When I first sat down with pad and pen, I thought that my story
would span twelve or so chapters and would garner fifty, maybe sixty
reviews. And, not for the first time mind you, I was wrong. For here
I am, writing the Beginning Author's Note to the sixteenth chapter
to a fic that has received no less than 212 (give or take) comments.
And I'm completely overwhelmed.
It makes me feel guilty, knowing that Tumbling Down the Rabbit Hole is drawing to a close. But it's never a good idea to stretch an idea any further than necessary, and so this might well be the last chapter you'll ever see of my first story.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN - - - - - - - - - - - -
The balding weatherman had predicted clear skies and a low chance of precipitation. But that was not to be. For tonight, the moon and her eternal companions, the stars, were lost from view. Dark clouds obscured the heavens, billowing about and spreading their ominous prediction of rain as efficiently as if God had pasted a glowing neon sign upon them.
A downpour was sure to come in a matter of minutes, but the lone figure seated on the rickety bleachers paid the goings-on above him no heed. Instead, he leaned forward to rest his forearms against his knees, lost in thought. Lost to the world.
Now, a second boy approaches. Perhaps he is surprised to come to the clearing and find that he is not alone. Perhaps he knew all along. It's hard to tell; the shallow pool of yellow light that the streetlamp provides only serves to cast shadows upon his face.
He pauses, as if contemplating his next actions. The soft grass muffles his steps as he nears the mounted benches, so that the first vagrant of the night is caught completely unawares of the second's presence until it is too late. The former's head snaps up, then looks away, shifting his attention back to whatever it was he was scrutinizing before. Perhaps he is surprised, as well.
The latter takes up his own place on the wooden plank. He, too, glances at his companion, though his gaze is steadier. There is a rumbling in the distance, but it is ignored.
Finally, the second wanderer breaks the silence that both have become accustomed to. "It's a beautiful night," he says, in a voice low enough to be mistaken for one talking to himself. His tone, however, suggests otherwise.
"It's going to rain," replies the first boy, after a short pause. His voice is also calm, though there is a hint of uneasiness to it, as if he has little experience with conversation and doesn't really want to continue this particular one.
"That doesn't make it any less beautiful. Anticipation is ninety percent of the fun."
The cryptic comment provokes no response.
The boy now risks a second peek to his side. The failing glow of the streetlight barely illuminates his features, but an expression of curiosity can be seen passing briefly across them as cerulean eyes note that the other youth has wrapped his arms about himself. Perhaps he is cold. Perhaps he is lonely.
Acting on impulse, he scoots closer to his unexpected comrade, his clothing rustling in the night air, almost deafening in the quiet that both had previously worn as a blanket. A pale arm is slung about the smaller boy's shoulders, a small comfort in the chilly aftermath of the evenfall, and one that is unconsciously accepted, at least for this moment.
Then, as if realizing the position he is in, the younger edges away, shying from the touch.
"Don't--" he starts, and then falters. Whatever he meant to say is left unvoiced. There appears to be turmoil within him, an unresolved dispute that he struggles with even now. Silence falls.
"Sorry," offers the other youth after a while. What exactly he is apologizing for is never spoken aloud, but his confession is accepted, wordlessly.
"Sorry," his junior agrees, after another pause. He doesn't expand or explain. He doesn't need to.
An arm is moved again. This time, it rests tentatively upon narrow shoulders, no weight placed upon it. A stiffening of the back is the first reaction, but before the offending appendage can be removed, the body beneath it relaxes into the touch. It's a hesitant movement, unsure and unsteady, as if the smaller teenager is forcing himself to calm.
A small smile twists the older boy's lips into a gently curve as the one beside him leans ever so slightly into his body. "That wasn't so hard, was it?" he whispers softly.
"You have no idea," comes the reply.
They stay like that, two bodies melded into one, for a while, their solitude and peace unbroken.
Then the rains come.
Delicately, the tiny droplets of molten glass fall, spattering onto the leaves, the grass, the trees. Sliding over smooth surfaces, over human flesh. A hand reaches out to stroke the tears, to feel them fall upon the outstretched fingers.
