Scarletine (Plus Similar Nonsense Words)

[jheti]

Hijacked from ranty_rie and taraljc.

Quote a bit of my writing at me? Find that one story of mine that you really like, and find a sentence or a paragraph that presses your prose-buttons in the right way, and comment here with it? Don't care how long or short.

You scratch my back; I'll scratch yours.

...You know you want it. ^_~

Comments

[nyohah.livejournal.com]

I will do this. I may have to reread everything you've written, but it's not like that will be a chore. ^_~

Anyway, it may be a while, but I will do this!

[ghostwriter155.livejournal.com]

I'll play...

[jheti.livejournal.com]

From Choice:

He appeared to be at least a decade older than Jack, perhaps more. He walked with a calculated step that spoke more of power than any slowness on his part. His steps on the unfurnished floor made dull thuds as he walked towards Jacob Myrna. He spoke with a rough voice that was like blades to a sharpening wheel. In his mind Jack imagined sparks flying from that blade as it was honed to a hair-splitting sharpness.

“It’s been long time, hasn’t Myrna? You’ve forgotten the rules of the game. It’s a pity, you used to be strong.”

“I was. Until I went to jail. When you were nothing but a deck swabbing brat. Jack the elder and Jonathan Sparrow changed all that. Taking up command of the ship and all.”

I just love this part. I think it remains my favorite single "scrap" or whole image appearing in your work. It's very vivid ^_^

[ghostwriter155.livejournal.com]

From Broken:

"We are not like them," he said. With a very human snarl.

"But we are." The action he wanted required only a passing thought. Smith gripped the remains of his sunglasses and brutally twisted them back into shape, noting with an intense and horrible and entirely unexpected sense of pleasure that the frames slashed his hand, shredding it.

It hurt. Very much. But pain was transitory, and another chance to illustrate his point.

He crushed the lenses in his mauled palm and willed them to be the way he knew they should be, whole and complete, and put them back on his face. His hand likewise repaired itself, every bit of flesh, every drop of blood, returning exactly to where he knew it should go.

"We truly are," he said, smiling, "very much like them."

[...]

"The stains," gasped Smith, with a small sigh of regret, "are never going to come out."

I always loved your Smith bits. There's just something about this story that always resonated for me, the whole Smith exploration of what it is to be a human, and the agents in their simulation of people are far more human than they think. And then I wondered: does an agent fear death?

[jheti.livejournal.com]

...I think Smith "fears" death, but he's not like the others. There was a whole lot of stuff in Reloaded, like, did they all just march off to get deleted when Agent Johnson upgrades were released? We don't know. It would be cool to explore.

I think Smith really wanted to keep existing, and that's why he went mad and copied himself all the hell over the place. Just my theory.