tinhuviel: (Muse)

Despite breaking into a clumsy trot, pinwheeling his arms in an attempt not to succumb to his boot toe catching on a rise in the sidewalk pavement, Flint felt himself topple in slow motion, sprawling across The Osmond Family’s star on Hollywood Boulevard.


“So much for Vampiric grace,” Flint grumbled, pulling himself from the ground as tourists studiously ignored the spectacle before them.  Why were there so many tourists out at 2 in the morning? Flint wondered.  Raising his voice to where he could be heard, Flint groused, “Hey, shows over, eh?  Pictures’ll cost you extra!”


The tourists widened their berth around the irked Vampire, as he brushed the grime from an outfit that already looked grimy and unkempt.  The clothes weren’t dirty, they were just old, well-worn, and much too large for Flint’s slight frame.  It was his wardrobe that was responsible for his fall, because the size discrepancies weren’t reserved to just Flint’s threads, but also his shoes.  Flint’s proper shoe size was between a 9 and 10, depending on the make of the shoe.  The boots on his feet were size 13, and the sole of the left boot was loose and floppy.  Flint called it his rubber flapjack.

Satisfied with sorting himself after the tumble, Flint reached into one of his overcoat pockets and pulled out a wretched-looking cigarette, along with an even worse-looking book of matches.  Without moving from the middle of the sidewalk, Flint struck a match, and cupped it to the cigarette, taking a long drag, then exhaling slowly toward the night sky.


Out of the corner of his eye, Flint caught the disapproving glare of bearded young man approaching him, probably on his way to the subway station nearby, given his non-tourist appearance.  He was in just the perfect mood to not let the silent judgement go without comment.


“Calm down, it’s not like I’m a corporation belching filth into the air around the clock.  I think you’ll survive having to pass me on your way to whatever hipster convention is eagerly awaiting your arrival.  They surely can’t get started with their hardcore smugness without your retro arse in attendance!”


The man stopped in his tracks, his scowl deepening.  But when Flint flashed his fangs in a predatory smile, the scowl turned to dismay, and the young man hastened away, no longer concerned with the peril to his lungs.  Funny how people forgot minor dangers to their person, when they realised their throat could well be on the cutting board.  Flint chuckled, his mood buoyed by the brief encounter. He began to walk again, puffing away and humming to himself.  

tinhuviel: (Tim Roth)

Four days and three nights passed before  Cadmus’ house went quiet.  Out of desperation, Flint had resorted to Vampirising his fellow rats, as he waited for his chance to flee the Plenipotentiary’s lair.  It was shoddy cuisine, but desperation made the blood taste much better than it actually did.

Even though the place had fallen silent, Flint was more than a little frightened that Cadmus was still present and waiting for him to attempt an escape.  If Cadmus was a master of one thing, it was absolute stillness.  Flint had never been more afraid in his life, truth be told, and that fright conflicted with his impulse to flee immediately.  He fought the urge, however, knowing that it was all too likely that Cadmus was waiting silently for Flint to reveal himself so that he could sacrifice the young vagabond Vampire to his Harming Tree.

He could sense the sun sinking beyond the mouldy stone walls of his dungeon hide-out and decided to give the silence one that night and the following day before he attempted to spirit himself away from the hidden keep.  After draining another rat, Flint slept, curled up in amongst his living brothers, but still shivering from cold and trepidation.

For most Vampires, patience was something that came with the territory of immortality.  Waiting for anything was like blinking your eyes in the scheme of things.  It all passed so quickly, the endlessness and variety.

For Flint, however, patience had always run thin.  Although he almost always was of a mind to shrug off the world and walk his own vagrant path, waiting for anything he wanted or enduring any situation that was not ideal to his whims of the moment were both nigh untenable, especially if he did not have anything else to busy his mind whilst forced to exercise a virtue that simply was not part of his make-up.

Flint opened one beady rat eye and glared at his brothers, who all seemed content in the deep crevice shared by the colony.  He was beginning to feel claustrophobic and irritable.  It had been 24 hours and, still, the keep was silent as death.  Raising his nose, Flint sniffed the stagnant air, and caught no scent of the Dark Child of Night.  Cadmus had to be gone.  This could be Flint’s only chance to escape the horrors of his killing ground.

Rising from the dank floor, Flint stretched, emerging from the ancient gash in the stone wall.  Instantly, he became his human form once more, immediately crouching in a defensive position.  You just could not be too careful with a creature like Cadmus Pariah.  His powers were boggling, and Flint felt he had been nothing more than lucky to have escaped the Plenipotentiary’s lethal wrath for this long.
tinhuviel: (Can't Stop Writing)

Things have been going on, so this may be a bit of an update from Hell, compared to my usually non-updates.


First off, my phone has been on the fritz for who knows how long.  It’s not actually the phone, but the Cricket network.  I went yesterday to try to sort it, but the folks at the store couldn’t even troubleshoot it, so they had to put in a service order, which means up to 72 more hours of no service.


Since the first of the year, my health has been shite.  Recurring migraines with the most vicious nausea I think I’ve ever had, has beaten down my body more than I could have ever imagined.  In the past month, I have lost 10 pounds, and spent three days in the hospital, thanks to these fucking headaches.  I’m thinner now than I have been since I was 12 years old.  It has gotten to the point where I can’t even walk to the bathroom, which is right beside my room, without my having breathing difficulties and a pounding heart.  I feel like I am dying.


But, I might get to tick one thing off my bucket list before heading into the Void, if I’m lucky.  Jeff Lynne is bringing ELO back to the American stage on September 9th, 10th, and 11th of this year, at the Hollywood Bowl. When it was announced, I emailed a bunch of people with a proposition that, if they could get the tickets, I’d try to arrange us a place to stay.  My old high school friend, Andy, has always dreamt of attending a concert at the Hollywood Bowl, and he bit.  We’re just waiting for the tickets to go on sale, if I can’t finagle them earlier than 1 May.  The target day is September 10th, as that’s the best day for Andy.  It’s also my birthday, which would be perfect.


Speaking of Jeff Lynne, David Bowie’s unexpected and untimely death made me come to grips with a truth I’ve known for a long time, but never truly verbalised, even to myself.  I decided to accept it and to come out, to use the term in a wholly different manner.  I wrote Barry Andrews and told him that he was the single most influential individual in my life, more so even than even the godlike Jeff Lynne and JRR Tolkien.  I wanted him to know it, in the event either of us kicks the bucket.  You should tell people how they affect you before it’s too late.  It could be too late in the next five minutes.  No one knows what each second will bring.  No one.


A few weeks ago, there was a huge shake-up in the format of the Work in Progress that officially made it into a full-fledged novel in the works instead of a collection of short stories.  I don’t even know what brought it to mind, guessing it had to be some kind of divine inspiration.  The long and short of it, though, is that Flint steals the New Hive’s first - and currently only - relic, Cadmus Pariah’s Harming Tree.  The story will revolve around Cadmus hunting down Flint, with possible help from Orphaeus Cygnus, and will include the stories and vignettes I have already written about the Harming Tree.  As The Blood Crown was essentially a Vampiric Hope & Crosby Road movie in book form, The Harming Tree will be a bit of a book version of a hunt and chase movie, kind of in the vein of Mad Max: Fury Road and the like.  I have asked Barry if he could drum up a photo of his harming tree, which is seen only briefly in the ‘Captain Cook’ video, and is obviously the benign inspiration, despite its name, for Cadmus’ dreadful tool of agony.  It would be good to have a very clear image reference as I continue this mad journey into the Darkness.  I need to jog his memory, though, as it’s been two or three months since I asked him.  I’m sure he’s forgotten, and I keep forgetting to remind him.  We are old as fuck.


The end.

tinhuviel: (RepLogo)

The Flint Cheat Sheet

Character study on the Darkling, Simon Flynt

  • flinttapeta.pngBorn Simon Flynt in the post-Mortality years near Waltham Forest (now Epping Forest, which ispart of Greater London) to a blacksmith and a baker/midwife. One sister, named May.

  • Developed a strong friendship and bond with childhood friend Gareth Owen, whose family had relocated to Waltham from Wales.

  • Transformed into a Vampire at the age of 27 after leaving a pub for home. The Vampire who transformed him is unknown, but was probably part of the Darkblood Hive, passing that lineage on to Simon. He was given the Vampire name of Absinthe, suggesting that the Vampire who had brought him into the Hive was quite possibly French. Simon rejected the name and returned to his mortal name, hiding his new identity from family and acquaintances. Only Gareth knew what Simon had become, and took that secret to his grave. After it was obvious he was not aging, Simon pretended to leave Waltham, when he actually just took refuge in the forest, feeding on hunters, travellers, and anyone else who may happen to find themselves in the depths of the wood. Gareth also gave blood to Simon, who now called himself Flynt, deepening their bond.

  • After the death of Gareth, then an old man, at the hands of none other than Cadmus Pariah, Flynt changed the spelling of his name to Flint and joined a roving band of actors who put on Passion Plays in each village they came upon. Flint could only perform at night, and used the excuse of artist's preference as to why this was.

  • Moved on to become an artist in London, painting and sculpting all manner of subjects, from landscapes to people. He also took up swordsmanship during this period, the rumours of his prowess in this becoming local legend.

