#misslestrange274

"And..." his voice was beginning to betray hisnerves.  Zenovia nearly smiled.  "One of them was Johnson."

Zenovia made a vague hand gesture that indicated she had noidea who Johnson was.

"J-johnson...? Your accountant?"

Zenovia looked up at last. The man's face was nondescript. She'd never remember it.  But thefear in his eyes?  That she would lookback upon with fondness.  "Are youafter Johnson's job?" she wondered lightly.

"No!  No, I--!  I only thought to warn you...if Johnson is arat, he could..."

Zenovia slammed her hands on the table as she stood to towerover him.  Not even ten in the morningand she'd already had enough of his sniveling. "All men are rats," she told him, slowly andemphatically.  "Why else would Ihave them running about in my sewers?  Ifthis Johnson you mention finds that his lips can be so easily loosened, thenso, too, can the flesh that hangs upon his bones."

"Y-yes, ma'am." The man staggered backward severalsteps, but did not depart.

Zenovia sat, reset her desk toy to swinging and steepled herfingers.  Tick, tock, tick, tock.  "Was there something else?"  She'd already forgotten his face.

"Someone else...is here to see you, ma'am."

Zenovia felt irritation flare up white-hot inside her, andlaced her fingers pointedly.  "HaveI told you before how I loathe needless communication?"

"Y-yes, ma'am." Shame her last personal assistant had gotten cocky.  She'd liked Jane.  She'd liked Jane's head between her legs evenbetter.

"Then why, if you value your position here, would yousay 'someone else' when you could give me the name of the next personwho wishes to waste my time?"

"Yes, ma'am. Sorry, ma'am.  The, uh.  The organizer.  Of the aforesaid heist.  Name given was Kinsale."

Zenovia's grip tightened. Another trifling person, and one who always seemed to dig herself intodeeper trouble just when she'd gotten herself out of it.  You could follow the rules, or you could makeyour own, and Kinsale did neither.  Zenoviaimagined crushing a windpipe between her palms.

"Ma'am?" Tick, tock, tick, tock.  "What should I tell her?"

"Send her in," said Zenovia at last, and to hersatisfaction, the man scrambled out of her office as quickly as he could.

4: What’s your favorite line of dialogue?

"Everything in this life is always more complicated than anyone would like it to be," said Joy. She waved her hand gently through the haze of lingering magic that had settled over the battlefield and her brow furrowed. "And I'll warn you, what I'm about to say is, at its core, only theoretical. Based on observation and introspection, not personal experience. I did my fair share of..." she closed her eyes, grasped a fistful of magical fog, released it— "...complicating things."

Joy opened her eyes, and Rose saw the magical haze that hung around them reflected over the glassy green. Captivated and not a little frightened, Rose took a step closer.

"Each of us has an entire lifetime to reconcile with anyone and everyone we meet. A lifetime of beliefs, of fears, of desires, of mistakes...some we'd half-forgotten until someone reminds us. And that's not even counting the personal history the two of you share, for example."

Joy turned her attention back to Rose, glassy eyes glazed over with sickly magic, yet still so piercingly clear. "But...life is long, Briar Rose. Compare a fairy to a mortal and one seems infinitely shorter, but life is the longest event any one of us shall ever embark upon." She smiled, a small, melancholy thing. "And moments?" She turned away, resumed taking slow, deliberate steps across the grass and the dirt that served as a battlefield.

"Moments are brief. The moment something inspires you, the moment something frightens you, the moment something calls you to action... If two people—two utterly disparate people, each with her own endless, transient lifetime—share a connection, even for one moment..." Joy stopped. "That is truly miraculous." She turned to face Briar Rose once more. "And though perhaps my personal life didn't exemplify it, this is what I believe in my heart to be true: whether that connection lasts a moment or a lifetime..." she averted her gaze once more "—it is worth a fighting chance."

5: What part was hardest to write?

I struggled a lot with the Sara confrontation, and I think in the end I took a bit of a cop-out just to get it done and move on.  Though it’s the climax of the plot, the plot and the war and whatnot don’t matter nearly as much as the character arcs and personal connections, so I’d much rather focus on those than plot stuff that I can make better later.

7: Where did the title come from?

AREN’T WE ALL PRISONERS.

But like.  If I wanted to get heavy-handed I could talk about the ways in which all the characters are prisoners, literally and figuratively, throughout the story.  I think it would sound kind of stupid to talk about it explicitly though hahaha.

8: Did any real people or events inspire any part of it?

