I realised I didn't have an AN here... which is pretty weird; you can tell I'm out of practise with this. So this is my character, Darcy, complaining about her life. Because she's a fool :) I thought I'd try writing a oneshot because lots of people (you know who you are, you damned rediculously skilled people) on our RP forum write the most A-MA-ZING oneshots... And it really makes me cry because they're so amazing... (and yes, I realise this is really choppy and broken up by the parenthesis, but this is because of the character; it's not actually my normal writing style. She's incapable of not inserting snarky comments all over the place XD)

Hello. (If you know me, you'll be surprised already by this. Darcy? A remotely polite greeting? I am capable of being polite, believe it or not. Most people just don't deserve it.)

I have to admit, I'm not entirely sure why I'm writing this. Perhaps I feel as if I need to justify myself. Perhaps I should. It's slightly alarming for me that I'm only a few sentences in and it already feels as though I'm writing a suicide note; which, good god do I hope I'm not. At least, I don't plan to. Commit suicide, I mean; I think that I love myself far too much for that.

I reckon if this was a voice recording, I'd sigh right about now and say something bitter about how committing suicide would be exactly the sort of thing that I'd do to get out of this. This problem that I have, that I can't skirt around anymore. Because that's it, isn't it? The reason I'm writing this. I'm writing it about my problem, which I hope will become entirely apparent later on through this uphill slog that is writing (forgive me, I've never been much one for writing, so I doubt this will be interesting for you, reader who is probably nosing somewhere you shouldn't be, as I doubt I will be waving this around in front of everybody's face. It's currently more of a way for me to quietly try and work something out; I can't talk to anyone else about it.).

One of my problems (Lord, this is starting to feel like counselling already) is that I exist purely in relation to someone else. Which is all wonderful, I hear you cry, but it's not someone I'm married to or in a lasting relationship with or even ever want to be (love is something I'll come onto later, I'm going to write that as a reminder so I don't forget. Nothing if not practical). On my own, I'm just 'that little tiny blonde detective woman with the bad attitude'. Not even blonde anymore; I keep on forgetting. I'm only ever Darcy James when I'm in comparison to Arthur Thompson. Darcy who knows Arthur. Darcy who used to be with Arty. Darcy who has a connection to the Prof. It's a goddamn sad thing in your life when you're twenty eight years old and you know that if you died (here comes the suicide note tone again) maybe two or three people would come to your funeral because all of the other people you know (about six or seven at least) only give a shit about you because you know Arthur Thompson. Everyone wants a piece of him nowadays. I'd just like to go back to my job.

And I don't even really know him anymore anyway, before a few weeks ago, I hadn't even seen or heard of him for close on six years. But it seems like he's made even fewer connections than I have, because now everyone wants to destroy him, (you think I'm exaggerating? I laugh in your face.) it's me they come to; me that's chasing around after him again, finding out new and horrible things about him every time I talk to someone. It still hurts to hear this. I don't know why, it just does. Feels like he's let me down. Maybe I'm his mother or something. Maybe I let him down, and that's why he's turned out the way he is. I don't think I've had a single conversation with anybody in the last couple of weeks (since Japan) that hasn't been about Arthur Thompson.

Well. Arthur Thompson or the Prof. But, please, don't make me try and wrap my head around that because I can't. Believe me, I've tried; I can't separate them. The Prof laughed at me because I confused him with Arty for a moment and it hurt pretty bad. I want to say Arty's good and the Prof's evil, but it just keeps twisting like some enormous snake that the second you grab its tail it turns 'round and bites your hand.

