a miscellaney

First final (Japanese 101): DONE.

I only have two finals this semester, out of five classes, so...lucky me? My other one is Greek Tyranny and Democracy on Friday, whoohoo. (Well, and I had a concert, which is kind of like a final, but I've been a band kid for nine years and a music person for fourteen: I know concerts.)

Well, to be fair, I kind of count writing Dust as a final, since it, like, sums up everything I have learned about New Orleans AND Ancient Greece. Oh, Dust. I am resisting the urge to switch one of my classes next semester to either War and Power in Ancient Greece (I want to take this class SO MUCH but I don't have time without overloading on credits, since band is one credit and Japanese 102 is four) or, like, economics or polisci or something.

Huh. I never did say what I was taking. WELL THEN.

ENLS 200: Literary Investigations (required for all English majors and minors)
ENLS 361: Intro to Creative Writing (required for the creative writing concentration)
ASTJ 102: Beginning Japanese II
APMS 217: Concert Band
HISE 392: Victorianism (honors)
EENS 204: Natural Disasters

*looks at required textbooks* On the other hand, maybe I don't have to take a polisci class: one of the required books for Victorianism is Principles of Political Economy. Also Culture + Anarchy. What could that possibly be about?

Seriously, what is it with me having classes that require me to read Machiavelli? Not that I have any protest to this, because, hi, Machiavelli, but that's two classes in one year. Please to not be requiring a different edition of The Prince than the TWO I already have -- no, it's the same one I had this semester, so I don't even have to bring my other copy back from home.

Yes. I have a class called Natural Disasters. Apparently it's a lot of work, but hello, it's natural disasters. The only thing that could make me happier would be to have a class called War and Power in Ancient Greece -- OH WAIT.

*cough*

Okay, I am going to go to breakfast, then zone out for a couple of hours, then study for my history final, then zone out some more. Look, I have problems with the whole studying thing, the very fact that I'm actually doing it is shock to the system: I have a philosophical objection to studying.

And then I'm going to resist the urge to write a drive-by crossbowing in Cair Paravel. If only for the fact that they don't have cars, and also, bows are faster, which is why my Calormenes carry both bows and crossbows. Look, I think this shit through, occasionally. The rest of the time I'm all, "YOU KNOW WHAT WOULD BE COOL? SMUGGLERS. THAT WOULD BE COOL. ALSO DRUGS."

Speaking of which, I have to go look up what it feels like to be roofied. Oh, I know, I could probably just go out on Broadway and go to a frat party and find out for myself, but I just don't think there are all that many frat parties during finals week. On the other hand, this is New Orleans. The only businesses that were open when Gustav hit were the bars on Bourbon Street, and apparently they were doing a brisk business. (I loved that interview. "Yeah, we'll probably switch to water around noon and then we'll help with the clean-up, but hey! Here is the best place to watch the hurricane come to destroy our city! Also to watch the Saints play. AND LSU. Life stops when the game's on! What do you mean, mandatory evacuation?")

(no subject)

I suddenly want the story where Edmund walks into the backroom of a bar, sits down, and spends the next four hours talking the people there out of assassinating Peter. No weapons, no threats, he just literally talks them out of it.

And then, I mean, they're promptly all arrested, but hey! No one got hurt.

Silvertongue.

*gnaws lip*

I am in a Mood. A mood in which I feel like posting something, only I have nothing to post, just random pieces of incomplete fic. Some of which I don't even know what the hell they are, like the Peter/Edmund fucking/fighting, which is about five paragraphs of this:

Edmund uses the grip on his hair to drag him sideways, slamming Peter's head into the wall as he leaves bruises across Peter's ribs with his other hand, and Peter hooks a foot behind his angle and knocks him off balance, chopping the side of his hand down in the space between neck and collarbone to send him down. Edmund keeps his grip on his brother, pulls Peter down on top of him and kisses him again. "Been there," he bites off against his brother's mouth, "done that."

Or the (first) time Peter got shot down in Burma, which is, like, nothing:

"Torrington?" he whispers, but there's no answer. He remembers the sharp sound of his navigator's scream being cut off as half his plane shredded into shards of burning metal. On the bright side, most of them have missed him; Peter reaches up and pulls a piece of shrapnel out from the edge of his right eye, dropping it and clamping the heel of his hand against his face as the blood begins to flow freely. There's no sign of Torrington's body, and his plane is -- well, to be fair, looking at his plane, he's surprised he survived. He's been here before, though; he's good at surviving. He's good at being the only survivor.

Or there's the possessed-by-the-White-Witch!Peter, which is, at some point in time, going to be complete, no, really:

The bolt takes Peter in the shoulder. It's not fatal, not meant to be fatal; Edmund won't hesitate at shooting his brother but he will draw a line at a killing him, and at least he knows for a fact that Peter would do the same for him. Peter -- not Peter; Edmund knows his brother and this isn't him -- screams in shock and rage, then reaches over and yanks the bolt free as Edmund drops the crossbow and scrambles for the knife in his boot.

And then there are "Till Human Voices Wake Us" and "Old Timber to New Fires." Do not even get me started on those two, oh my God. DEATH DEATH DEATH. Human Voices was actually begun before "Once More for the Ages", and Old Timber was begun right after "In Constellated Wars" was finished.

Although while I'm dropping fic wildly, here are bits:

( Till Human Voices Wake Us )

( Old Timber to New Fires )

Okay, back to Dust, in lieu of this whole crazy "studying" concept.

sorry, day of a thousand posts

Yes! The Pevensie snark has returned! I was starting to fear we'd never see it again. I mean, there's not much of it, but there it is!

Calormene wanted posters.

"Don't feel too bad, five hundred crescents is enough for a young warhorse."
"Is that good?"
"Have you ever tried to buy a Calormene warhorse for less than four hundred crescents?"
"Have you?"
"Oh, yeah. Not easy. You have to be a very smooth talker. I've never managed it."