No, not really, contrary to the belief of the Nine-Year-Reviewer hahaha.  What happened a lot was that the things I was reading and working on sometimes had an impact on the tone and style in weird ways.  Eg. I was working on Candide somewhere around ch 15-16 when the misery just kinda wouldn’t quit, and I think it’s sort of reflective of that style in a way.  And certainly it contains a lot of my personal existential angst, but not necessarily in the same ways or order that I personally experienced it.

11: What do you like best about this fic?

Honestly?  I like that it means something to people.  I think that means I achieved something, communicated something.

14: Is there anything you wanted readers to learn from reading this fic?

I think it’s important to try to let go of your preconceived notions of yourself and of others, and allow people to be the full extent of themselves, even and especially when that’s messy and inconsistent.  It can be very trying work, but people can really surprise you in wonderful ways if you let them, and you can surprise yourself, too.

WALTZING WITH DEATH

2: What scene did you first put down?

I believe I started with Aurora already on Thessia, and then later tacked on a bit more description of how she got there, but mostly I wrote it chronologically.

3: What’s your favorite line of narration?

She thought, vaguely, she might be moaning, but she could not hear herself. She thought, vaguely, that she might be screaming, but she could scarcely feel the sensation in her own throat. She reached climax quickly and violently, but Maleficent would allow her no respite. Her vision blurred and darkened further as she reached another, and another, and she thought, vaguely, that she might be in pain, but she could hardly feel it, until all at once, just for a moment, everything stopped, and the world came crashing back into focus, and Aurora howled in agony, hands clutching her head, and she had something to say—she must! She must—!

But she was dying, she was going to die, and everything hurt, and she tasted blood, and the world was too bright and too real, and the thing that hurt most of all was not the throbbing promise of death in her brain but the dull, heavy ache in her chest. "You!" she shrieked. "It's you! You're the Ardat-Yakshi!"

4: What’s your favorite line of dialogue?

"On the matter of seduction as a purely predatory practice," she continued as they made their way towards the elevator, "I cannot say for sure, but I doubt that is the case. Which is an easier burden to bear? That someone who captivated your attention merely did so to get what she wanted from you, because she could not control herself, or that she captivated your attention because you captivated hers, and alas—" the elevator door closed, and it became suddenly, unnervingly, entrancingly clear that the whites of Maleficent's eyes were glowing independent of any light source "—in the end, she could never have done anything but to destroy you?"

"Which do you think is the truth?" Aurora breathed.

Maleficent's fingers, strangely long and thin, grazed the side of Aurora's cheek, and Aurora's eyes fell closed unbidden as a shudder of biotic energy coursed through her entire body. "Perhaps," said Maleficent, "it's a bit of both."

5: What part was hardest to write?

Actually this one flowed pretty naturally.

7: Where did the title come from?

“Waltzing with Death” by Jay Brannan

8: Did any real people or events inspire any part of it?

Only in my dreams–ship me off to Thessia please

11: What do you like best about this fic?

This is prob obvious and something I’ve said a lot before but I reALLY LIKE PLAYING WITH the narrator’s thought process, since it’s our window into the story.  Which is to say I really enjoyed playing with the effect the Ardat-Yakshi mind control stuff would affect the way Aurora thinks and therefore perceives what’s happening.

14: Is there anything you wanted readers to learn from reading this fic?

Hahaha I guess if there’s a moral it’s “nothing is perfect”

LET THE WORLD BURN

2: What scene did you first put down?

I wrote it completely chronologically.

3: What’s your favorite line of narration?

From part 1, I’m very fond of this bit:

After that, it was something like distant respect, coloured with a hazy sort of something else, which Elonaya was hesitant to admit to even in the privacy of her own mind. Out of necessity and a love for tradition, the Dalish had strict rules on love and courtship. Though many found their way around such rules, and though one might expect Elonaya to do the same simply out of a healthy distaste for authority, the truth was that no one had ever particularly struck her fancy. Looking at Cassandra, of all people—a human, a fearsome warrior, and a woman who would happily have killed her on sight—and feeling...whatever this feeling might be...was uniquely terrifying, and Elonaya did her best to ignore it.

She chalked it up to a troubled misunderstanding of her own heart. Because Elonaya felt so alone here, and because Cassandra had been so cold to her, and was suddenly so intent upon being marginally pleasant, she'd mixed up her emotions in her head. Nothing more.

