecil decided must have been silent laughter. Then, the stone man also used Phoebus as a pillow. The horse did not mind this additional weight at all. He snorted with content.

“You know,” Cecil realized aloud, “this is the happiest I’ve been in such a long time. First Serena, and then the Poet House. It was bad for me. But now,” he sighed deeply, “I think I’m headed somewhere good.” Obsidian watched Cecil with a tilted head and Phoebus looked up at the sky and angled his ears back to show that he too was listening. “Of course, home is always a good thing. I don’t know though, there’s something more. I think the winds are changing for me. I’m headed somewhere big, and when I come back I’ll be someone completely different.” By the end of this Cecil was beaming up at the stars. “And much better than I was before.”

Then he looked over at Obsidian. Cecil thought of the way had been back at Tyranele City and he realized that he had an incredible amount of power within him, but that he might not have control. In spite of the creature’s joy, Cecil had the impression that Obsidian was an oddly sad being. It did not want to do what it had done back in Tyranele. Cecil pondered this and said: “You have a curse, don’t you?” The question came to him unbidden, as if of its own will. Obsidian did not answer, but looked out at the lake. “Who laid it on you?” Again, no answer. Maybe Obsidian himself did not know. Or maybe he did, but did not wish to share. Cecil did not press the matter.

The poet looked back up at the stars and almost laughed to himself as a great bubble of hope grew within him. He also could not deny that waves of exhaustion also overwhelmed him and he yawned widely. Cecil closed his eyes. “Tomorrow, Denmoor. We’ll get a map and some more food. Anything else we might need too. Yes, that’ll be good. Shopping’s always fun.” Phoebus grunted a tired acknowledgement.

Obsidian curled up in a small ball at Cecil’s feet, once again looking like a rather shiny boulder. Phoebus laid his head down and closed his eyes. As the fire died down, Cecil reached back and ran his fingers through the horse’s mane. Not long after, he drifted off into a peaceful slumber.

His face remained angled up to the sky, lit with peaceful joy, for the entire evening. Cecil had never slept better.