  • Sailed to America once his eternal youth became suspect in London. Was known in the southern colonies to be an eloquent travelling preacher. Was one of the first to hold nighttime tent revivals. Was often called Brother Flint during this time.

  • Relocated to New York to begin a new life, once again finding a niche in the art world.

  • Bounced from region to region in the US until present-time, where he settled in Los Angeles and no longer bothered to hide his Vampiric nature. Flint the Vampire became well-known in the club, art, acting, and Beat circles.

  • Has large round hazel eyes that occasionally flash an eerie phosphorescent green.

  • Dark blonde hair, kept at a lanky length just past the ears.

  • Stands at just under 5'7”, making him slightly shorter than the small but highly dangerous Cadmus Pariah.

  • Often mistaken to be a crazy street preacher in various metropolitan centers.

  • Prefers females for his blood, but has no qualms taking males. Is well-received in the LGBT community.

  • Is fond of animals, often having a dog companion. He shares this trait with Dmitri, Kelat's soul mate.

  • Although tempted to transform his beloved Gareth, Flint has never brought a soul over to the world of Vampirism. He has just never really been interested in doing such a thing.

  • Loves to hang out in matinees while waiting for the sun to go down.

  • Is fond of comedy.

  • Tends bar in some of the clubs he goes to on a occasion.

  • Has a fascination for the modern world's technological advances and the odd fad.

  • Enjoys participating in protests and has been registered as a subversive by Homeland Security. He doesn't care. Protesting is fun.

  • Likes to be bare-footed when at all possible.

  • Visits Epping Forest as often as possible.

  • Likes to read, and has often visited Clive Barker at book signings and various other events.

  • Has a collection of swords, from his years of being a practicing swordsman.

  • Carries a camera with him everywhere he goes.

  • Likes all kinds of music, and was actually a fan of Magnificat, not recognising the leader as the man who killed Gareth.

  • Favourite emoting gesture is the shrug.

  • Possesses the ability to anubis into a common rat.

  • Cannot abide the sun, but has no trouble with religious symbols and artifacts.

  • Has a strong Compulsion and Glamour ability, but cannot maintain either for very long, mainly due to a lack of self-confidence when it comes to such magicks.

  • Chose to remain within the New Hive when the Original Ten were reconciled by the Augury of Gideon. He felt he had nothing to offer the world as a mortal, and decided to remain wandering in the eternal night.

  • Rarely kills, and only when he absolutely has to. This does not come from some lofty ethic; rather, he would prefer to dedicate all his time to the drinking of blood, not caring enough to make a kill unless his prey becomes too vocal or physical in their protests to his attentions. These are usually mostly straight men who find themselves in a compromising position with another male. Instead of having to listen to an endless diatribe against his practices, Flint just disposes of the prey and moves on to the next one.

  • Has the ability of super speed, and can run like a cheetah if he can be bothered enough to do so, and that’s not often.

  • Developed tapeta lucida upon being transformed, which may be the reason behind his strange, flashing eyes. His night vision is double that of most Vampires and he can actually see in infrared as well, seeing heavenly bodies usually only visible to high-powered telescopes.

  • Spirit animals: the domestic canine, the brown rat, the badger, and the moth.

  • Affiliate plants: most deciduous trees.

  • Affiliate gemstones: emerald and agate.

  • Scents: opium and tobacco (specifically pipe tobacco. No one knows why, and Flint doesn't really care why).

  • Music Preferences: Chamber music, Early 80s Punk and New Wave, Electronic, Hip Hop, and Trip Hop.  It has been suggested in some Darkling circles that Macklemore's Thrift Shop was a product of the artist meeting the Vampire in - you guessed it - a thrift shop.

Vagabond Vampire, Simon Flynt was born and raised in the days just after the end of the Great Mortality, near what is now called Epping Forest. After his transformation into the Darkblood Hive, at which time he was given the name of Absinthe because of his unusual eyes, Flint spent decades haunting the formerly-named Waltham Forest, long enough to become known to the people of the area as The Waltham Phantom. He does not know his Blood parentage, and had to learn about what he had become from his dearest friend, Gareth, who had learned about Vampires from a tribe of Romani passing through the forest. He is distinct in that he possesses tapeta lucida, and is seemingly cloaked from detection by Cadmus, which gives him a particular advantage when they finally do cross paths. He has long had the habit of looting thrift stores and charity shoppes for clothing intentionally way too large for his small frame. Since he is essentially homeless, his wardrobe is his home, which he wears in layers, discarding what he can no longer use, as he goes along. Flint has never used his given Vampire name, Absinthe. (anchors and influences - I’ll leave it to you which are anchors and which are influences: Tim Roth, Wavy Gravy, Ted “Theodore” Logan, Abby Hoffman, Jimmy Stewart, John Lydon, Q-Tip from A Tribe Called Quest, the Fool as represented in the Tarot, Viva la Vida by Coldplay, Inigo Montoya, Casanova, Hipsters, the Golden Age of Hollywood, Evangelical revivals and medicine shows.)

tinhuviel: (Danny Orphaeus)
So where did I leave off on the whole changing roles subject?  I think I was just addressing Orphaeus’ relationship to Kelat.

I will freely admit that my giving into Danny Elfman love was what created Orphaeus Cygnus.  I’d always enjoyed his singing, but something about his score and vocals for A Nightmare Before Christmas triggered full-on obsession for me.  As a result, Orphaeus became a former Austrian opera singer who was brought over to the Hive of the Beast by Rebekah of Judea, Thiyennen’s blood daughter, a Dhampir, who was turned by her Blood Mother Kelat, making Orphaeus Kelat’s grandson.

Because of that, I always saw him as aligned with Kelat, and he would have actively sought out her prison tomb to release her.  Of course, the prison tomb scenario never came to fruition, but Orphaeus’ connection to Kelat was seemingly etched in stone.  It became part of the story arc, and the core reason for her choosing him to become the first Father of Memory.

His closeness to Kelat also dictated an unmitigated enmity between Orphaeus and Cadmus Pariah.  Actually that, combined with Orphaeus’ desire to reconcile the Hive of the Beast with the Great Hive, pretty much put the last nail in the coffin as far as those two were concerned.  Beasts were for Cadmus’ use until he was ready to dispose of them, and they had no other purpose.  For them to become upstanding citizenry within the Great Hive would be counterproductive to Cadmus’ motives, so the attempts of Orphaeus to redeem his tribe met with violent reprimand by Cadmus, and led to Cadmus being named Pariah, as was prophesied by Gideon the Mad.

At first, though, Orphaeus was only supposed to have a short appearance in The Chalice, and possibly be slain by Cadmus in the end.  But that honour fell to Paine Bryerson, who was the character anchored to my best friend Todd.  When Todd read about Paine, his first reaction was “You write about me, and I will sue your ass.”  To which I responded, “You threaten me with litigation, asshole, I will kill off your character.  In fact, he’ll be the only main character to die in the book.  And Cadmus will kill him, ‘cos I know how you hate Cadmus.”

Of course, all of this was joking between us, but Paine did turn out to be the one killed.  That was no joke.

I was so enamoured with Orphaeus Cygnus, though, I decided to thrust him and Cadmus together in a much closer proximity to one another in the next book, just to see what would happen.  At that point, Cadmus was already writing himself, and Orphaeus was close to that zen state of character development.  The Blood Crown was established almost solely on this premise, and it became my Vampiric answer to the Hope & Crosby Road movies.  Of the three books, even though The Chalice is my baby, The Blood Crown is my favourite, because it centers almost completely on my two favourite characters, Cadmus and Orphaeus.

During the time I was writing The Blood Crown, another incidental character of mine, who was mentioned only in passing in The Chalice, flared to the forefront as my friendship with Scott, of The Joker Blogs fame, began to develop.  Faust, the Disco Darling so brutally murdered by Cadmus during the Summer of Sam, demanded that his story be told.

And this turned out to be the most difficult and agonising piece of writing I had ever tackled.  I ended up soliciting impromptu therapy sessions from Megs and [Bad username or site: ”gunslingaaahhh” @ livejournal.com] during the long nights of my writing what would become a novella inside The Blood Crown novel proper.  I also profoundly apologised to Scott on more than one occasion.  Faust went from being a Vampire with a cameo appearance, to an actual Vampire saint who would prove to be of great importance in the third book, mainly because Megs couldn’t bear to think he had actually been slaughtered.  Thanks to her, Faust got to live, albeit in a different incarnation, but live he did.

And now I’m working on The Harming Tree, which was initially going to be a collection of short stories on how Cadmus came to grips with his newfound emotions, one by one, with the help of his “new relic” for the New Hive, the dastardly and bloody Harming Tree.  But the writing of one of these short stories, introducing what was supposed to be another throwaway character that Cadmus would get to destroy, turned everything upside down.

Enter Flint.

This time, the character was one I couldn’t bring myself to kill.  And this pissed me off, because such a new character shouldn’t gain so much creative power in such a short period of time.  But there it is, and his existence has turned the original plans for The Harming Tree upside down.  I’m now thinking that it may be a fourth novel set in my Vampire world, dealing primarily with Cadmus’ assimilation of emotion and his repeated conflicts with a young Vampire he can’t seem to slaughter.