And if, perhaps, sometimes she had accidentally blurted out something she hadn't been able to keep inside ("You're kind of a force of nature, aren't you?" A scowl. "You flatter me.", or "I think you're rather delightful, actually." A crack in the voice? "I object. There is nothing delightful about me."), well, there was only so quickly she could counteract a lifetime of unhelpful reactionary behaviour.

From part 2:

Things had changed a great deal in Thedas since the days when Cassandra had been thrown into a cell for her treacherous affections, but not so much that a terrible fear did not still flicker in her chest. She had never dared to love, she realized, because to dare had never seemed worth the risk. All her life she had done what she felt was her duty, fought and wheedled and charged headlong into orders which did not particularly want her there because she knew she must be there, for nothing else had ever mattered to her quite as much as that.

4: What’s your favorite line of dialogue?

This part hahaha it’s silly but it was one of those things that hung with me throughout the day while I waited to write it down.

Elonaya ran her hand through her hair with a heavy sigh. "I may have sort of...accidentally...developed...feelings."

When she failed to continue, Varric chuckled. "Story of my life. Any particular variety?"

Elonaya covered her eyes. "For Cassandra."

Varric choked on his drink.

"I gotta tell you, Inquisitor," he said, still sputtering, "I think I could've helped you out with wooing literally anyone else."

This amused Elonaya enough to distract her momentarily from her woes. "Oh, come on. Anyone?"

Varric's response was a cocky grin and a raise of his chin. "Try me."

Elonaya wrinkled her nose and thought of her companions. "The Iron Bull," she tried.

Varric scoffed. "Easy. Take him dragon hunting. And probably be down for some kinky shit. Come on, give me a real challenge."

"Okay...Solas."

"Likes the Fade, old elf shit, and feeling smart. Just fucking listen to him yammer without falling asleep, or even with falling asleep, simple. Next!"

Elonaya laughed, and the sound and the feel of it surprised her. She hadn't really laughed in what seemed a lifetime. "How about...the Champion of Kirkwall!"

"Hawke?" Varric shook his head. "Oh, she'd be all over you given the chance, Inquisitor—you wouldn't even have to try."

And from part 2:

"I feel as though the end must be approaching," she said. "Does that make sense to you? Not that it is, but that it must be?"

Elonaya nodded solemnly. "None of us can go on like this for much longer," she agreed. Then, a small, lopsided smile twisted the markings on the lighter side of her face. "I can tell because even you look tired."

"Even I?"

Elonaya's response was a quiet, tired sort of laughter. "You must know that without your resolve in battle, we'd all of us be dead within the hour," she said offhandedly, rummaging through her bag as though it were nothing.

5: What part was hardest to write?

I got this very strong idea about the way Cassandra framed her past lovers that I r e a l l y wanted to get the Way I Wanted It hahaha so that was a little trying.  It’s an idea that’s very emotionally gripping for me, and I hope that came across in my iteration of it???

7: Where did the title come from?

Literally just the line “For the second time in the extent of their acquaintance, Cassandra awarded Elonaya the tiniest of smiles, and Elonaya felt that she might just let the world burn around her if only she could stay in this moment for awhile longer.”

8: Did any real people or events inspire any part of it?

In a way?  For example, I’ve definitely deflected people’s advances when I didn’t want to because I was busy wallowing in my nonsense.  

I experienced a bit of the way Cassandra thinks about her past crushes, though it feels like a long time ago to me now, and I know a lot of other people who compartmentalize their emotions that way, like, oh, that was just a thing, that doesn’t mean anything.

And I know in my soul that lingering fear that everything could come crashing down at any moment–the hesitant, surprised happiness when someone shows a sliver of affection and I wonder whether it could possibly be here to stay.

11: What do you like best about this fic?

I think it flows pretty nicely for the most part, even though I riffed on some of the scenes from the game, which can sometimes feel clunky.  It made me kinda emotional rereading it to talk about it hahaha so I’d say that’s a good sign.

14: Is there anything you wanted readers to learn from reading this fic?

We’re all trash for Cassandra?  But you knew that already I’m sure.

favorite AU to write 

MALORA DRAGON AGE AU.  I’m also having a lot of fun with the Malora Mass Effect AU–the second chapter is like Ready to be finished, I just haven’t had the time unfortunately.  Basically I love Malora AUs.

least favorite character to write

I think this is glaringly obvious, but I have a very hard time writing for characters I personally dislike, or who hold viewpoints I personally strongly disagree with.  That’s why I think Sara from The Prisoner needs so much work to seem less stale and two-dimensional, and why, for example, I severely tone down Cassandra’s religious zealotry.

favorite scene you’ve ever written

I’m very proud of the most recent Prisoner chapter–been planning that motherfucker for LITERAL YEARS.

canon or AU? 