As if being conducted by an invisible maestro, the rain begins to fall heavier, the spaces in between their arrival growing shorter and shorter, until there is none; it's all a blur of silvery miracles.
Red hair shifts beneath the deluge as its owner glances downward. Crystal sapphires glitter in amusement as they take in the sight of dark blue paint slipping off of pale cheeks. The heavens' water has done its work, and now there are no more triangles to hide behind. A few specks remain, remnants of a time long past, but they are eradicated with a single sweep of an elegant finger.
Perhaps by design, perhaps by accident, the younger boy moves closer to the nearest source of warmth.
It's a beautiful night.
- - - - - - - - - - - -
FIN
Or is it? Maybe you're like me, and you're a little disappointed with how badly I write endings, and how abruptly I cut things off. Still, it fits the flow (or lack thereof) of the story, don't you think?
I've written about ten possible endings for this story. And I've chosen to use none. Why, you may ask? It's a rather simple answer:
The story does not end here.
The reader will most likely whole-heartedly agree.
After all, Tala and Kai have not yet kissed, nor gone out on their first date.
The Bakuten soccer team has not yet played their first game.
Ivan has not yet received a growth spurt, and neither has Kyoujyu.
Bryan and Rei are still at the very beginning of their relationship.
And yet, this is where the writing stops.
But before you break out the pitchforks, allow me to explain.
A story never ends. Sure, the boy gets the girl, or in this case, the boy gets the boy. Sure, the problem is solved, the One Ring thrown into the fire, Voldemort vanquished once and for all. But it never ends.
Where one plot draws to a close, another appears. Where one trial is overcome, another rears its ugly head. A story can never end, because, like life, something new will always come up.
Thus, I can't give you a conclusion. It wouldn't be right. It wouldn't be proper.
And yet, it's a complete disappointment for you, as the reader, isn't it? We are all romantics at heart, and no doubt we're all dying to see how Tala and Kai's relationship turns out.
But life isn't fair. Get used to it.
...
...
...
Oh, fine.
- - - - - - - - - - - -
Saturday, February 14
If you were to tell me a year ago that I'd be celebrating Valentines' Day, I would laugh in your face and feed you to a cage of rabid hamsters.
If you were to tell me a year ago that I'd be celebrating Valentines' Day, and with my boyfriend, no less, I would spit in your face and smash your face in.
And yet, here I am, Valentines' Day, 2005, curled up on my bed and surrounded by boxes of dark chocolate (damn Tala, knowing all my weaknesses), writing in another of my boyfriend's presents: a notebook. It's amazing how well he's gotten to know me, even though I did all I could to push everybody away just a year ago.
I guess I've changed. For the better, I hope.
Currently, my love (I still feel strange writing that) has his arms wrapped around my waist. His chin is resting on top of my head, and though I've told him not to read my writing, he is anyway. Yes, you are, Wolf. Don't deny it.
Okay, he just called me Phoenix and flashed that damn grin of his that makes me weak at the knees. Extremely grateful that I'm sitting right now.
He drove all the way over to Bakuten from Tokyo U; can you believe that? And he spent the entire day with me for Valentines'. I still can't wrap my mind around the fact that I'm actually in love, and that somebody's actually in love with me. It seems so surreal. Sometimes, I wake up in the middle of the night, and wonder if it was all a dream.
Of course, all I have to do to rid myself of that notion is to check my e-mail inbox or voicemail and read or listen to the three or so messages Tala sends me everyday.
God, I love him.
I sound so much like a giggly schoolgirl, but for once, I don't care. It's probably the caffeine and sugar.
...
It's a shame you can't show the passage of time in a journal entry. Because Tala just grabbed the back of my head and made out with me for an entire ten minutes. It's a good thing Voltaire's out on (yet another) business trip; I think the noises of two teenage boys would drive him insane.