Needless to say, Flint pisses off Cadmus as much, if not more, than he does me.  And something tells me that his role in the arc stories of Cadmus Pariah is far from finished evolving.  Time only will say for certain what the future holds for the Relics characters and how they interact with one another.  One thing’s for certain, though; Orphaeus will definitely be making another appearance in the new stories.  In fact, I’m playing around with one right now.
tinhuviel: (Frustration)

This is the first revision, with the idea of The Harming Tree being more of a novel than a collection of short stories. There will be more changes here until I no longer find all this revolting.

After the song of the Augury of was sung, the Great Hive was terribly decimated by the mortation and purging of the Vampires. Gone were the last Tarmi of the Hive of Purity, finally rejoining their brethren on the holy isle of Meybhelahn. With them went the only human to grace that hidden home since the Night of the Blood Moon. Eve had fulfilled her destiny and was given her reward of sanctity, despite being Cadmus Pariah’s sacred garden of Blood. The Hive of Redemption collectively mortated back into the human population along with a number of Darklings of the Darkblood Hive. Most of the Tribe of the Tomb perished, finally being released from their crippling burdens. Those who were left also mortated and led short lives in human form. The only Vampires left were most of the Darklings and those of the Hive of the Beast. Less than five thousand Vampires walked the blessed dark, feeding upon the blood of the living.

Few of the Vampire Blood Royalty survived. Orphaeus Cygnus remained the High Prince of the Beasts, happy in his position and undesiring of any greater responsibility. Rebekah and Mephistopheles had never sought power within the Great Hive and had no desire to rise to power now that the King was dead and the Queen had passed into the Tarmian realm. Thaddeus Brannon had retaken his name of Dmitri and had disappeared into the Blue Ridge Mountains to mourn his departed lover. The only one left was the true heir to the Throne of Blood...Cadmus Pariah. The newly-born Vampire, aged to a certain regal beauty, had achieved all that he had dreamt, save for the death of his mother, Kelat. He had outlived his former master, the Apostate, and risen to power within what was now called the New Hive. Humanity was his for the taking, as were the spirits in the New Hive, a resplendent and neverending feast.

But he was not King. After Thiyennen, there could be no other king and, as long as Queen Kelat lived, the leader of the New Hive was considered a regent of the night. It rankled Cadmus, but he was barely concerned with this technicality because he knew Kelat would never return to the world of humans and Upyr. He was truly the ruler of the New Hive, but his title had to reflect his position on the throne. A coterie of Darklings and Beasts convened with Cadmus, despite their fear and hatred of him, and they decided upon the title of Plenipotentiary, the Ruler of All. Cadmus accepted this cognomen and rose to power over all the New Hive, his dark eyes watching the Upyr with dread magicks.

Still, he fed upon the Blood of the New Hive, reminding them of the Sanguinem Mittat and who was their eternal master. But he mostly took humans for food now, and basked in the ability to eat and drink the vast banquet of human food. He was more of a sybarite than ever before, and his West Country home was the center of the pleasure palace he called the world.

But all of it came with a price. Cadmus was fraught with all the trappings of emotion and he found himself countering the agonies of certain feelings with ghastly behaviour. Dogging him almost to the point of madness crept a Darkling who had always been masked to Cadmus’ boundless vision. He sought retribution for those who had been murdered to soften the blows emotion so often incur on those who feel, and he wandered on the peripheries of Cadmus’ world, waiting on a chance, any chance, to end the rule of the Plenipotentiary, by way of destruction or desire...or a strange combination of both.  Driven by vengeance, yet inspired by a kind of fascination, this Darkling was unlike any other in Cadmus' long night.

Herein lie the tales of Cadmus in the early days of his role of Plenipotentiary of the New Hive, the newfound enemy he was incapable of simply destroying or ignoring, and the object he found most sacred as he navigated his way as a Darkling walking a path of desire and revulsion: the Harming Tree.

tinhuviel: (Flint)
When I first started The Harming Tree, it was initially going to be a collection of short stories, each one based on Cadmus re-aqcuiring one of the many emotions abused out of him beginning at a very early age.
I had two stories written already, and was working on The Star Watcher and what was to be Cadmus' realisation of the ultimate emotion, love, in a story involving essentially Cadmus' mirror image, Gethsymonae. I had half of The Star Watcher left, and a rough outline of the Gethsymonae laid out, when the old computer went kaput. None of the files could be save.
So, while I tried to recapture my Star Watcher mojo, and play around with the idea of Cadmus falling in love, I wrote this little drabble that eventually became The Waltham Phantom. I was so enamoured with the idea of Tim Roth being a Vampire, I thought it would be good exercise to see what would come out of such a hellish partnership, what kind of Vampire would be born out of the idea of the Roth. Once I got to play around with the idea, I would of course let Cadmus have his Blood, and forget about the throwaway Darkling.

But I had a wee bit of a problem. Well more than one, actually. The Harming Tree was nowhere to be found in this story, which made it non-canon for my purposes. Also, I really liked Flint. I enjoyed his laissez faire outlook on life, his almost supernatural ability to give even less of a fraction of one single fuck. I liked that he had no concern for the clothes that he wore, only that they had to be large, so more close could fit underneath, and the many pockets could hold as many cigarette butts as possible on any given occassion. It was like he was the founding father of railroad hobo-ism. I could not bring himself to die in this story, but I had to figure out a way where Flint would be able to escape Cadmus' unequivocal grip. Enter the Wall. That vague psychic connect that blurred each Vampire to the other. Sure they could sense one another, Cadmus much more so than Flint, given his superior abilities, but neither could really pinpoint the exact location of the other. This was new to Cadmus, who could touch on every Vampire in the New Hive. The older they were in the ways of Vampires, the more easily he could see them. This should not have been a problem with Flint, who was a mere 19 years out from the Great Mortaliity when he was turned.

So yeah, he got away, with the help of actually feeling rage toward Cadmus for killing his best from from childhood. And he swore revenge on Gareth's behalf before swirling himself into his totem animal, the rat, and running into the Night.

So that was the end of the first short story, and I figured I could just let it go. But Cadmus could not. Cadmus wanted Blood, and Flint's in particular. Now anyone who has known me for any length of time, knows that Cadmus is more than just a character to me. He's like my demon child. He talks to me. He writes himself. I'm pretty much reduced to being his scribe for the things he wants to say. Flint is different, though. Flint throws wrench in pretty much everything Cadmus intends to do. So, with the second story, this time officially canon, with the presence of the Harming Tree, I was fully prepared to give Flint a wave goodbye as Cadmus made swift meat of him.

And meat was had. Oh, indeed, meat was had by both of them, just not in the way I had intended. I only posted the story here in order for a handful who knew they could find it, could read it if they so wished. Most were excited by the idea of Cadmus having a bit of a love/hate relationship with another. Orphaeus was never in that particular position to fill such a role. His and Cadmus' dynamic had more of a Rosencrantz and Guildenstern vibe, though neither were ever even a mite close to being an idiot savant. As I said, though, Flint is different. Flint is well-prepared for the eventuality of anything coming his way. He doesn't give one single fuck about anything...except avenging the death of his best friend.

All that said, Flint could very well be the shadow in the peripheries of Cadmus' world. He could be a witness to the atrocities laid before him. He could watch the Harming Tree grow. And he could turn Cadmus' existence upside-down on occasion, driving him mad with desire or pushing him into a realm of fury Cadmus did not know even existed. Flint could be the catalyst that the Harming Tree had yet to find. He could make the relic a reality to all Vampiredom. He may have the power to expose Cadmus for his dread deeds upon the subjects he is to be ruling. Flint may well hold the key to what The Harming Tree is all about.

That said, The Harming Tree is well on its way to becoming a proper novel, with each short story I had initially mapped out, being a chapter therein. This way, the non-canon stories, the ones that do not directly involve the Harming Tree, can also be included, and will actually enhance the overall story of the first relic of the New Hive. And it will allow Flint to live indefinitely, and quite possibly let him grow into an entity almost as powerful as his enemy and lover, Cadmus Pariah.

I am so doomed.
tinhuviel: (Flint)
Just a few seconds ago, I had a bit of a Vampiric epiphany.

To my knowledge, Cadmus has never engaged in full Ambrosciata (the act of Vampire lovemaking wherein the Vampires involved exchange their Blood). He's always promised it, but never follows through, taking Blood until the other Vampire lay spent...and dead.

But, despite being appalled by it, his attraction to Flint is quite real, so the Ambrosciata is complete this time. And therein lies the loophole of Flint's indefinite hold on life. He drinks Cadmus' Blood. He is the only Vampire on Earth to have ingested not only the Plenipotentiary's essence, but also the last remaining Tarmian blood on Earth. Since he was already degaussed, for lack of a better term, from Cadmus' full sight, this added strength only makes him more elusive.


When he escapes from Cadmus' altar room, he can remain hidden from the Abomination indefinitely.

Oh hell no.
tinhuviel: (Flint)

tinhuviel: (Rothian)
Well, not really; I'm just trying to step away from the inebriated madness of last night. My excuse is perfect: PHENERGAN. That's what the doctor gave me for the nausea. So far it has worked, as I just had a potato about an hour ago, and that was the first bite I'd had since Tuesday night.

