Well, you forced me to do it. So, here it is. Fan-fiction part.....ummm.....i can never get this right....watevs...
<JUST A HUGE NOTE: DRAGONA, I DO NOT HAVE YOUR PICTURE YET. EXPECT IT EARLIEST TOMORROW-sorry>
Here's something i prepared earlier, on account of me having no internet access:
XD thnx guys, you just brightened my day. To tell you the truth i had a pretty crap one, 2.'
Well, actually, it was only crap at the end.
So listen. Most of the girls and guys at school will steal your stuff and write things on it like "so and so thinks shes hot" or draw things on it. Right?
So i had it pretty bad for a while, but then they moved on, and just now i thought i could trust them all.
So i brought my draft book to school.
Now, my draft book is the book where i write all of my drafts for the fan-fic in. Believe me, when this is all over, you will be hearing a lot more about it. At the end of the day (its been pouring rain ever since 2:00pm) the school got to stay inside. So at the last lesson, we were all messing around in the classrooms and all of that. I was in a really cool teachers classroom, Mr. Crocker. it was packed and loud but i didn't mind. After some persuading, i got on his computer and started writing the fan-fic, while copying off of my draft book.
And behind me is one guy (i will not say his name) who is talking to the teacher with this other girl (still, not telling).
Now, i finish writing the fan-fic, and so i place the book to the side of me and play some games on the comp. I get bored, turn around and start laughing with this guy. He;s not technically my friend, but i wanted a laugh. I pulled out these random yellow circles of paper around about the size of my hand spreadout and made a joke with them, and the guy, being the idiot he is, grabs them and throws them point blank into my eyes.
I recoiled, asking him what the hell he was doing. he just sat there, staring. The circles are now all over the ground, and my eyes are hurting heaps. I turn to the computer to try and mask the fact, and i swallow the lump in my throat. 15 seconds later the teacher swivels his chair and sees the dots all over the floor. He asks what happened and, of course, the idiot guy says that i threw them on the floor. I tell the teacher the truth and he doesn;t listen, so i end up picking them up. Idiot.
But that's not the main event. Then, as i go back to the computer and start playing my game, feeling extremely fragile, i notice my book has gone missing. The girl has got it, and has her back facing me. Now this girl isn;t one of the main annoying people. She doesn't steal my stuff normally, and she doesn't say rude things or embarassing things behind my back. But there she is, hunched on the table, now holding a permanent texta she grabbed from a table. Fearing the worst, i ran around the table to see her writing on my book. I try to grab it from her, but she pulls it away, saying that she is only tracing the hands (its a textbook with random hands imprinted on it.). i stand there watching her trace the hands carefully. Satisfied, i move back to my seat. Minutes pass, and suddenly my ears prick up. The guy is now sitting next to the girl and he's sniggering, glancing in my direction every now and then. I pray like hell that they aren't doing anything to my book, but i know that they are. I stand, just as she replaces the book on the table. I stare at the love hearts and scribbling that now takes up the front page, including the "I love S-J" (a person at my school who everyone makes jokes about....cos in reality she's really zickig-look up this word in german-).
The girl looks at me and our eyes meet. I feel my face burning with anger. I put my gorram trust in this person. And she throws it away like it was nothing. Then, blustering, she says that it was the guy's fault, who has already left. But we both know that;s not true.
I ask her what the hell she thought she was doing, when i said only trace the hands, and she went against her and my words. Realizing how bad her mistake was, she then asks me if i would like her to fix it and i nod solemnly. She rushes over to the cupboard and opens it, flicking through the pages of my book. She sees no margins or titles, and notices (her eyes widen) that this is my writing book. She then prattles on about how good i am at the poetry that i read out last month to the class, while she sifts through the cupboard. Im not listening. I am only asking myself one question. Why? Why the hell did she do that? Why did God let her do that to me?