Tala tells me now that I taste like winter: invigorating, cool and more than a little overwhelming. I tell him that he tastes like autumn: warm, and ranging anywhere from mildly to incredibly passionate. He's laughing over my shoulder as he reads this last sentence, and I'm slightly miffed that he finds my attempt at describing him funny.
Now he explains that I make him laugh, which makes me snort in amusement. I do not make people laugh, I tell him indignantly, I make them think, thank you very much.
...
And another ten minutes pass in which Tala kisses me again and whispers in my ear that every minute he's with me lights him up from within and fills him with joy, so why shouldn't he laugh? To which I blush like the high-school-student-in-love-with-a-gorgeous-college- enrolled-guy that I am.
Then he tells me I'm too precious for words.
He should really stop; my face is so red I can barely concentrate on putting pen to paper.
I'm actually kind of surprised that I still keep a journal. After all, the guidance teacher that forced me to write my first one is no longer looming over me. But it makes things easier to comprehend when it's all written out. Well, sometimes. I still can't, for the life of me, figure out love. I don't think I ever will.
It's so simple, yet so complex. 'I love you.' What does it mean? An entire day is dedicated to it, and though I refuse to take part in the simple-minded exchanging of paper hearts, I can still sense the underlying emotion that strings the whole world together for a short twenty-four hours. But can love and all its meaning be celebrated in one mere day?
Shouldn't it have more?
Shouldn't something so precious, so eternal, so incredibly pure be celebrated all year 'round?
I don't even know what I'm writing about anymore. Tala's breathing down my neck is extremely distracting.
It occurs to me now, reading over what I've written, how very much I've changed over the year. I think I've truly left behind the grubby streets of my hometown and fully embraced the living world. I think I've lost the masks at last. Well, only around people I trust. Which is exactly... one.
Maybe I haven't changed that much.
My head hurts.
You're a walking, talking oxymoron, Tala says to me now, his head cocked to the side, an amused grin on his face.
Better than whatever you are, I retort ever so intelligently. To that, my boyfriend throws his head back and crows in laughter, before pulling me further back into his warm embrace. It's strange; I used to hate being touched. And no, I don't need to be reminded of the infamous 'Odeon Theatre Incident,' Ivanov. But just lying here, in the arms of the one I love, it feels... safe.
Safety... something I've longed for all my life. And now I have it. It's just... wow, aren't I coherent today.
Let's see now. After 'pairing' Tala and I, Ivan moved on to Bryan and Rei, who (as he so often reminds us) were quite a bit more co- operative with him. Buoyed by his successes, he then attempted to erect an Internet matchmaking business. Amazingly enough, it's actually a fairly popular site.
Tala's gone into college with the afore-mentioned lavender-haired teen at Tokyo U. Business, I do believe. Sergei, too. Me? I'm still at Bakuten High, managing high grades, team captain of the soccer team and all that. I plan to go into Arts and Literature for post- secondary education, but who knows?
I may just get a job as a stripper in a gay bar.
Ooh, the look on Tala's face when I wrote that was a priceless Kodak moment.
That's what you get for reading over my shoulder, love.
Against all expectations, I've become fairly close acquaintances (I refuse to call them friends, it's slightly demeaning) with Takao, Max and their cronies. They're actually tolerable, if you keep them away from the buffet table.
What else...?
Well, seeing as the Wolf is getting a little playful, I suppose that's it.
Until next we meet, I remain...
KAI HIWATARI
- - - - - - - - - - - -
FIN
(REALLY)
Devlinn Reiko-sama: Should that be the case... Poor Rei. XD
DragonBlade: In the immortal words of Takao himself, "Aye aye, Captain Kai!"
Trinity of the Phoenix: I'm not much into the angst-slash-tragedy stuff, myself. It gets me depressed, which makes me morbid, which makes me watch Darkness Falls over and over and over again. XD Thanks for the review.
Kitsune: Cool. Now I can confuse my English-speaking teachers. [insert maniacal laughter here]
Sarcasmcat: You really think so?! *beams with pride*
Kai-Jermin: oO Sounds like fun... *starts singing that song from Annie* TOMORROW!! TOMORROW!! I'LL LOVE YA, TOMORROW!!!