I didn't think I had committed to memory the grand mal seizure I had that night. Well, actually, it was very early Wednesday morning. First thing I lost was my bearings, and I fell a couple of times just trying to get to the bathroom. Third time was a charm, though. My vision went wibbly and I suddenly woke up on the living room floor. I'd bitten my tongue again, could hardly move pulling myself with my arms, much less stand up. The TV had automatically turned off, so it was pitch black in the house. No light and hideous confusion is not a good combination, when you're trying to get some help. It took me a good half hour to finally dial the phone right, after I finally got it knocked down from the table, with an umbrella. It was as though neither the cell nor home phone would properly work. In actuality, it was my fingers that would not work.

Finally, I got in touch with Janice around 3:30 in the morning. She called 911 and I was hauled off the E/R to be monitored to see if I needed to stay in hospital, or if I could go home. I did my best to behave as though I had gotten my bearings and consciousness back, because I had the initial interview with my new therapist, the one who specialises in grief, and I really didn't want to miss that. It's been a year this month, and it's taken me this long to actually get somewhere. I wasn't about to let a seizure put that off.

The meeting with the therapist went very well, I believe. It's still a tentative arrangement, but I think I'll warm up to him nicely, and I really think he'll be able to help me. The issue I have is with myself. I'm not inclined to allow myself to be open about much, unless I'm baring the soul (and a little leg) here on the Cliffs. He mentioned that journaling may well be a good outlet for what I'm dealing with. My thought was, dude, you don't even want to know about my journal! haha

Since the incident of the other night, I've been spending the evenings at Uncle Michael's and Janice's. I just did not, and still don't honestly, feel comfortable with being alone when I still felt like a mean jelly. I will probably go up to their house again tonight, especially if I'm still a tad nauseous. If I have to have more phenergan, I want some physical support in the event I fall out from the medicine.

Regardless of where I stay tonight, I'll definitely have the computer with me, because I need to finish this damnable Feeding the Tree story. It's pretty much a given now that Flint will survive to perish in another tale. If it keeps up like this, Flint will end up being a staple for The Harming Tree cycle. God/dess only know what B will think of these stories, if he ever reads them. Maybe his advice to go nuts with the idea of The Harming Tree will be something he regrets. We'll see.

Tomorrow, I need to finish paying my bills and I need to clean this house up. In trying to find something, anything, to reach the phone, I pretty much trashed the living room. I really despise domesticity. What I hate even more, though, is not being allowed to drive for six months. It's gonna drive me (no pun intended) bonkers.
tinhuviel: (Cadmus)
So this is what's poured outta me so far this evening. (the sound the centerpiece is making was inspired by the sound The One Ring makes just before it's devoured by the fires of Mount Doom ~ just FYI)

"Flint tried to study the legendary altar of the Plenipotentiary. It was the only thing that could be seen by the dim light of the candle. There, at its side and just touching the altar, perched upon a staff was a scalp, its red hair just as shiny and vibrant as the day it was ripped from Orphaeus Cygnus’ head. The single candle was affixed near the fore of the altar’s surface by way of its own wax. Cadmus had no need to use it to illuminate this room. He knew it well, but could probably also see the vastness implied by the sentient dark. To the left of the candle there lay an obviously ancient bell with an inscription on it that used no lettering Flint had ever seen. The right side of the altar was ordained with a small scourge with what looked like claws at the end of each leather tendril. But in the center…well, the center is what concerned Flint the most.

There it sat, resonating with its own strange music, an alien throbbing that inspired fear and fascination in eaual measure. Its tortured limbs reached toward a heaven that would reject it for all time and all times thereafter, and on them were stretched centuries of flesh, trapped and aching."
tinhuviel: (Can't Stop Writing)
How about a musical correspondence to these damned characters as they play? Why? Why not? Done in real time as I writing "Feeding the Tree."

  • The Airborne Toxic Event "Sometime Around Midnight" - Cadmus Pariah

  • Digable Planets "Rebirth of Slick" - Flint

  • Shriekback "Despite Dense Weed" - Cadmus Pariah (wow, you think?)

  • Alphaville "Forever Young" - Flint

  • New Radicals "You Get what You Give" - Flint

  • My Live with the Thrill Kill Cult "Sex on Wheels" - Cadmus Pariah

  • The Eels "Fresh Blood" - Cadmus Pariah

  • Filter "Nice Shot" - Cadmus Pariah

  • Dukes of Stratosphear "What in the World" - Flint

  • Shriekback "Psycho Drift" - Cadmus Pariah

  • Oio "Sohoro" - Cadmus Pariah

  • Dave Matthews Band "Why I Am" - Flint

  • Swedish House Mafia "Greyhound" - Cadmus Pariah

  • Shriekback "Vast Behaviour" - Cadmus Pariah

  • Cyndi Lauper "I Drove All Night" - Flint

  • Tears for Fears "Break It down again" - Flint

  • Shriekback "Month of Sand" - Cadmus Pariah

  • Nine Inch Nails "The Becoming" - Cadmus Pariah

  • Apocalyptica "Hope vol. 2" - Cadmus Pariah

  • Big Audio Dynamite "The Globe" - Flint

  • Folk Implosion "Natural One" - Cadmus Pariah

  • The Smiths "How Soon Is Now?" - Flint

  • The Verve "Bittersweet Symphony" - Flint

  • Andy Partridge "Another Satellite" - Cadmus Pariah

  • Digital Underground "All around the World" - Flint

  • Loreena McKennitt "Skellig" - Flint (hahaha, I just could not resist)

  • Blur "Girls & Boys" - Flint

  • Ronan Hardiman "Warriors" - Cadmus Pariah

  • Alabama 3 "Hypo Full of Love [the 12 Step Plan] - Cadmus Pariah

  • Stereo MCs "Connected" - Cadmus Pariah

  • Primitive Radio Gods "Standing outside a Broken Phone Booth with Money in My Hand" - Cadmus Pariah

  • Matt & Kim "Daylight" - Flint

  • Peter Gabriel "Mercy Street" - Cadmus Pariah

  • Fluke "My Spine" - Flint

I'm done.
tinhuviel: (Flint)
As I slodge through this story, "Feeding the Tree," I have learned the following things:

  1. I am way too fond of Flint for my own good.

  2. I am pretty much incapable of "going all the way" with Cadmus and Flint, although I'm gonna keep trying.

  3. BA does not care one bit how much I corrupt his artsy/craftsy object. "Go nuts," was the sentiment, if memory serves.

  4. The Internet is more a hindrance than an asset when you have anchored characters, because you learn really quickly that anchors can suddenly raise their ugly heads (an expression, not an opinion), and remind you that the world is smaller than a flea these days.

  5. I am unable to write on this story until after the sun goes down.

  6. Writing both Cadmus and Flint at the same time is increasingly a detriment to my mental health.

  7. I think about "Feeding the Tree" more than write on it because...#2.

  8. I should stop doing Google searches on anything, ever. Amen.

In other news, that will make no sense to anyone but me (well, maybe @miintikwa), when offering up a picture of pants, please have some pants on. ::dies::

I think that's it. Now back to wrestling with this story...
tinhuviel: (Flint)
For what it's worth, I wrote this whilst jacked up on the Green Fairy - a lovely indulgence that seems to inspire artists and writers. I believe that now.

They kissed again, deeply this time, lingering in each other’s deliciousness, basking in the desirability of their dark union.  Flint wrapped his arms around Cadmus’ neck, delighting in the lushness of his flesh, and losing himself to the impossibility of one soul being as irresistible as the Pariah was.  He delighted in that he was engaged with the Prince of all Vampires, the Plenipotentiary himself, wrapped in the ecstasy of the flesh.  Flint was no stranger to such indulgences, being one of the Darkbloods, but he wasn’t very experienced in the pleasures of the Blood.  Vampires typically were not beating down his door to have Ambrosciata with him, so he was surprised and aroused by the idea that Cadmus Pariah wanted to exchange that holy elixir.  Intellectually, he knew it was most likely a ruse but, emotionally…physically, he really did not care.  Cadmus was the most beautiful of them all, and the most desirous.  Flint was aroused by the mere thought of him.

Cadmus leaned into him and purred in his ear.  “I am your grace and your forgiveness.  I am your dreams and your desire.  I am that which visits you in the deepest dar.  I am the whisper in your mind and the madness that accompanies that song.  I am the words upon your tongue and sweetness upon your lips.  I am the abomination you dare deny and the sacrament for which you seek.  I am that which you encircle and surround and that which embraces and devours you.  I am all that and so much more, young Flint.  So much I want to be for you, at least for this monumental day, here in the secrecy of sacred places.”

Flint was overcome by the eloquence of it all, and he took Cadmus’ lips fully into his own, savouring the ginger and papyrus that was his Darkling essence.  Cadmus returned the kiss, glorifying in the knowledge that he had possessed one more Vampire, taken him from the night like a babe, promising him the love of ages and the wonderment of eternity.  Flint had so easily been misled…then again, Cadmus did feel an undeniable attraction to him.  Perhaps it was because he was a Darkling and inherently sexual; but, Cadmus had often taken the Succubi and the Incubi of Darkblood.  It should not be an issue for him now.  But it was.  Flint sang to him in the silence of his existence, in the haunted echoes of his mind.  He placed his face against Flint’s and breathed in deeply, taking in his musk and tobacco, actually luxuriating in it this time.  Flint had cast a kind of spell on Cadmus, making inexplicably want him for real and true.  Cadmus rarely felt any kind of attraction, preferring rather to engage in its fallacy for the sake of feeding.  But this time was different.  This strange little Vampire who was actually smaller than he had captured his attention, had aroused his curiosity and his own strange desire.