Perhaps my problem is that I'm too uninteresting within myself; my life is like a little, blotchy canvas filled with white-grey; looks extraordinarily dull on its own, but if you just plop a streak of red across it, that grey really sets off the colour. Makes it looks much brighter (my mum would've adored that artistic analogy there). But I think the immediate impression of me (after the fact that I am hugely challenged in a vertical fashion) is one of a particularly monochromatic life. Monochromatic looks, blonde (no, black!) hair, pale skin, black eyes, white shirt, grey skirt, black shoes (flat, mind you. I might be short but I'm sure as hell not going to pretend to be tall). My flat, back in London, which I adore, is all black and white too. Neat. Orderly. It's hard to make black and white look clean, but when you do, it looks sterile. On the patio I've got plants, but they're all monochromatic too. Green though, instead of greyscale. They've got plenty of leaves, but I just can't manage to coax any flowers from them, and no-one's interested in plants with no flowers.

I feel strangely guilty about writing about my gardening habits, because you don't really care about me, if you're reading this, it's for entertainment factor, like one of those really intellectual magazines that women my age should read: 'Stupid woman is forced to choose between her Ex and the man in love with her'-

And there it is.

That's the really big problem.

Oh GOD no. Please don't think that I have to choose between which to love! Because I don't love either of them (Orpheus, if you're reading this, I will be utterly furious with you. Put it down. Now.) Of course I don't love Arthur, the idea's ludicrous. Orpheus, I met literally about two days ago; maybe in time...

It's like that song says: 'All you need is love'. I'd like to think that I'm someone's who's proved that wrong, but I think that I proved it to be most irrevocably right, that you do need love. Else you turn out a sad, bitter, melodramatic sod like me. And let's face it, who wants that?

In between my witterings, I never quite laid out the problem in excruciating detail, did I? But maybe I've underestimated your subtlety, (Lord knows that's got me in enough trouble before) maybe you've worked it out. One of them's going to die. Orpheus or Arty. Either the man without whom I don't exist or the man with whom I have that one, glittering opportunity to get it right for the first time in my godforsaken life (God does that make me sound like a whore, but it's true). Choosing between the man who made me what I am today and the man who might make me something new. Making the decision between my past and my present, maybe my future (and I know I've described it like in my head before, but it really just sums it up for me).

Biggest choice of my life so far, I imagine. And I've got no idea. I can't choose. I can't tell Orpheus because I know that knowing that I'm even considering choosing Arty would shatter his poor, sweet, naive little heart. I can't tell Arthur because I know that if he asked me to choose him, to save him, I would. And that would be that. I can't just decide not to choose, to do nothing, because that would count as choosing Arty, and Orpheus would die. But realistically, my chances of catching Arthur, knocking him unconscious (not that I wouldn't like to anyway, just because he's a pain in the rear) tying him up (and now this starts to sound more and more like some hideous fetish) and leaving that goddamn book of his with him, are extraordinarily slim. I'm hardly physically capable of it. So it seems like Orpheus will be the unlucky one.

But that's not fair! It's not! Because sometime I hate Arthur. I really do (please, if you understand the Prof/Arty thing, you know I'm probably-but-maybe-not talking about the Prof here). He's a smug bastard and he's manipulated so many people into pretty poor situation. He's a murderer. He runs a branch of the Mafia for god's sake! All he needs is a spinning chair and a cat (although as far as I remember, he's allergic) before anyone would automatically assume he was Dr Evil. But he's made me laugh until I cried. And I did, at one point (a bloody long time ago, mind you!) love him. Quite a lot, really. And Orpheus, I don't know what to think about him. He says he's been in love with me since we were at school together, but, as much as it pains me to admit it, I don't even remember him at school. And who falls in love with someone they never even talked to and holds that love in them for about a decade? That nasty, cynical voice which is really just the whole of me whispers the plain old word 'infatuation' and spits that it's something quite different to real love. It can't be true, can it?

I'm Darcy James, and I'm a small, grey moon; a satellite orbiting a red giant and reflecting its light. Another star's gravitational field has crossed into my orbit and it trying to pull me away. For the first time, the harsh, cruel lunar landscape has the choice.

And I've got no idea.

So... Yeah. Tell me what you think? I'm not really sure about it :/