Midnight Insanity: Seriously? *laughs* Be my guest! Hey, cool, now I can order breakfast in Spain. XD Yep. Last chapter, this be. A little abrupt, I know, but...
Lyn/Lin: It could be a conspiracy. *shifty, suspicious eyes* Yes, computers solve everything. Bow down before me and my horrible Internet connection!!
Lilmatchgirl: It's sort of a gradual thing, I guess. That's Kai for ya!
Vialana: Hm... I'm sorry to say that I didn't get to watch 'A Wicked Wind Blows,' so I might have missed the Bryan/Rei bandwagon. *sighs* I'm so, so, so, glad you like the journal entries. Sometimes they're the hardest thing to write, sometimes they just flow. I like fairytales and legends. The promise of the arcane and esoteric draws me like a moth to the flame.
Phoenix the 1st: Aww, Rei feels lubbed. XD Bias is good, though. It is, really!
Padfoot da Darkwolf: I wouldn't go so far as to say that Kai/Rei is gross, I just much prefer Tala/Kai. Thassall. Keep on writing? Sure, why not!
Nights Child: I frighten myself, sometimes. I doubt anything you did or said can freak me out too much. Hopefully.
Silverjustice1: Lucky little buggers. *mutters under breath* Hey! I love that quote! Mind if I steal it off ya?
Vampyre Neko: Babysitting, eh? I'm not to be trusted around the lickle kiddies. Nope. Heehee. Still standing in shock after, like, 24 hours? That would be funny...
Artemis347: I can't hold grudges, sorry. My lack of attention span won't let me. You'll notice the gradual shifting as Kai says nothing in his journal to where he's actually using it. It's subtle, but it's there. At least, I see it. But then, I wrote it. So... Yeah. XD
Disengage: Everything about Kai is purdy! *lotsa love for the Phoenix* An interesting theory... *strokes chin* *edges away from puddle/lake of drool*
Yes, I agree. Entirely inconclusive. And yet, aren't the best tales the ones that never end...? I like to think so. Maybe you do, too.
And until next we meet, I remain...
KHNUM
And I'm completely overwhelmed.
It makes me feel guilty, knowing that Tumbling Down the Rabbit Hole is drawing to a close. But it's never a good idea to stretch an idea any further than necessary, and so this might well be the last chapter you'll ever see of my first story.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN - - - - - - - - - - - -
The balding weatherman had predicted clear skies and a low chance of precipitation. But that was not to be. For tonight, the moon and her eternal companions, the stars, were lost from view. Dark clouds obscured the heavens, billowing about and spreading their ominous prediction of rain as efficiently as if God had pasted a glowing neon sign upon them.
A downpour was sure to come in a matter of minutes, but the lone figure seated on the rickety bleachers paid the goings-on above him no heed. Instead, he leaned forward to rest his forearms against his knees, lost in thought. Lost to the world.
Now, a second boy approaches. Perhaps he is surprised to come to the clearing and find that he is not alone. Perhaps he knew all along. It's hard to tell; the shallow pool of yellow light that the streetlamp provides only serves to cast shadows upon his face.
He pauses, as if contemplating his next actions. The soft grass muffles his steps as he nears the mounted benches, so that the first vagrant of the night is caught completely unawares of the second's presence until it is too late. The former's head snaps up, then looks away, shifting his attention back to whatever it was he was scrutinizing before. Perhaps he is surprised, as well.
The latter takes up his own place on the wooden plank. He, too, glances at his companion, though his gaze is steadier. There is a rumbling in the distance, but it is ignored.
Finally, the second wanderer breaks the silence that both have become accustomed to. "It's a beautiful night," he says, in a voice low enough to be mistaken for one talking to himself. His tone, however, suggests otherwise.
"It's going to rain," replies the first boy, after a short pause. His voice is also calm, though there is a hint of uneasiness to it, as if he has little experience with conversation and doesn't really want to continue this particular one.