Cadmus looked at Flint and began to peel the layers of garments that masked his thin frame.  He was as perfect as any human could be, which spoke volumes in Cadmus’ pristine world.  Eventually he reached Flint’s slight chest and he leaned down to kiss the delicate clavicle.  He was, in his own way, a very lovely specimen, despite his hobo appearance.  At least the clothing was clean, save for the overwhelming scent of various kinds of tobacco.  There was that musk, that undeniable musk that was so attractive.  It was not the musk of the lotus, which belonged to Cadmus and his papyrus identity, but something a bit more animal, something that, in its own way, was quite irresistible.  Cadmus inhaled the scent tumbling off Flint like waves.  He found himself wrapped up in its glorious seduction, and he felt the stirrings of the Darkling’s sexual inclinations.

tinhuviel: (Roth = Lovely Man)
Well, this night has been most momentous. B was well-pleased with the first reaction to Shriekback's version of "God's Gardenias." He emailed a response to me about that, so I'm very happy that he's happy.


And this is most monumental...

Tim fucking Roth responded to one of my Tweets! ::dies::

Here's the exchange:

TRHOOLIGAN1: true and of course W got two terms
TINHUVIEL: That is because people are INSANE. (not everyone in the South is a tackhead...)
TRHOOLIGAN1: I've met many who aren't.


So, apparently, he doesn't think I'm a complete nutter, based on nothing but the Tim Roth Tutorials. There were only supposed to be five of those anyway. I'm keeping it up because I've heard from so many Hooligans who really love them. Wonder why? Ha.

I've been imbibing Absinthe this evening, which is kind of ironic, given Flint's Vampire name (Absinthe), so I would draw on some strange inspiration from the Green Faery. Well, it's worked, and hearing from B and Tim Roth only compounded the mental state I am in. I am writing like a bloody fiend.

Who knows? I may actually overcome my prudishness about their encounter, and go ahead and write out the NC-17 activities. I am so going to Hell.

**EDIT** yeah yeah, I ordered B to go to bed, as it was 3:30 over there. WTF? Man really is a Vampire, I just know it. He responded with "absolutely." About 15 minutes later, he logged off and went to bed. Bossy Tin is BOSSY! heh.
tinhuviel: (Cadmus Wrath)
"I am your grace and your forgiveness. I am your dreams and your desire. I am that which visits you in the deepest dark. I am the whisper in your mind and the madness that accompanies that whisper. I am the words upon your lips and the sweetness upon your tongue. I am the abomination you dare deny and the sacrament for which you seek. I am that which you encircle and surround and that which embraces and devours you. I am all of that and so much more."
tinhuviel: (Flint)
Well, I went over to the body shop to look at Speck and get my stuff out of him. The front right side of him, along with the wheel is pretty beat up, but that's all. The cop had told me that the guy involved in the accident had more damage to his giant truck than I did to my Smart Car. He was boggled, and so were the folks at the body shop. Since the motor is in the back of the wee car, they believe that he can be repaired, no problem. I won't know for sure until the Nationwide agent goes out to eyeball him. Hopefully, that will be Wednesday. I have no idea how long I'll be without wheels, but at least it's a good bet that Speck will be back with me as soon as possible.

I asked Megs to sketch me an interpretation of Flint based on the cheat sheet. She came up with something brilliant. I can see Cadmus seducing and (maybe) slaughtering him, but I will probably let him live a little longer since I already have a way for him to escape Cadmus' grasp. Anyway, here's the picture of Flint. Sit in awe of Meg Farley!

tinhuviel: (Flint)
Ambrosciata is Vampire sex, involving the act and the taking of Blood from one another. I am going to bust Hell wide open... And I deserve it.

He took Flint’s earlobe in his mouth and bit just enough to break the skin.  Sucking the Blood that grudgingly relinquished to his ministrations, Camus reached under Flint’s dusty, smoke-saturated overcoat, around to his back, and brought the Darkling up from the bed and closer against him.  He entwined his legs around Flint’s waist and down to his legs, wrapping around him like a spider circling its web, trapping the hapless fly.  And Flint found himself loving it, surrendering to the spider’s deadly attentions.   

tinhuviel: (Flint)
Extremely rough, but I'm afraid not to save everything here.  (skimming over this, I see two Easter eggs...unintentional.  I am bloody hopeless.)


“Mm,” Cadmus answered distractedly. Flint looked behind him and saw that Cadmus was immersed in the virtual reality of the Internet. He began easing back around the bed to the door. Surely one of the adjacent rooms they had passed might offer up sanctuary and even escape. But Cadmus looked up at the movement and shook his head. “Now, where do you think you are going, my titch?”

“Don’t –“

“Call me ‘titch.’ Yes, I know. But see, Flint, I do as I please, and it pleases me to call you ‘titch.’ Protest all you want. This will be your last day of resisting my Will.”
Cadmus opened his vast eyes to their full effect, drinking in all that Flint had been or would ever hope to be. In that one moment, suspended in sublimity on a thread of time, Flint was enraptured in Cadmus’ infinite eyes. He was completely lost in those eyes, black within black within the endlessness of all that is darker than black. He wanted to find repose in those eyes. He wanted those eyes to gaze upon him forever, two endless coals of seduction mingling with his own phosphorescent strangeness. Closer and closer still, Cadmus drew his face closer to Flint’s until his lips touched his.

Cadmus pulled Flint to the bed, straddled him, pinned him down.

“You crave this lushness,” Cadmus said. “You wish to have my lips upon yours, to feel their Elfin fullness upon your own. The mere thought of it pleases you. Admit it, Absinthe. Own your desire for me, who am your Elven progenitor."


“Speak, my young beauty. Say the words you have so long wished to utter. I know that you want me, in your dreams ever day as you sleep hidden away from the mighty star sun. Speak it, my odd little man. Utter the truth in your words.”
Flint held his breath, closing his eyes with all his might against the wonderment of Cadmus’ endless gaze. Yes, he wanted him. Despite his preference for the female persuasion, Flint desired the impossible beauty of Cadmus Pariah. Desperately did he want him. Leaning up to touch his lips fully on Cadmus, Flint kissed him, and felt the purity of his desire.

But then Cadmus withdrew, propping his chin on his spider hands, his elbows resting comfortably on each side of Flint’s thin chest. Next came that unbearable smile again, the very expression of the damned brought full circle.

“Like so many of your tribe, you Darkbloods, your weakness is sexual; then again, it does serve my purposes so very often. The Blood of the Incubus, or Succubus, any kind, is charged with a particular level of sanctity. The Little Death wrapped so snugly within the Greater. Ah, but I must admit that, on a certain incomprehensible level, my desire for you reaches just beyond my need for Blood…or the hungers that lie within my sacred Tree. Your mess, the whole of you, it sings to me on some unexplained level. My hatred of you is tempered also with a kind of fascination, and a special brand of…confusion. That is something I have not yet felt: confusion. Why is it that such conflicting apices could reside in the same plane of awareness?”

“I am not an apex, Cadmus.”

Cadmus blinked his infinite eyes with unconcern. “When you boil it down, young Absinthe, all anyone or anything is, is merely an apex masked in the fallacy that is emotion. Such is the reality of my sacrament. It bears for me the scars that realised apices may carry within their wily traps. You are nothing to me but an apex barely conceived within the nightmare of my reverie. You are a blip in the perfection that is my reality, something to be dispensed with and discarded, as soon as you are used up to my satisfaction. And what is so amusing by this, is that you are privy to all of it, yet you still willingly participate, because it is impossible to deny the undeniable. Especially when that which shall not be denied desires you above all others. At least for this day of days. Before you die, you may drink of me. Be the Blood of my Blood. Taste the flesh that, by family lineage alone, remade your own. Possess me in body, as I also possess you…in body, in Blood, in soul. This is me, as bared as perhaps I shall ever be, but only because I know that you will never see another luna to tell of it. Only by the branches of the Tree shall you be known for time immemorial. In the Tree, and in my undying memories of secret indulgences. Now, tell me, titch; do you have anything under those layers of thrift store bargains, or are you nothing but a ghost with revenant eyes?”
tinhuviel: (Flint)
What I have so far, very rough draft. I'm saving it in increments here, because I'm scared to death of losing files now. Move along, nothing to see...

move along, nothing to see here )

Not Funny

Jul. 5th, 2012 11:48 pm
tinhuviel: (Cadmus Wrath)

After reading what I have written on 'Feeding the Tree,' I have come to a godawful realisation regarding the blatant homoeroticism that's so prevalent between Flint and Cadmus.

And I am not fucking amused with my brain, or the world, or anything right now.

The subconscious, how it burns.
tinhuviel: (Flint)
I had intentionally avoided iTunes for the past few days and, as a result, I have not written in the past few days. So, I opened iTunes this evening. And I'm right back to the Terrible Three. Suddenly, Flint is very real to me again. It should be Cadmus but noooo... Flint has somehow been woven into the mix, irreversibly I am afraid. So what do I do? It's either keep iTunes open and let the songs run their course until I'm bleeding out my eyes so I can write, or keep iTunes closed and let the block take hold of me.

