Wow. Hello world of updateing fanfiction... It's been too long my friends, or random strangers that stumble across this.. But Hey!
I'm not really sure what gonna happen to my other story, it isn't really going places but if I ever write another chapter I'll be sure to put it up, but wither way I'm so sorry if you've been waiting! Super dooper sorry guys!
Anyway, this is a lil' somthing I fixed up in a free period I had in college. It's just an idea, I feel I could take it somewhere, the idea's are buzzing around in my head and this time I've actually written them down so I don't forget them! But if you could review or send me a message telling me what you think I'd be really greatful! But yeah, thank you my lovely fanficers! Please enjoy~
[16 June - 02:35]
[I know it's an absurd time to be online but alas I cannot sleep. As I shred the chunk of thoughts that present themselves to me, up pop several more. The latest takes the form of the unfathomable, mundane technology we find ourselves so absorbed into. I like many others, proudly state that I'm a non-dependant techno-lover, but alas, I am wrong.
After losing my phone twice in three days it has become ever more apparent just how dependant I am on the damn thing. I honestly cannot leave the house without it; it is an item of such importance, so extreme, I literally sit here waiting for it to appear before me.
I have places to be, people to scowl at, and without a phone, the information on it, I am utterly helpless. Dilemma. My theory on this remains the same; dark forces. Some bastard little elf has come along and snatched it or cast some leg growing enchantment upon it. A regular occurrence. If ever I leave something on the side, some irksome little creature comes along and either eats it or hides it and I wouldn't call my flatmate one-hundred per cent innocent either.
Yet things have gotten worse as off late; these bastards have spells of sorts that render phones silent. This angers me greatly. They also seem to have mastered that art of disabling mobile communications; calls don't bleep, buzz or alert me off the phones presence in any way. Fuck.
My plan's usually to wait it out. After a few hours the little buggers usually give up and return me my phone, but no. Not this time. The elves seem to have a new leader, some big bad Elf who finds it funny to watch me writhe in desperation, squirm with a technological need. Little Bastard.
I shant give into your dark magic! I must simply wait for it to return to me. It will find me, in due time. The task of looking for it is completely unnecessary, when it's not there. I must just sit, and wait. Allow the white magic to prevail, find me my beloved phone then just fucking leave. Taking it's bitching dark friend with it. Good always beats evil bitch.
Now find me my damn phone.]
The Blog had been signed with the usual signature.
[The written rants of yours truly, The Exorcist.]
Allen had always thought it was an odd way to end a usually light hearted, witty blog entry. He had once even gone so far as to Google what an Exorcist actually was. Just to double check he had been thinking of the right thing, he had been.
[A religious being that uses their religious beliefs to purge demons or any other 'evil' entity that has overtaken/consumed a person's body.]
Or something along those lines, either way, Allen had found it ridiculous to even consider things like demons or entities to ever be true, and even if they did, why would they want to possess a human of all things? Humans where horrible creatures, full of such unwanted need and lust, selfish contradictory world roaming humanoids that'll quite easily point the finger at someone else but as soon as there on the receiving end, all hell breaks loose. Surely they'd want to be something cooler. Something with grace, manners that actual clean themselves on a regular basis. Like a cat.
That's why he loved 'The exorcist', with his non-bullshit policy. A place where finally the truth could be heard, in the form of a charming witty voice, and people actually shared his views; not that the people at college didn't, he had great debates in class, but there was just something about this writer that-that just called out to him, with the same need of understanding that he himself displayed on a regular basis.
But getting back to the point, Allen couldn't help but wonder what kind of person this 'exorcist' was, he found it baffling. He once again had the urge to get into contact with him, he could. He could do it through the websites [please leave a message] option, course he had never tried it before, and there was the constant "Stranger danger" his college has been telling him about for as long as he could remember. Not that he was worried, looking at his small frame and shy demeanour; you'd think anyone could take him, but alas, you'd be wrong. He had one hell of a left hook. It had freaked him out at first, the way his left arm had a considerable larger amount of strength then his right, as a child he'd have trouble holding pencils due to the fact that Allen's left handed, god's a bitch, he would exert too much force in his grip and they'd snap in two. But, with much hard-core-late night pencil holding classes from his father, he had somehow managed to adapt.
So here he was, sat at his desk in his father's old office, contemplating the odds of a crazy stalker finding his IP address and being slaughtered in his sleep. The odds were slim in this neighbourhood. He leant down and pulled a notepad from one of the desks drawers along with a biro, there was no way Allen was going to initiate contacts without drafting the message first. What does one say to an ambiguous writer that Allen has never met before? He hadn't a clue.
~Maybe some witty remark on how the odds of an Elf stealing a mobile would be slim. It'd more likely be a Brownie… then I could go into how a Brownie is a type of Hob; the reasoning of it being a Brownie would be that we're in England. Obviously. Though I'm sure he knows that already…' Allen bought his hands up to his temples and began massaging them. This was going to be hard; if he wanted to make a good first impression then he was going to have to make sure that the comment was witty, intellectual and something that he didn't already know… No-one likes reading the same thing twice. Shit.
He found his attention being drawn to the purring that was coming from his general ankle area; a smile gracing his face at the familiar sound of his Himalayan Tim, originally he'd belonged to his 'guardian', then he was given to Allen's father and once he'd passed away, Allen. Tim made sure to look after Allen. When he got too lonely, when he would skip his meals and even when he falls asleep in the bath; Tim makes sure to jump on the shelf, knocking the bottles over, therefore waking him up. Tim was a clever cat. Allen winced as Tim swatted his leg; he rolled his chair back so he could address Tim properly.
"What'd you want Lil'man?" He cooed, greeted by the grumpy face of said 'Lil'man' Allen quickly realised what the time was. Tim was hungry.
"You hungry?" He smiled at the sudden skip in Tim's stumble towards the kitchen. "Is my Lil'man hungry? Well, we know how to sort this out don't we" He chuckled as Tim looked back, double checking that Allen was in fact getting up to feed him. "I'm coming, I'm coming" Upon entering the kitchen he spotted the blonde fluff ball attempting to claw the cupboard open, bending down, he nudged Tim's head out the way so he could get to the whiskers pouches that were at the back of the cupboard, not the crappy stores own cat food. Tim got the good stuff.
"What am I gonna do buddy?" Tim's face was wedged in the food bowl so he knew he wouldn't get an answer, he carried on anyway. "Do I go to bed? Or do I attempt to write a fan letter to a blogger I've never met before?" He ran his hand over Tim's back and smiled as he raised his body into the touch. "I'm thinking… I should do some cyber stalking and try find out who he is… what d'you think?" He waiting for Tim to raise his head, when he did, much to his surprise, he was met by a scowl. Could cats even scowl? If they could, Tim was giving him a good one. Strangely enough, Allen found himself trying to explain his reasoning to the Old cat, "It's just… I found the link on my college homepage… I could know this person! Imagine that. I would finally have someone to talk too about my geek spazzes…" Tim's eyes, if possible, got narrower. "-and I would stop talking to you about it all… 'cause I'd have them…" Allen raised his eyes to look hopefully into Tim's blue ones; satisfied by Allen's reasoning Tim seemed to stroll into the lounge, where he curled up atop the TV set-top box under the telly and promptly fell asleep.
Sighing to himself lightly Allen went into the fridge to start making a quick dinner. Taking his dinner out of the microwave he returned to his desk. Greeting him was his forgotten blank notebook; sighing again he started his meal, telling himself not to fall asleep while writing the draft last thing he wanted to do was dribble over it.
That wouldn't be the best first impression now would it?