"That doesn't make it any less beautiful. Anticipation is ninety percent of the fun."
The cryptic comment provokes no response.
The boy now risks a second peek to his side. The failing glow of the streetlight barely illuminates his features, but an expression of curiosity can be seen passing briefly across them as cerulean eyes note that the other youth has wrapped his arms about himself. Perhaps he is cold. Perhaps he is lonely.
Acting on impulse, he scoots closer to his unexpected comrade, his clothing rustling in the night air, almost deafening in the quiet that both had previously worn as a blanket. A pale arm is slung about the smaller boy's shoulders, a small comfort in the chilly aftermath of the evenfall, and one that is unconsciously accepted, at least for this moment.
Then, as if realizing the position he is in, the younger edges away, shying from the touch.
"Don't--" he starts, and then falters. Whatever he meant to say is left unvoiced. There appears to be turmoil within him, an unresolved dispute that he struggles with even now. Silence falls.
"Sorry," offers the other youth after a while. What exactly he is apologizing for is never spoken aloud, but his confession is accepted, wordlessly.
"Sorry," his junior agrees, after another pause. He doesn't expand or explain. He doesn't need to.
An arm is moved again. This time, it rests tentatively upon narrow shoulders, no weight placed upon it. A stiffening of the back is the first reaction, but before the offending appendage can be removed, the body beneath it relaxes into the touch. It's a hesitant movement, unsure and unsteady, as if the smaller teenager is forcing himself to calm.
A small smile twists the older boy's lips into a gently curve as the one beside him leans ever so slightly into his body. "That wasn't so hard, was it?" he whispers softly.
"You have no idea," comes the reply.
They stay like that, two bodies melded into one, for a while, their solitude and peace unbroken.
Then the rains come.
Delicately, the tiny droplets of molten glass fall, spattering onto the leaves, the grass, the trees. Sliding over smooth surfaces, over human flesh. A hand reaches out to stroke the tears, to feel them fall upon the outstretched fingers.
As if being conducted by an invisible maestro, the rain begins to fall heavier, the spaces in between their arrival growing shorter and shorter, until there is none; it's all a blur of silvery miracles.
Red hair shifts beneath the deluge as its owner glances downward. Crystal sapphires glitter in amusement as they take in the sight of dark blue paint slipping off of pale cheeks. The heavens' water has done its work, and now there are no more triangles to hide behind. A few specks remain, remnants of a time long past, but they are eradicated with a single sweep of an elegant finger.
Perhaps by design, perhaps by accident, the younger boy moves closer to the nearest source of warmth.
It's a beautiful night.
- - - - - - - - - - - -
FIN
Or is it? Maybe you're like me, and you're a little disappointed with how badly I write endings, and how abruptly I cut things off. Still, it fits the flow (or lack thereof) of the story, don't you think?
I've written about ten possible endings for this story. And I've chosen to use none. Why, you may ask? It's a rather simple answer:
The story does not end here.
The reader will most likely whole-heartedly agree.
After all, Tala and Kai have not yet kissed, nor gone out on their first date.
The Bakuten soccer team has not yet played their first game.
Ivan has not yet received a growth spurt, and neither has Kyoujyu.
Bryan and Rei are still at the very beginning of their relationship.
And yet, this is where the writing stops.
But before you break out the pitchforks, allow me to explain.
A story never ends. Sure, the boy gets the girl, or in this case, the boy gets the boy. Sure, the problem is solved, the One Ring thrown into the fire, Voldemort vanquished once and for all. But it never ends.
Where one plot draws to a close, another appears. Where one trial is overcome, another rears its ugly head. A story can never end, because, like life, something new will always come up.
Thus, I can't give you a conclusion. It wouldn't be right. It wouldn't be proper.
And yet, it's a complete disappointment for you, as the reader, isn't it? We are all romantics at heart, and no doubt we're all dying to see how Tala and Kai's relationship turns out.
But life isn't fair. Get used to it.
...
...
...
Oh, fine.