What sorcery is this, anyway?

I want to write, but this is just too much. The anchor for someone I have actively lusted over for over six months now should not be so deeply connected to the anchor for my Demon Child. Not via three little songs. Okay, three BIG songs.

Now I won't be able to listen to these songs without thinking about Flint. And I won't be able to write Flint who should already be dead without thinking about these songs.

And that's what I don't understand. One of these songs is like Ultimate Swag times Infinity, and Flint is like the Anti-Swag. He's about as unswaggy (that's not even a word) as a person can be. You can't swag in shoes three sizes too big. You can't swag dressed in Vagabond Chic. You shouldn't be able to swag when you should already be fucking dead!

These songs are inherently Cadmusian, particularly the Ultimate Swag tune. Why can't I ever intentionally link songs up with the proper character? It's like one of the prettiest, one of the gentlest songs I've ever heard, "Clubbed to Death," turned out to be Cadmus' theme song. How did that even happen? And, even though Flint's connectedness to the world is "Viva La Vida" by Coldplay, he's also latched onto these three songs. I can't wrap my mind around it, nor can I dislodge the connection from my brain. And what's so pathetic is, I've already figured out a way to keep the wee bastard alive yet again, so I'll have to be careful what I listen to until I'm able to kill the fucker off.

Dammit, dammit all to hell!

Nothing ever comes easy for me, at least not in the character department.

That said, since I would have permanently lost 'The Waltham Phantom' if I had not committed it to the Cliffs, I'm going to put the rudimentary beginning of 'Feeding the Tree' here.

Oh, one more thing...when the hell did Cadmus start calling another person "love?" Pet, yes, but "love?" I'm so bumfuzzled right now, I don't even know what to say.

the story that will explain the Harming Tree...to a point )

EDIT: I just found out that "Viva La Vida" and the album it's on was produced by Brian Eno. ::kills the Universe::


Jun. 22nd, 2012 10:36 am
tinhuviel: (Flint)
Flint popped into my head and wouldn't let me be, so I started a short story a few days ago with the working title 'Feeding the Tree.' It was my intention to just go ahead and kill him off. Cadmus Pariah was going to use Flint's Blood to baptize the Tree in much the same way he dyed the Landon Dunlevy mask with Faust's Blood. But now, I keep getting these needling thoughts about how to let Flint escape one more time. I can count the the weaker Vampires who have escaped Cadmus' homicidal nature on one hand, and still have fingers left.

I can't justify Flint surviving another encounter with Cadmus, but I'm loath to let him be destroyed. I like Flint, and not because of his anchor. I think he's funny and wicked and sexy and OH SO UNCONCERNED with everything. I like that he has no problem with enjoying the pleasures of the flesh with both females and males. I like that he's a walking thrift store. I dig on his weird phosphorescent eyes.

It's all pretty well pissing me off.
tinhuviel: (Flint)
Thanks to the untimely death of my former beloved Dell, all the editing I was doing on The Augury of Gideon is gone and has to be restarted. Thanks to the wonderful Mother Unit, I have a computer on which to begin the editing process again, the Microsoft Office program to allow me to see and make necessary changes, and the file she had created with all her editing suggestions. If she weren't my mom, I'd fall in love with her in a lascivious kind of way.

I lost approximately half of the short story The Star Gazer, so I'll be trying to remember what I had written and hopefully write it all better the second time around.

I also began another Harming Tree-canon short, written in longhand when I had no computer. It's working title is called "Feeding the Tree," and it's kind of a continuation of The Waltham Phantom, seeing the return of Flint. Will he survive another encounter with Cadmus Pariah? I'd like to think he does, but I don't currently see how that would be feasible. We'll see. There's something so fabulously erotic about the Cadmus/Flint pairing, but it's also a tad too unseemly for me, considering their primary anchors. Still though...I'm so tempted to try to keep that going.

And I have not forgotten the tale of Gethsymonae. Honestly, I'm a little leery of trying to open it, as it may not be around to open anymore. If it isn't, I can only hope that I posted what I had written on The Braid here on LJ. If neither brings me joy, I'll have to start the whole megillah over again. And that will make me very sad indeed.
tinhuviel: (Flint)
Someone on Tumblr did this edit of Tim Roth. Check the eyes. Flint's eyes. Tapeta lucida. Just accurate enough to piss Cadmus right off.

tinhuviel: (Flint)
Someone just posted this picture on Tumblr. Oh Great Mother! If his hair was a bit long, he would look just like Flint.



May. 9th, 2012 01:49 pm
tinhuviel: (Flint)
Oooookay...working on Tutorial #79 and came across a scene in Deceiver where Tim Roth's character talks about drinking Absinthe. That's Flint's Vampire name, the one he rejected in lieu of his mortal name. Why does this shit happen to me?
tinhuviel: (Flint)
More synchronous goodness, just happened now.

I found the Oldman/Roth movie Meantime on You Tube and am watching now. A woman was giving the Roth character directions on what train to catch to get to her house in order to do some renovations for her. One of the trains he was supposed to catch was Epping...


Before it was called Epping Forest, that stretch of wood in the Greater London area was called Waltham Forest. Both Waltham and Epping are still used for various areas in that vicinity.
tinhuviel: (Flint)
I meant to post about this here earlier, but had computer problems and could not properly access Semagic or LJ. All that out of the way now, here's the latest blip in Tin's Insanity-Land.

Last night, I furiously wrote out Flint's history, including some unmistakable homo-eroticism between Flint and his dearest friend Gareth. This was a kind of nod to the "bromance" that has been joked about, by the actors themselves, between Gary Oldman and Tim Roth. So, I post the new addition to The Waltham Phantom here and, not an hour later, this was posted on 'Little Roth Quotes' on Tumblr.


o_0 What the fuck?

I've suffered the synchronicity thing with B for years upon years, long before I began communicating with him. But that instance from last month seemed to have kickstarted the same thing with The Roth.

That just ain't right. Seriously. Not right.

I can't win for losing.
tinhuviel: (Flint)
Okie-dokie (as Hannibal would say), last night at Diane's house, I finished up editing the first draft of The Waltham Phantom, then added over 2,000 words to the mix in order to include Flint's history, and his friendship with Gareth. I'm not sure why I didn't include this in the original, as it's quite relevant to the overall story, considering what Cadmus Pariah does to Gareth. I also injected my take on a certain "bromance" that just fascinates the hell out of me. I know it's nowhere near as extreme as what I wrote, but a girl can dream. Yes, I'm a pervo. This is the unpolished text, though. I have not yet examined it, as I wrote it in a frenzy last night. It's behind the cut. Those who read, I hope you like.

the blood brotherhood of Simon and Gareth )
tinhuviel: (Cadmus Castigation)
After having finally gotten Word back, I was able to really trawl through The Waltham Phantom and see the mistakes and omissions I had made. I've set to righting those wrongs by, essentially, making part of the story more wrong. The most changed is the last part of Gareth Owen's final terrifying hours on Earth. I wanted to make it as profane as possible, in order to bring out the proper rise in Flint. He is, after all, a bit of an insouciant individual, and I felt that the story of his friend's murder and subsequent defilement did not go far enough, especially since we're talking about Cadmus' handiwork here. So here is the first edit of that particular part of the story.

“I forced my fingers into Gareth's mouth, holding him still whilst taking my favourite knife, the one made from my dragon matrice's claw, out of the belt beneath my robes. So very slowly, which is the only way to do things such as this, if you want the blood to hold its gamey essence, I let the sharp point of the black claw slip into the aged flesh of your dearest mortal, my sweet Flint. You should have seen the look of surprise on his face, despite his already knowing that I was going to slaughter him. They never quite believe it, neither mortals nor Vampires, until you begin to take the life they had always assumed was their own away from them, one heartbeat's worth of blood at a time. He gasped for the breath he could not catch, with his throat so open to the air, and he moaned deep within the secret cavities of his chest as I let him bleed into my chalice.

“When the flow ebbed, slowing to a hearty trickle, I decided to let that remaining blood waste into the Earth. Turning the body of Gareth Owen upside down, I plunged an iron spike through the cooling meat's ankles and into the pike I had erected. I then finished its decapitation with my claw knife, and I secured the head to the top of the wooden post.”

Once more, Cadmus paused, letting a genuine smile spread grace his lush mouth, making his face shimmer in the moonlight like icy starshine behind a veil of thin clouds. He pulled the air in quickly through the nostrils of his patrician nose and he looked down at his captive audience.

Continuing, Cadmus purred the last of the cruel tale. “But I wasn’t finished exacting sacred atrocities upon this nonentity’s flesh. Oh no. I found a nearby branch and affixed it to the base of the pike and, taking Owen’s arms, I tied them to the ends of the rotting wood. He was a veritable English Saint Peter, he was. And I should know…my former master arranged for that apocryphal Jewish dissident to endure the profanities of reverse crucifixion. Despite what you may have been taught in whatever religious past you might have, it wasn’t Peter’s idea, that. It was all the Apostate, may his dessicated ashes never light in peace. At least you can take comfort, my odd little friend, that your mortal blood brother was quite dead when I strung him up like the meat that he was. Oh, and the way he looked hanging there, softly swaying in the cool country breeze! It was indeed a work of art, Flint. A true piece de resistance even for one so skilled as me. Moments such as these are the reason memories, and Polaroids, are made…to capture in the full magnificence of time that which might forever otherwise be lost.”

