Week 5 Sketches
(to be updated often)

i. Notes on Sr'Yzr
Sr'Yzr stalked. He called it "hunting," said it was good for the soul. His ears were so keen, he could hear the ladies' gossip from a hundred yards, word for word. His eyes were so sharp, he could count every leaf on a tree. If only those were his prey.
If it weren't for those eyes and ears, a wild mixture of vermin and predator, he would have been strikingly handsome. He would have looked like a hero, with the scar over his heart from a well-aimed Thendroni arrow. But the eyes inspired both respect and fear.
Sr'Yzr's laugh was musical, like a dirge. Slow and deep and mourning. When Airen heard the deep chuckle of Sr'Yzr's mirth, he knew death was coming.
Sr'Yzr's markings did not just glove his hands; his arms were pitch black to the elbows, and he wore leather boots to enhance the effect. He was proud to be darker-handed than his father.

ii. Jeremy
Jeremy is the son of a chemist. His dad works for the government. That's all I really know about his home life, except that his mom's a sometimes-lesbian who gave him condoms, some Playboys, and moist towlettes for his thirteenth birthday.
He's got this big brown hair and these gray eyes that are wild with ideas but kind of shaded by pot. Jeremy's the one that got me into gaming. He was always arguing about rules with this other guy in chemistry and talking about his characters. I loved listening to him. He's always so passionate about everything. And I mean everything.
This story has a lot to do with Jeremy and his LiveJournal. He had this talent for capturing attention. Like he did when he was talking about gaming, only if he knew someone was listening he would actually try.

iii.
Right now, my red corduroy jacket is lying in the basement at Grampa's house. I want it back. It's too big, it's too dark, it's missing a button, but I want it back.
I think I wore it every day in Europe. It smells like life, smoke and cough drops and motor oil. A Beethoven enthusiast spilled coffee on me once. I think he apologized, but everything in German sounds so angry so he could have been saying something completely different.

iv.
Bitch bitch bitch, Roberto from Roberto's. That's all he ever does. I'm so sick of listening to him. He gets twelve Italian baguettes every day, $1.51 a loaf. That's dirt cheap. He doesn't get to complain. But he does anyway.
If I didn't get paid for this, I'd hang up on Roberto every time he called.

v.
“J’ai besoin d’une vie,” I tell Katie day after day. And it might be true. Life just takes it out of me, you know? At least, work does. Reading fifty pages of Chrétien de Troyes a day’ll kill ya, I swear. Every day, watching the most handsome knight being honorable to the most beautiful lady in the land.

Hell, I could do that. Write like Chrétien, I mean. Watch me.

This is the story of the Knight with the Unusual Name, le Chevalier du nom inusuel. He found a damsel one day who was crying in her tower, so he climbed the tower and saw her and said she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. He made love to her and told her he loved her. She promised herself to him. The next day, he moved on to a new land and did the same thing. Oh yeah, and his name was…

God, Chrétien de Troyes sucks.

vi.
Q called me around ten. I hate it when she calls me that late. I was already in bed. It was a Thursday, and I had school in the morning, but so did she and I guess that's why she thought it was okay. She thinks everything's okay. That's her problem.
Inside that pretty blonde head, Q doesn't really know anything. I get at least one call every week that sounds guilty with a smile. It hurts like hell that she doesn't take me seriously. Whining my name like a siren. "Bessiiiiiiieeeeeeeeeeee!" There's an emergency coming and she doesn't even know it.

vii.
I don't really know why I didn't tell Adam that part of why we couldn't work was how he treated Q. I guess it should have been obvious to a normal person, but he had Aspergers so I guess there was something missing in that line of thought. He said she deserved to die. But somehow his brain just didn't see that that was wrong. After I said it was over, and I was crying for God's sake, he posted. There's something evil in a man who calls a bloodhunt. That same force made him call us "fucking elited bigoted Christians," me and my whole family.
Him and Jeremy, man, they were evil.

viii.
At the end, we were all alone, except Jeremy. All of us were grasping at distant hands for some kind of companionship that we had destroyed. I lost everyoe. Q lost more than that. She lost more than that. All she has now is a therapist in a sunny office.
Jeremy has the fame and glory of a murderer, a federal assassin who took out the most dangerous criminal mind of our time. They love him, and he loves us all dearly.

ix.
She tried to make her life a chick flick. If she had her way, Q wouldn't have parents, criticism, or consequences. Sometimes I think she pretends they don't exist, and that's when she gets in trouble and calls me so late at night. For some reason, I am her designated shoulder angel. Why the hell am I the voice of reason? I'm insane! And she's always so proud when she talks about her latest conquests. Then she talks to me and regrets the lot of it. "Why didn't anyone tell me?" she says, forgetting that I told her ten times yesterday alone...

x.
It has to be cream-colored. A textured fabric with swirling raised patterns. It won't give me hips. The skirt will hang to the floor in heavy, loose pleats that make me look tall, because I'm not wearing heels to walk down the aisle.
Mom will say it has to be white, my being a virgin and all, but I need red in my wedding. A red sash around my waist and a red ribbon in my hair. Tall black boots in an elegant Renaissance cut and a dark red rose in my hand. And a sword in my belt.