- - - - - - - - - - - -
Saturday, February 14
If you were to tell me a year ago that I'd be celebrating Valentines' Day, I would laugh in your face and feed you to a cage of rabid hamsters.
If you were to tell me a year ago that I'd be celebrating Valentines' Day, and with my boyfriend, no less, I would spit in your face and smash your face in.
And yet, here I am, Valentines' Day, 2005, curled up on my bed and surrounded by boxes of dark chocolate (damn Tala, knowing all my weaknesses), writing in another of my boyfriend's presents: a notebook. It's amazing how well he's gotten to know me, even though I did all I could to push everybody away just a year ago.
I guess I've changed. For the better, I hope.
Currently, my love (I still feel strange writing that) has his arms wrapped around my waist. His chin is resting on top of my head, and though I've told him not to read my writing, he is anyway. Yes, you are, Wolf. Don't deny it.
Okay, he just called me Phoenix and flashed that damn grin of his that makes me weak at the knees. Extremely grateful that I'm sitting right now.
He drove all the way over to Bakuten from Tokyo U; can you believe that? And he spent the entire day with me for Valentines'. I still can't wrap my mind around the fact that I'm actually in love, and that somebody's actually in love with me. It seems so surreal. Sometimes, I wake up in the middle of the night, and wonder if it was all a dream.
Of course, all I have to do to rid myself of that notion is to check my e-mail inbox or voicemail and read or listen to the three or so messages Tala sends me everyday.
God, I love him.
I sound so much like a giggly schoolgirl, but for once, I don't care. It's probably the caffeine and sugar.
...
It's a shame you can't show the passage of time in a journal entry. Because Tala just grabbed the back of my head and made out with me for an entire ten minutes. It's a good thing Voltaire's out on (yet another) business trip; I think the noises of two teenage boys would drive him insane.
Tala tells me now that I taste like winter: invigorating, cool and more than a little overwhelming. I tell him that he tastes like autumn: warm, and ranging anywhere from mildly to incredibly passionate. He's laughing over my shoulder as he reads this last sentence, and I'm slightly miffed that he finds my attempt at describing him funny.
Now he explains that I make him laugh, which makes me snort in amusement. I do not make people laugh, I tell him indignantly, I make them think, thank you very much.
...
And another ten minutes pass in which Tala kisses me again and whispers in my ear that every minute he's with me lights him up from within and fills him with joy, so why shouldn't he laugh? To which I blush like the high-school-student-in-love-with-a-gorgeous-college- enrolled-guy that I am.
Then he tells me I'm too precious for words.
He should really stop; my face is so red I can barely concentrate on putting pen to paper.
I'm actually kind of surprised that I still keep a journal. After all, the guidance teacher that forced me to write my first one is no longer looming over me. But it makes things easier to comprehend when it's all written out. Well, sometimes. I still can't, for the life of me, figure out love. I don't think I ever will.
It's so simple, yet so complex. 'I love you.' What does it mean? An entire day is dedicated to it, and though I refuse to take part in the simple-minded exchanging of paper hearts, I can still sense the underlying emotion that strings the whole world together for a short twenty-four hours. But can love and all its meaning be celebrated in one mere day?
Shouldn't it have more?
Shouldn't something so precious, so eternal, so incredibly pure be celebrated all year 'round?
I don't even know what I'm writing about anymore. Tala's breathing down my neck is extremely distracting.
It occurs to me now, reading over what I've written, how very much I've changed over the year. I think I've truly left behind the grubby streets of my hometown and fully embraced the living world. I think I've lost the masks at last. Well, only around people I trust. Which is exactly... one.
Maybe I haven't changed that much.
My head hurts.
You're a walking, talking oxymoron, Tala says to me now, his head cocked to the side, an amused grin on his face.
Better than whatever you are, I retort ever so intelligently. To that, my boyfriend throws his head back and crows in laughter, before pulling me further back into his warm embrace. It's strange; I used to hate being touched. And no, I don't need to be reminded of the infamous 'Odeon Theatre Incident,' Ivanov. But just lying here, in the arms of the one I love, it feels... safe.