Cadmus allowed himself another small smile in mock honour of Gareth's gory memory, and in reaction to Flint's increasing anger. He lightly caressed Flint's cheek with his blanched fingers, enjoying the reprehension his act of pretend affection elicited. Looking down at his frozen charge, Cadmus wondered at the horror he found there, his expression filled with an angelic grace that was in no wise pretense.

“As I said, he was long past dead, by then, dear Flint. Long past it indeed. But the reflection in his drying eyes held a distant recollection of his most cherished friend, that of the Waltham Phantom, the soul he had all but given up in the last moments of his brief and sad wee life. The only thing he had not divulged was the name of the Phantom; however, had I found it important enough to do a little detective work, I would have easily discovered the name of 'Simon Flynt,' and followed the warm trail straight to your doorstep.”

Cadmus leaned down and kissed Flint on each trembling eyelid.
tinhuviel: (Roth = Lovely Man)
I knew this (found out after Flint's genesis), but to see it may well have eaten a hole in my brain.

Yeah, you can tell it's him from this picture. http://24.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_m2ycgff42o1qcp7m2o1_r1_1280.jpg

::slams head with a brick::


Apr. 8th, 2012 10:20 am
tinhuviel: (Flint)
Someone just tweeted this picture. Too spooky, considering the setting of The Waltham Phantom. The night, the cinema...all that's missing is the presence of the Great Black Bird stalking Flint, his reality nearly invisible in the vast shadows surrounding both Vampires. Fairly alarmed, yet strangely mesmerised by the coincidence (as if there were such a thing...).

<td style="border-bottom: 0px solid #fff;"> Orpheum  by Daniel Sackheim (Dansackheim) on 500px.com
Orpheum by Daniel Sackheim


Apr. 7th, 2012 07:22 pm
tinhuviel: (Flint)
Why does Cadmus call Flint "titch" so often? It's art imitating life.

From the MacMillan Dictionary: Titch - Someone who is very small.

From an extensive biography of Tim Roth:  So Roth, disturbed by his father's departure, now living in the company of artistic females, was sent into this macho hell-hole. Being short (his nickname was Titch) and named Timothy only made it worse. The bullying was bad and Roth had no physical response.

Cadmus calls Flint this because he is familiar with British slang, having lived amongst the English for centuries.  Flint hates the cognomen, and takes it as the insult Cadmus intends it to be.

See, everything is there for a reason.  I'm just glad that The Waltham Phantom has been exorcised...for now~.
tinhuviel: (Flint)

The Waltham Phantom

He spent the night in the cinema house, slipping effortlessly into a small brown rat, one of many of them that the clean-up crew would probably see. After a very productive night of watching a compelling movie, he also supped on a luscious female, who was all too happy to share with Flint the needed nectar from her veins. Spying up from across the aisle, the woman could not watch the movie for stealing more glances with every passing minute. By the time the film was halfway finished, Flint had also lost interest and was sitting next to his new admirer. It wasn't every night that the unassuming Darkling could attract a human without using an almost uncomfortably level of Glamour. He just really didn't have it in him to be naturally irresistible. So when such a opportunity presented itself, Flint always gladly took advantage of it. It would mean that he wouldn't have to kill to eat this night; rather, he could take all the blood he needed and all the pleasure he may want without the inconvenience of having his prey realise what he was doing, and begin an angry protest. Flint just could not be sussed with such, and would bring their lovely little encounter to a close by affixing his mouth to the throat of the unwilling before him, and draw out all the blood, taking the lifeless husk to his favourite hill above Tinsel Town. It was just a pain in the arse, really, and there was no bonus of intimacy to be had, just food.

Flint liked the company of humanity, even if the attentions were brief. He preferred them that way, as oftentimes, the brief encounters were the most intense. For instance, in a dark movie house, surrounded by other people, to bring a person to the desired orgasm for the best effect of taking blood was a feat that Flint was more then ready to attempt. He liked challenges like that, and Flint was not prone to do much of anything that he did not fully enjoy.

And the afterglow from this one...well, it had been more than satisfactory for them both. Blood was enough to bring a Vampire to climax, particularly the Incubi and Succubi of the Darkblood Hive. But to have a human do what this woman did to him after the fact was nothing short of extraordinary. They both floated in one another's orbits, reaching levels of pleasure rarely experienced, especially in public and particularly in utter silence. The happy lassie had left quite fulfilled, but also left Flint profoundly spent.

finally finished! )
tinhuviel: (Flint)
There are just way too many delish pictures that can be 'shopped to represent Flint. Here are just three, one of which portrays both Flint and his dearest friend Gareth.

Gareth and Flint were the closest of friends. Extremely close. It is because of Gareth's murder that Flint is now hellbent on killing Cadmus Pariah. That's a pretty lofty goal, but Flint isn't known for setting limitations on himself.

I love how the phosphorescence in his eyes is made all the more intense in black & white photographs. 'Tis mesmerising.


Apr. 6th, 2012 07:10 pm
tinhuviel: (Flint)
"The Waltham Phantom" is complete! At least the first draft, anyway. Flint survives his encounter with Cadmus, which is nothing short of miraculous, and I survived writing it so that this happens. Cadmus is fairly ticked, and I'd say he'd get over it, but Cadmus holds grudges. He'll demand some souvenirs for his Harming Tree. I won't get off this easy. For now, though, I can let rest my restless rat man, and build upon the next story, this time allowing Cadmus free rein to wreak as much havoc as he wishes.

Sleep now, Flint. You'll be back, of that there is no doubt.
tinhuviel: (Flint)
This is just too much. When I saw this picture on Tumblr, I had to go have a lie down. *glee*

tinhuviel: (Cadmus Castigation)
Pardon me, I am a tad intoxicated. Why? This is why!

Starling Murmuration and Toroidal Vortices are, by language default, the exclusive realm of Barry Andrews...or at least they should be.

But noooooooo... Murmuration apparently appears in profound ways in the movie Skellig...and I saw it like a day after I made the Illuminati video for 'Walking on the Wind,' aaaaannndddd toroidal vortices, the focus I made for 'Sea Theory' the pre-Shriek alternate version by Barry Andrews, are also called smoke rings, which can be seen HERE, being made by Tim Roth.

The very phrase, TOROIDAL VORTICES, belongs to the realm of Andrews. How could it not?

Is it any wonder why Cadmus wants to wipe the Earth clean of Flint? Hell, I want to! It's fucking my shit up, these connections. Stop it already.
tinhuviel: (Flint)
Earlier today, I heard a snippet of music that just set my skin on fire. It turned out to be 'Lux Aeterna' by Clint Mansell. I went looking for it, found it, downloaded it, and have pretty much been listening to it nonstop for the past 2.5 hours. It has been a major driving force the the Waltham Phantom narrative, allowing Cadmus to be as emotionally cruel as he possibly can be to wee Flint. I've been basking in the glory and wishing there were some way to just euthanise the younger Vampire and be done with the Flint arc.

Then... a few minutes ago on Tumblr, I was sent the link to this video on You Tube, seeing as how my Tumblr is You Tube oriented. It's 'Lux Aeterna.' I am not fucking amused by this. God is just ramping up the abuse, I swear.

Did I mention, not fucking amused? Just wanted to make sure I got that in there.

tinhuviel: (Flint)
A very appropriate line, given my issues with "The Waltham Phantom" (the Cadmus/Flint short) and Flint himself. He is pretty well pissing me right off with his insubordination to Cadmus, along with his overly-active sense of irreverence.  And now the bastard is writing himself.  The only character who has ever done that has been Cadmus Pariah.  Having two autonomous creations in my head is pretty much a recipe for utter madness.  Anyway...the line.

"There the insolent rat is subdued and is stricken and shaken."

Yeah, that. That all over the damned place. Why? This is why...

 “You and I,” Cadmus said, his voice one of dead silence scattered amongst the lilies and dry leaves. “We are cut from the same cloth in many ways.”

How...do you figure?”

Cadmus moved his head away from Flint, and averted his eyes back, giving Flint a sidewise glance that had the perfectly desired effect. Flint could not stop looking at him, so enthralled he was with the beatific Pariah.

Well, Flint, it seems that you and I are the only Vampires to walk this Vale of Tears, who can mask our passing from others of our tribe. Only the very special can do this and, apparently, I am not the only one, when all this time, I thought that I was. This is a monumental discovery, my Absinthe-eyed friend.”

Flint smiled widely. “That was what he called me, the Vampire who brought me over.”



And you did not keep the name.  Why is this?”

Flint shrugged. “I preferred my own.”


Well, Simon Flynt, to be honest. But it just morphed into Flint in these contemporary times.”

Cadmus could not wrap his mind around this ridiculous Vampire. He tried very hard to mask the emotions that spilled over when he least expected them.

So, you are telling me that you have not truly changed your name in over six...hundred...years...? And you abandoned a perfectly good name aligning yourself with a perfectly wondrous drug for this common little cognomen with which you were born into mortality?”