I have a weird relationship with writing, eg. within the canon timeline of any given thing, because a very large part of me demands that canon be completely adhered to even when it doesn’t make sense, itself.  My earliest fanfic was mainly about reinterpreting canon scenes and dialogue–adding thoughts and nuances that changed the meaning of the spoken words, and working non-canon bits and pieces within that strict framework.  Which was exhausting, but like, it’s what made sense to me at the time.  It was very challenging for me to break away from that.  In the early chapters of the first draft of Early to Bed you can still very much see me staying pretty rigidly within the framework of canon, and even as recently as Let the World Burn, I decided to riff on Cassandra’s actual romance scene lines.

AUs are certainly more freeing in that way–I don’t feel that nagging pressure to make my ideas mesh perfectly with canon, and they allow for my favourite cheap trick of shamelessly referencing the source material for laughs hahaha.  (see all of Maleficent’s lines in total control…i reread it today and like half of them are riffing on her actual lines in various media)

which one of your stories would you most like to see as a movie/series

I think Prisoner would make a kickass miniseries, a la Angels in America.  Like there are six of them and each one is movie-length but crazy people like me watch them all in one day.

one song that captures “Let the World Burn”

I’ve been thinking about this all day, because this fic was one of those that I just obsessively kept writing without regard for sleep, and I was in hyperfocused mode, so I wasn’t listening to music.

The song that hangs with me as a response, which may not make a ton of sense on the surface, is “Not In That Way” by Sam Smith.

And I hate to say I love youWhen it's so hard for me.And I hate to say I want youWhen you make it so clearYou don't want me.

I'd never ask you, ‘cause deep downI'm certain I know what you'd say.You'd say, ‘I'm sorry, believe me,I love you, but not in that way‘ 

In the actual game, Cassandra and the Inquisitor can go from a place of such hostility and mistrust and misunderstanding to a deep and trusting friendship in a fairly short time, even if they don’t see eye to eye on major issues.  High approval and enough flirting will get you either the start of her romance arc if you’re a male, or a gentle, halting rejection if you’re a female--but the scenes are very similar.

So in Let the World Burn, once Elonaya has gotten past the hate and mistrust, she’s got this tragic crush, because Cassandra is kinda the bomb.  And she’s pretty sure Cassandra couldn’t possibly return her affections, but then again, there are some signs that lead her to believe it’s not entirely impossible, just...mostly impossible.  She’d never bring it up, because she’s pretty sure she knows how it would end, and she’d rather just hold onto that tiny flicker of hope.

So then, Cassandra is the one to bring it up, and her rejection seems kind of...not quite like a rejection.  Elonaya doesn’t want to push for something when Cassandra has turned her down, she just harbours this horrible, uneasy, hopeful feeling that it kind of really seems like Cassandra didn’t quite mean what she said.  So it’s the same as before--logically she knows she should let it go, but there’s still this nagging possibility that won’t let her move on.

From Cassandra’s perspective, it’s less an individual pining and more an overarching belief that the romance she longs for isn’t possible for her.  She looks back on the other women who have captured her attention, reflects on how poorly those instances turned out, and ascribes those memories to Elonaya.  It’s not so much that she doesn’t want to find herself drawn to this particular person, but that she has tried to devote herself to her duty, and doesn’t want to feel like her resolve in this matter which has caused her so much grief in the past is slipping.

Even at the end of the story, which is arguably happy, Cassandra remains hesitant and disbelieving.  She’s sure the punchline is coming--Elonaya will die, or won’t want to be with her once they’re out of imminent danger, or the people at the party will disapprove, or the Chantry will disapprove, or something else bad will happen.

You will never know that feeling;You will never see through these eyes.

Where Elonaya retained a flicker of hope, Cassandra retains a flicker of fear.

do you plan or do you write whatever comes to your mind?

Mostly whatever comes to mind, until I’ve got enough to work with for planning purposes, if that makes sense.  I tend to kinda throw a bunch of stuff out into the universe and see what sticks, what I want to expound upon, etc.

do you write linear or do you write future scenes if you feel like it?

Oh, I absolutely skip all over the place.  The result is sometimes my linear writing catches up to the future writing and the future piece doesn’t fit anymore and has to be scrapped, because I won’t, like...aggressively lead the writing to that place if it doesn’t flow naturally, but it is nice when it works out the wayI planned.

how many unfinished ideas/stories are you working on at the same time?