She grabs a piece of red paper and rushes back to the desk, grabbing the sticky tape. She prattles on once again to her a friend about my writing being so good while laughing nervously and taping the paper over her scribbles. I just stand there, silent and fuming. She hands me the book, smiling hopefully and i snatch it back, gripping it tightly. I stalk out, slamming the classroom door and moving to another classroom. I sit in a seat while the world moves around me, anchored to the spot and boring holes with my eyes into the red paper-makeshift cover.
God, i hate her.
Answers to previously asked questions:
I am 14 and in year 8. Everyone in my class is 14, or turning 14 this year. I guess things are done differently in your country, i dont know.
I do write alot. Every second that i grow bored i open my diary, find a new page and write a poem or a couple of lyrics to a song that i might have been listening to earlier. My whole world revolves around the internet, drawing and writing like hell.
GOD NO! NOT THE GLEE QUOTES!
the horror...oh god, the hooorrroooorrr.....
I have noticed, Alexzz, and i do thankyou. I really like my character as a semi-main person. Plus, i think its great that you tend to write your story in the perspective of someone other than yourself. THAT, as Mary Hiashi would say, is having 'class'.
btw, i do draft alot.
And that's about it. So, without further ado, i give you part...um...:/....just a moment...
AH GOT IT!
FAN-FICTION PART 3!!!!
Dragona Pine was being watched. He didn’t know who it was, but he felt that they were getting closer every moment that passed. His hands lingered by the dual blades strapped to his back, but he casually passed off the movement as a stretch so that he didn’t tip off his stalker.
He dropped to the ground of the old warehouse, pretending to tie his shoelace. In reality, he was reading the air around him, waiting for a disturbance. He didn’t have to wait long.
When he felt the air shift he instantly sprang forward, rolling to his feet some metres away. His blades came out and he slashed at the cleaver that stood there, slicing through his clothes and across his chest.
“Shit,” cursed Dragona, prodding the now unmoving body before him. He knew that he had mere minutes before the others were killed in their sleep. He heard a cry of alarm and turned to the wall of crates beside him, sweeping his arms. The crates flew apart and let him run straight to their camp.
The campfire lit everything in an eerie light, glinting off of the scythes that the cleavers swung. Dragona’s friends stood back to the crates ahead, fighting for their lives against the cleavers. With a roar, Dragona charged forward, his twin katanas slashing through the ranks of cleavers. But soon, he found himself in the same position as his friends; surrounded and being attacked by relentless foes.
Suddenly Skyril was beside him, throwing a knife into the throat of a cleaver. They stood back to back, battling on through the cloudless night.
A cleaver got lucky and jumped forward, rushing Dragona. He cursed once more, sending him towards Skyril for her to finish off. She looked up just in time to see a cleaver topple on top of her, stabbing his scythe through her leg. She screamed and a shape flickered into view beside her-Mary Hiashi- and then flickered back out of view again, carrying Skyril on her shoulders.
Necros jumped in to take her place beside Dragona, swinging the strange gauntlet on his arm so that it ripped right into a cleaver’s chest. Necros was still a mystery to Dragona. He had never heard of him and Dragona tended to stay away from people he didn’t know. And, as Dragona struck down yet another Sanctuary soldier, Necros was using the butt of his eccentric looking gun to knock the cleavers unconscious.
“Necros!” called Dragona. “What the hell are you doing? Hurry up and kill them!”
“No!” Necros yelled back. “They have a just cause-I shouldn’t have to end their lives!”
Dragona shoved a cleaver to the ground, stabbing a katana into his back. “It’s them or us, Necros. Now help me, for God’s sake!”
Suddenly, the cleavers charged, forcing Dragona to retreat. Necros took a deep breath, wishing that he was anywhere but here. Then he lunged forward at a cleaver in front of him. Moments before they collided, Necros seemed to disappear, then re-appear behind the cleaver, his gauntlet covered in fresh blood. The cleaver stumbled, touching his chest experimentally, then dropped dead to the ground. Necros continued to the cleavers surrounding Dragona, jumping past them- no, through them, thought Dragona- and landed far away. Gore dripped from the gauntlet, and Necros stood still, head bowed. Dragona stood, glancing around at the carnage that lay around him.