Cadmus felt his grasp of his Glamour slip a little, and saw Flint lean away from him, unsure as to what the Plenipotentiary was going to do. The hint of anger in the Pariah's voice disconcerted him enough to shake the unquestioning desire stabbing at his heart, if only for a few seconds. This was a dangerous creature, Flint surmised, and he must be very careful indeed.

But it was only a brief moment of hesitance before Flint was back in the throes of desire, sitting on this tree branch with the greatest of all the Darklings who still walked the Earth.

Cadmus had returned to his regal state of imperviousness, exuding every shred of Glamour he could muster on Flint without killing him with the enormity of it all. Flint seemed drunk from the effect...until he reached into his jeans pocket, pulled out an almost broken cigarette, popped it between his lips, and lit it with an equally bent match.

Cadmus did not know what to think of this. Flint should have been nigh to paralysed by Cadmus' magickal attentions. He knitted his brow and pursed his lips, watching the younger Vampire take a long drag off the scraggly fag. Flint cut his eyes back to Cadmus, full-on love shining in their strange greenness, and he said, “One of the great things about being a Vampire is you can abuse your body all you want and nothing ever affects it. You can smoke ten packs a day, and your lungs will remain like two pretty pink roses in your ribcage!”

The Dark Chylde of Night closed his endless eyes and pulled a deep breath, taking in the secondhand smoke along with the long gulps of oxygen he craved to calm his fury. What madman had turned this person to the night? Cadmus danced on the edge of desperation to know, so he could go murder him, if he were in fact still alive.

tinhuviel: (Flint)
I'm watching this movie right now, and it's probably the most insane representation of Flint I have seen to date. I mean, seriously, the hair even? Jesus fucking christ! And, I'm sorry, but Tim Roth just doesn't do a completely convincing American accent. Well, I take that back. He's pretty good with a drawl, but I've noticed a lot of Brits seem to be more comfortable with a Southern accent than with a contemporary American accent.

In other related news, I got my DVD player back to working. This makes me very pleased. Watching DVDs on the computer sucks big hairy donkey balls.

In other less-related news, I was planning on writing all day, but ended up driving to Greenville on a lark, as is documented in a previous post. While I was out, though, I got some Baileys for mah coffee, but I may have to imbibe a tad tonight and see what happens with the Cadmus/Flint narrative. Cadmus is fairly pissed off in my head right now, and I need to exorcise the demon before he takes me over, like so many times in the past.

...actually, I remember now. The last pub we went to, the one where the picture that shows up in 'Contract Song' was taken, I had switched from Guinness to Baileys because I was still fairly freaked right the fuck out. How ironic that this is my drink of choice as I play around with the drunken Celtic writer persona.

Why, Barry? WHY?

So, I'm off to finished this damned movie (I hate Bridget Fonda...married to Danny Elfman, kissing all over a lanky-haired Roth. I should be so lucky...) and take up the virtual quill before Cadmus crawls out of my head and murders me.
tinhuviel: (Tim Roth)
Taken, respectively, from Skellig: the Owl Man and The Legend of 1900 (which has always been one of my favourite movies, not just TR movies, but all-time movies. The Father Unit bought it for me ages ago because he knew how I felt about pianists. So this is like porn for me.)

Enjoy! And, if you have any Tutorial ideas, don't be shy. If I can make it (barring not being able to find the video footage), I will, jes' for you.

Off for more writing. The tale is fleshing out nicely, and I think I've figured out what keeps Flint alive. And it really pisses Cadmus off. I'm loving being able to allow Cadmus full-blown emotions now, although he's letting the cat out of the bag about his real-life parents as a result. That's okay.

tinhuviel: (Tim Roth)
I'm hoping to finish this up tomorrow, if at all possible. That'd be lovely, and then I can place Flint on a shelf whilst getting back to The Harming Tree proper.

The meeting in the movie house. )
tinhuviel: (Tim Roth)
Found this picture. Dude is wearing the most gigantic sweater he could possibly find. And, here I thought that belonged solely to Flint. WTF?

tinhuviel: (Cadmus Castigation)
It's one of those strange sort of occurrences that makes a thing undeniable. This song has been on my iPod(s) for like a thousand years, but it rarely comes up. When I started hunting for Archibald videos, and was mostly sorely disappointed, I found a video that used the song and was "Well, how about that? Coldplay and Cunningham, what an odd combination." And I thought nothing of it anymore. That's been a couple or three months ago. Again, I forgot about the song.

Then today, about an hour ago while I was walking and listening to Froderick, the song came up again, and I started listening to the song, and BOOM, it was transferred from being "just Coldplay" or "just a song used in an Archibald video," because really Flint is absolutely nothing like Archie, who would kill everyone within a twenty-mile radius if given half a chance (much like Cadmus), it became a "shiiiite, that's upbeat with a que sera sera sort of vibe, but still talking about a 'then and now' situation...Flint!" And the title itself pretty much describes Flint's philosophy ~ Viva La Vida, live the life.

Now, there's no doubt I have to keep the little bugger around, denying Cadmus his midnight snack...and honestly, in the scheme of things, Flint wouldn't be much more to Cadmus than a snack.

So here are the lyrics, the Flintian bits in bold. Following that is the proper Coldplay video, then the Archie video that I saw a while back, just for the hell of it.

I used to rule the world
Seas would rise when I gave the word
Now in the morning I sleep alone
Sweep the streets I used to own

I used to roll the dice
Feel the fear in my enemy's eyes
Listen as the crowd would sing
"Now the old king is dead! Long live the king!"

One minute I held the key
Next the walls were closed on me
And I discovered that my castles stand
Upon pillars of salt and pillars of sand

I hear Jerusalem bells are ringing
Roman Cavalry choirs are singing
Be my mirror, my sword and shield
My missionaries in a foreign field

For some reason I can't explain
Once you go there was never
Never an honest word
And that was when I ruled the world

It was the wicked and wild wind
Blew down the doors to let me in
Shattered windows and the sound of drums
People couldn't believe what I'd become

Revolutionaries wait
For my head on a silver plate
Just a puppet on a lonely string
Oh who would ever want to be king?

I hear Jerusalem bells are ringing
Roman Cavalry choirs are singing
Be my mirror, my sword and shield
My missionaries in a foreign field

For some reason I can't explain
I know Saint Peter won't call my name
Never an honest word
But that was when I ruled the world

I hear Jerusalem bells are ringing
Roman Cavalry choirs are singing
Be my mirror, my sword and shield
My missionaries in a foreign field

For some reason I can't explain
I know Saint Peter won't call my name
Never an honest word
But that was when I ruled the world

tinhuviel: (Cadmus Wrath)

tinhuviel: (Tim Roth)
tinhuviel: (Tim Roth)
Right, so I'm bemoaning my woes about not having a picture of Flint, then this chick whom I do not know posts a picture of this vampire she's drawn, which is based on Tim Roth. O_O

WTF... No question here, I'm just saying WTF. I'm too weary to question it anymore.


::crawls off and licks her wounds::
tinhuviel: (Can't Stop Writing)
It's the beginning of another Cadmus short story that may or may not show up in 'The Harming Tree' simply because I don't really want to kill the Vampire that Cadmus encounters in this one. I still haven't figured out how Flint will actually survive meeting Cadmus so, if he doesn't, the story will go into 'The Harming Tree' anthology. If he does, well, I don't know what I'll do with it. This is the rough draft of part of what I have so far, introducing Flint, a Darkblood Vampire.

Flint let his large hazel eyes dance across the endless stream of Los Angeles traffic as he sat on a high hill that was one of the more secluded spots just outside the city. There had been quite a few bodies found on this very spot, which would have given him a case of the creeps if he had not been guilty of placing a couple of bodies there himself.

An almost sentient went blew across Flint's face, making his long dark-blonde hair tickle his high cheeks and worry his fluttering eyelids. He absently brushed the hair away, waiting...watching...  The lights of the city below him reflected in his eyes, making them ripple into a phosphorescent malachite strangeness before returning to the more human hazel. It was his eyes that gave him away to humans as being something other than they, and to Vampires as being one of their own.

But Flint was a kind of aberration in the New Hive. He was several hundred years old and had never transformed anyone into a Vampire. It wasn't because he was a Redemptor, which he was not. He simply had never really thought about it. And he had never encountered anyone else he wanted to take that kind of responsibility for. There was that oddness, and there was his name. The Vampire who had transformed him had named him Absinthe because of the odd effect his eyes displayed upon coming into the Hive, but he did not keep it; instead, he reverted back to his mortal name of Simon Flynt, and then modernised it decades later to the simple name by which he went today.


Being ordinary in every way he could when he was essentially anything but made him irresistible to a wide range of potential food sources. It served him very well. Even though he preferred not to kill, mistakes did happen, but those mistakes were usually straight men who came to their so-called senses before Flint was finished with his meal, and tried to fight Flint off in some misguided attempt to reclaim some imagined gender-centric honour. Many of those men ended up right here on this dusty desert hill with their necks broken.

Thinking about it, Flint shrugged. He identified as straight...ish. Vampires really couldn't be bothered with mortal sexual hang-ups, but even when Flint was mortal, he simply just didn't care about trivial things like this. All of his mates, both mortal and Vampire, had been female, but it did not bother him to admire the male form or be admired by other males. His male-bonding bordered on the romantic simply because when Flint was fond of you, he was very very fond of you. And if he were not fond of you, you simply did not exist in his world.

August 2017

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