Friday, 22 February 2013


Laria blinked as she read the message, the letters suspended, glowing, in the air in front of her. She passed a hand through them, as if expecting this to change them, or make them somehow solid. This was... not what she had expected.

She stood up, and walked to the balcony that overlooked her docking bay in the KK-owned station. Lots of ships. Lots of nice ships. Crying out to be used.

Laria turned back to her holographic display and called up the interactive star-map. There was an awful lot that she hadn't seen yet. And though this idea scared her, maybe that was the essence of adventure.

Still, it did seem like some kind of betrayal. A big betrayal. She called up an old old program and stepped into the middle of the holographic field, then looked in the mirror. A pair of large wings sprouted from her back, waving lazily in the breeze, just the merest hint of incorporeality indicating their nature.

It was definitely an idea. 

Monday, 18 February 2013


This is so not my fault.

Do not mount my corpse, you freak
I am not there, I will not squeak
I am thousand au away
Exactly where I cannot say
Since you blew up my ship and pod
And dare to think that makes you god
When you look upon my shell
Imagine it damns you in to hell
Or perhaps to live in Rancer
With the other pirate bastards.
Do not mount my corpse, you shit
I am not there, on you to spit.

Target Practice

*thunk* The knife hit the wall, hilt first, just the right of the handsome Gallente face projected onto the bulkhead. Laria, reclining on one of the couches in her quarters, hissed irritably. She grabbed another knife from the box by her side, and holding it by the blade, threw it again. This time it struck side on, just to the right of the image's left eye, and fell to the floor, clanging as it hit the small pile of knives that had gathered there, looking faintly like some kind of offering.

"Shoot my ship," she muttered, flinging another knife. *THUNK* *CLATTER*
"Shoot my pod." *THUNK* *CLATTER*
"Steal my corpse." *THUNK* *CLATTER*.
"Bastard." *THUNK* *CLATTER*

She stopped. "Get a grip on yourself, Raven," she said. "All you have to show for all this is a slightly dented wall and a more realistic view of your knife-throwing skills." She nodded. That was better. More grown up.

It lasted about three moments. "He said he was going to mount it!" she wailed, and grabbed for another knife.

*THUNK* *CLATTER* "Bastard." *THUNK* *CLATTER* "Bastard."

She had a lot of throwing knives in that box. It was going to be a long night.