Mary’s image faded up next to Dragona. “Are they gone?” she said.
“Looks like,” he replied, scanning the bodies. “No thanks to you, by the way.”
“Hey!” Mary said defensively. “I was helping Skyril into the van!”
“Do you hear that, Necros? Mary was helping Skyril into the van,” he said sarcastically. “That totally beats us taking out all these cleavers.”
Necros didn’t answer. His head was still bent low.
“Necros?” said Dragona, stepping over the body of a dead cleaver, courtesy of Necros’ gauntlet. As Dragona reached out to touch his shoulder, Necros whipped around, batting the hand away from him. His eyes glowed red and Dragona stepped back-the whole floor seemed to tremble and shake beneath him.
“Don’t ever,” said Necros, his voice deadly quiet, “make me kill like that again. Ever.”
“But Necros…” Dragona didn’t understand. “It’s what we do. It’s what we-”
“No!” Necros’ voice filled the warehouse, and his waist-length hair flew wildly around his head, yet there was no breeze. “It’s what you do. It’s what babarians do.”
“No!” Necros’ voice filled the warehouse, and his waist-length hair flew wildly around his head, yet there was no breeze. “It’s what you do. It’s what babarians do.”
The runes engraved in Necros’ blade glowed red and all of a sudden there was a ball of crackling red energy in his hand. Dragona took another step back. Things were getting way out of his control. But that was the least of his worries.
Seven figures dropped from the crates above, landing with complete grace. Skulduggery Pleasant lead them, gun in one hand and flame in the other. The rest of the formation consisted of six cleavers, their suits a dark charcoal.
“Hang on…” said Mary. “What’s up with their clothes?”
“Elite,” breathed Dragona. “Damn…”
“The ‘Elite’ are these six cleavers, created after the first White Cleaver was seen. They are rumoured to be just as good as him. Let’s hope that rumour’s not true. Necros, you up for a fight?”
Necros was sitting on a crate, mesmerised at the bangle he was holding. His head shot up when he heard his name. “No. No more shall die by my hand in this dark hour.”
“Fine,” said Dragona, and Necros went back to staring at the bangle. “Just me and you, Mary. You think we can take them?”
Mary unsheathed the huge Shaolin Broadsword strapped to her back. “I don’t know. Chances are, we won’t make it.”
Dragona grinned, turning to face Skulduggery. “I hate chance,” he murmured, then called loudly to the skeleton. “Hello detective, having a nice day?”
Skulduggery slid the last bullet into his gun and thumbed the safety, but held it by his side. “Surprisingly, no. Now are you going to come quietly, or will I have to use the Elite?”
“Oh, don’t worry, detective. We’ll hand ourselves over. No fuss, I swear.”
The skeleton’s head tilted slightly. “Really?”
Dragona smirked. “Nah, jokes. Bring-it-on.”
They charged, and Dragona concentrated, swinging his arms wildly. Six cleavers and one skeleton were flung through the air, landing perfectly among the crates.
Dragona didn’t waste any time cursing and instead drew his dual swords. He gripped the handles tightly, until veins started to show along his wrists. There was a spark and the blades caught alight; burning until the metal glowed red.
“Nice,” said Mary, and then her form seemed to melt into the background. She reappeared behind an Elite cleaver seconds later, sword in hand. Dragona watched as she raised her blade, but before she could strike, the Elite spun around and grabbed the sword, twisting it until it fell from her grip. He kicked her in the face, turning the sword so that he held the sword in one hand and his scythe in the other. He started towards Mary but her image flickered and she faded to nothingness. The Elite just shrugged, sheathing his scythe and weighing the broadsword in his hands. He stepped forward and re-joined the ranks of the cleavers.