There is honestly no fucking telling man.  So many.  Like I’ve got six word documents open on my computer right now, something like 15 things in my drafts, and that’s just stuff that’s readily available to me hahaha.

writing advice

I think my biggest piece of advice would be, think about whether a human person would actually have the train of thought that you’re writing out.  You don’t usually look at someone and assess every detail of their appearance/personality unless it’s relevant to what’s happening, or you’re just meeting them.  So it’s weird when your character does it.

Same goes for characters making sweeping generalizations about themselves.  Unless they’ve just done something and are the sort to think, wow, I’m so kind because I did this kind thing just now, usually we don’t categorize ourselves when we’re just going about our daily lives.  Frame introspection around actions to make it seem more like a natural flow of thought--I did these things today; I’m feeling this way about them; what does that say about me?

People were screaming.  Running, panicking, stumbling around corners and even towards the doors, though those were already blocked by rather intimidating men in dark clothing.

But none of these things–screaming, running, panicking–was in Maleficent’s repertoire.  As such, when someone caught her by the arms and held what was unmistakeable a gun at her back, her posture remained much the same.

“Nothing personal, darling, I’m sure,” said a female voice in her ear–light, airy, musical.  Maleficent glanced over her shoulder, saw only a masked face.  “Well, perhaps a bit personal, after all.  You are lovely, aren’t you?”

Maleficent scowled instinctively in response.

“You there!  Do you want the nice lady to die because of you?  Thought not.  Anyway, not to worry, darling.  They’ll be done in a few moments.”

“Never heard of such a cordial criminal mastermind,” Maleficent murmured.

“Yes, well, neither have I, frankly, and it gets a bit old.”

Maleficent watched as this mystery woman’s henchmen–accomplices?  partners?  superiors?–prevented the poor, singular bank teller with the large, sad eyes from pressing his little alarm button whilst they carried out whatever it was they wanted.

“Fine operation you’ve got going here,” Maleficent said.

Somewhat surprisingly, the mystery woman took the bait–one of Maleficent’s questions was answered.  “One must have forces to do one’s dirty work, darling.”

Despite her apparent willingness to talk, the mystery woman did not seem to falter in her aim of the barrel of a gun into Maleficent’s back.  

“A well-oiled machine, almost,” Maleficent continued.  “Do you do this sort of thing often?”

“Only when I have to,” was the unexpected answer, accompanied by a strange falter in the voice–a wrong note in the musical composure.

“When you have to,” Maleficent echoed, thoughtfully.

Odd that another woman was able to restrain her by physical force–Maleficent was an imposing person simply by nature–but she did not know anything about guns, or very much about combat.

“Doesn’t seem as thought you’re doing this for the thrills.”

“This?” the woman inclined her head in the direction of her henchmen working away.  “No.  This?” gentle prod from the barrell of a gun at her back.  “Perhaps a bit.”

Nevertheless, once her confirmed henchmen had exited the building, and the sound of speeding cars could be heard outside, the mystery woman gestured to the figures at the doors, who allowed the fellow bank-goers to exit one by one.  No sound of sirens yet.  They would certainly get away.

Maleficent felt the mystery wonan’s grip around her elbows tighten, felt the gun’s barrell prod at her back.  “Shame we had to meet like this, darling.”

“Certainly never been called pretty before.  Let alone at gunpoint.”

“Truly?”  Genuine surprise.  Now the grip on Maleficent’s arms was loose enough that she could pull away, but for reasons not entirely explicable, she did not.  “Well, that is really a shame.  Under different circumstances I’d surely try to get a number out of you.  Or at least a name.”

“I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours.”  Almost at the front door now.  Last of the exiting hostages.  Sirens in the distance.

“Fair enough.”

“Maleficent.”

The mystery woman breezed past her, so light on her feet Maleficent briefly imagined her defying the laws of gravity alltogether.  Beneath the mask, Maleficent could see warm brown eyes.  “Kinsale,” she said, smile evident in her musical voice.  “But if you intend to go crying to the police,“ she amended, over her shoulder as she strolled away from her own crime scene, “I’ll warn you it’s frightfully easy to disappear.”

And then, true to her word, she was gone.

By the time the police arrived, it had begun to snow, and most of them looked like they would very much like to go home immediately.  Maleficent was in shock, which on her probably looked like contempt bordering on hostility, so they didn’t question her much.  Regardless, she didn’t give Kinsale’s name.