Safety... something I've longed for all my life. And now I have it. It's just... wow, aren't I coherent today.
Let's see now. After 'pairing' Tala and I, Ivan moved on to Bryan and Rei, who (as he so often reminds us) were quite a bit more co- operative with him. Buoyed by his successes, he then attempted to erect an Internet matchmaking business. Amazingly enough, it's actually a fairly popular site.
Tala's gone into college with the afore-mentioned lavender-haired teen at Tokyo U. Business, I do believe. Sergei, too. Me? I'm still at Bakuten High, managing high grades, team captain of the soccer team and all that. I plan to go into Arts and Literature for post- secondary education, but who knows?
I may just get a job as a stripper in a gay bar.
Ooh, the look on Tala's face when I wrote that was a priceless Kodak moment.
That's what you get for reading over my shoulder, love.
Against all expectations, I've become fairly close acquaintances (I refuse to call them friends, it's slightly demeaning) with Takao, Max and their cronies. They're actually tolerable, if you keep them away from the buffet table.
What else...?
Well, seeing as the Wolf is getting a little playful, I suppose that's it.
Until next we meet, I remain...
KAI HIWATARI
- - - - - - - - - - - -
FIN
(REALLY)
Devlinn Reiko-sama: Should that be the case... Poor Rei. XD
DragonBlade: In the immortal words of Takao himself, "Aye aye, Captain Kai!"
Trinity of the Phoenix: I'm not much into the angst-slash-tragedy stuff, myself. It gets me depressed, which makes me morbid, which makes me watch Darkness Falls over and over and over again. XD Thanks for the review.
Kitsune: Cool. Now I can confuse my English-speaking teachers. [insert maniacal laughter here]
Sarcasmcat: You really think so?! *beams with pride*
Kai-Jermin: oO Sounds like fun... *starts singing that song from Annie* TOMORROW!! TOMORROW!! I'LL LOVE YA, TOMORROW!!!
Midnight Insanity: Seriously? *laughs* Be my guest! Hey, cool, now I can order breakfast in Spain. XD Yep. Last chapter, this be. A little abrupt, I know, but...
Lyn/Lin: It could be a conspiracy. *shifty, suspicious eyes* Yes, computers solve everything. Bow down before me and my horrible Internet connection!!
Lilmatchgirl: It's sort of a gradual thing, I guess. That's Kai for ya!
Vialana: Hm... I'm sorry to say that I didn't get to watch 'A Wicked Wind Blows,' so I might have missed the Bryan/Rei bandwagon. *sighs* I'm so, so, so, glad you like the journal entries. Sometimes they're the hardest thing to write, sometimes they just flow. I like fairytales and legends. The promise of the arcane and esoteric draws me like a moth to the flame.
Phoenix the 1st: Aww, Rei feels lubbed. XD Bias is good, though. It is, really!
Padfoot da Darkwolf: I wouldn't go so far as to say that Kai/Rei is gross, I just much prefer Tala/Kai. Thassall. Keep on writing? Sure, why not!
Nights Child: I frighten myself, sometimes. I doubt anything you did or said can freak me out too much. Hopefully.
Silverjustice1: Lucky little buggers. *mutters under breath* Hey! I love that quote! Mind if I steal it off ya?
Vampyre Neko: Babysitting, eh? I'm not to be trusted around the lickle kiddies. Nope. Heehee. Still standing in shock after, like, 24 hours? That would be funny...
Artemis347: I can't hold grudges, sorry. My lack of attention span won't let me. You'll notice the gradual shifting as Kai says nothing in his journal to where he's actually using it. It's subtle, but it's there. At least, I see it. But then, I wrote it. So... Yeah. XD
Disengage: Everything about Kai is purdy! *lotsa love for the Phoenix* An interesting theory... *strokes chin* *edges away from puddle/lake of drool*
Yes, I agree. Entirely inconclusive. And yet, aren't the best tales the ones that never end...? I like to think so. Maybe you do, too.
And until next we meet, I remain...
KHNUM