“Ah, Hell,” said Dragona, and they charged towards him. He blocked a scythe to his left, bringing the hilts of his katanas down on the attacker’s helmet. He aimed a kick behind him and it connected with the sternum of an Elite. Skulduggery’s hand came out of no-where and struck him in the windpipe; he went down and didn’t get up.
The Elite swarmed him, batting him with the blunt ends of their scythes. He needed to reach his fallen blades. If only…
Something smashed into the back of his head, and he sprawled onto the ground. But his swords were just in reach now, and he inched closer to them.
He closed his hands around the hilts and rose to his knees, just as the Elite closed in. They rained blow after blow on him with the pole end of their scythe. Dragona closed his eyes, absorbing every blow with an endurance the cleavers had never even dreamt of. That is, if they had ever had dreams.
Slowly, one by one, the Elite stopped hitting him. Was he dead? The cleavers thought. He hadn’t screamed or begged or cried out in pain. Had they…defeated him?
Dragona’s eyes opened. “My turn,” he whispered.
He brought his blades up, igniting them as he went. He turned a complete revolution, standing and slicing at the Elites. They stumbled back, but somehow the blades had not penetrated.
Dragona took a step onwards, reversing the grip on his swords and stabbing them into the ground below in one swift moment. A wave of flame extended outwards from the ground he stood on, sweeping the cleavers off his feet and sending them flying. Seconds later, Mary appeared beside him.
“Were you there all along?” Dragona asked, frowning.
Mary shrugged. “Pretty much.”
“Then why the hell didn’t you help me?”
“Oh. Well, if you haven’t noticed, one of them took my sword. Speaking of which…”
Dragona glared as Mary moved to retrieve her broadsword from the cleaver that had stolen it. He was laying motionless on the ground. Dragona saw a shape move behind her and went to warn her but it was too late-a gloved fist punched her in the back of the head and she went down. The rest of the shape emerged-the skeleton detective- and clamped shackles on her wrists.
Dragona moved to help but a burning cleaver raised his arm and tripped him. The cleaver stood up, and Skulduggery waved his hand, extinguishing all of the burning bodies. The Elite stood, rolled their shoulders, and simply dusted themselves off.
One of them came to Dragona, kicking him in the face. Dragona glimpsed the small tag poking out of the bottom of his suit-Bespoke Tailors. Bespoke, Dragona thought. Of course.
Dragona waited until the cleaver was standing right above him, and then he struck. His right foot snapped out, collapsing the Elite’s knee. Dragona sprung to his feet, punching a cleaver in the chest and tackling another.
The cleavers closed in. He beat one down with a well-placed kick to the head and then somersaulted over the rest, landing next to Mary. The cleavers recovered, attacking relentlessly. But Dragona seemed unable to stop himself; he blocked and flipped and weakened his foes.
Suddenly the cleavers parted, and there was Skulduggery with his gun pointed at Dragona. There was a pause, and Dragona looked up and stared at the empty eyes sockets of the skeleton detective. He saw no mercy there.
Then the pause was over and he pulled the trigger.
After two or three seconds, Dragona realised something was wrong. The bullet stayed exactly where it was, right in front of his head. The cleavers seemed suspended where they stood, arms bound by darkness.
Dragona watched the bullet slowly lower itself to the ground, noticing a sliver of shadow whipping away from it when it touched the ground. His eyes followed to a tall figure stepping down from the crates above. Her eyes were sky blue yet angry, and sharp shadows curled around her gloved hands. She swiped her hand and the shadows holding the cleavers spiked, ripping right through the clothes they wore and killing them instantly.
Skulduggery strained against his bonds. “Please,” he said. “Stop this madness.”
Kallista Pendragon smiled creepily. “Why?”
She whipped her hands straight and a spear of shadow zipped from her gloves, piercing Skulduggery’s skull and shooting him to the other end of the warehouse.
“Well?” she said to Dragona. “Do I get a thankyou, at least?”