OH MAN

I haven't written anything here in so long. It's all really old and embarrassing.

Episode of Stadbury - A Fist Awash in Flame

As the door creaks open and a swathe of light from the hallway cuts a path through the otherwise faintly moonlit room, neither of the soldiers sleeping in the beds on the room's opposing walls pays any mind: Their slumber is too heavy. Even when the door is pushed back into place, and the clicking of its settling tumblers sets the intruder’s heart into a wildly arrhythmic patter, the men do not stir.  

The diminutive Wilden holds his breath for a moment, half expecting the men to awaken the moment he exhales. Gradually he releases the air in a long, slow burst and when they remain in place, he sets to work, moving around the room as close to noiselessly as he can manage gathering as he does the weapons that are propped against the wall and stowing them under the beds of his new enemies. Once this small feat is accomplished he saunters up close to one of the beds and reaches under his robe removing a small sickle that had been strapped to his leg. "Unfortunate," he whispers, "That yet another life must be taken. Woe be to he whose allegiance falls on the wrong side of my own. Perhaps one day you'll be a footnote in the legend of Stadbury." Stadbury raises his sickle as a look of grim finality crosses his face and brings it down suddenly as the sound of cloth being sliced fills the room. 

Stadbury is blinking at the sickle now, which he notices, as he raises it is not dripping with blood. In the moonlight pouring through the window he makes sudden note of feathers floating around his head he hadn't seen before. He looks down at the man he'd attempted to kill and meets his eyes, very much alive. The pillow the man's head had been laying on however had recently been sliced and drained of filling. Stadbury connects the dots just in time for the man's fist to connect with his jaw. A solid hit for a man laying down, but the dwarfish Wilden sorcerer is not floored by this blow, unexpected though it was, his composure is quickly regained, and he leans forward and puts an open palm to the groggy man's gaping mouth. "Big mistake." he says through gritted teeth, "You can’t begin to understand the power with which you trifle.”  A burst of flame erupts from his flattened hand and into the man's mouth scorching his insides. The man gurgles in pain and goes limp, the sudden increase in his body temperature causes the sheets he is wrapped in to break into a smoky smolder.

“Well, what have we here?!” The other soldier calls across the room as Stadbury turns from his fresh kill to face him, “Why if it isn’t the littlest Tree-Fuck!” He had always considered the slur for his people (a forest dwelling “one with nature” type of folk) to be a bit uncreative, but it still managed to get on his nerves considerably. Add to that a jab at his height and it is more than Stadbury can manage to maintain his composure. Seething now, he rushes the other soldier and in preparation for another burst of fire, thrusts his open palm toward the soldier who is still quite nude from being freshly awoken. The soldier slaps the hand away with his left and delivers a fierce right-hook to Stadbury’s nose sending him reeling as his newly repositioned offense goes off; briefly illuminating the room before catching a bureau that manages to remain lit.

The room now lit, the man glares at Stadbury before speaking, “I recognize you. You’re one of those idiot “mercenaries” the captain hired to help the guard two days ago. What’re you up to?”

Stadbury climbs up from his position on the floor holding his now bloodied nose, “Training exercise, soldier! And you passed! As world-renowned soldiers of fortune, we were hired to whip this guard into shape. Now, I know our methods may seem a tad unorthodox, but—“

“Enough, Tree-Fuck!” the soldier barks, and Stadbury’s eye twitches a bit as he says it, “No ‘training exercise’ murders one of the participants in cold blood. Would you like me to beat you to death now, or would you rather extend your life by the length of your explanation?”

“Initially I hesitated to tell you, impudent little soldier,” Stadbury begins, part of him still seeking that magic combination of words that defuses the situation, or at the very least spares him another working-over, “because it would mean your death. But of course, then I realized, there isn’t an end to this conversation where you survive, so I’ll enlighten you as quickly as I can. We are mercenaries, this much is true, however we work for the Aldide Family, not for your joke of a captain. Thirty men have been signaled to attack this manor within the next five minutes, and my comrades and I have dispersed to do in the sleeping soldiers to even the odds a bit.”

“Why?” The soldier asks, not so much as blinking.

“We were hired to get what you are guarding. The artifact. The sword. Where is it? If you tell me now I might see you live as a cripple rather than take your life.” The soldier rushes now, aiming his punches downward so they won’t soar over the head of his foe. One blow misses but a second lands and Stadbury rolls backwards over himself landing, with agility that surprises even himself, in a squatting position on his feet. His thrusts his palm forward and lets fly with another burst of flame this one catching the soldier (already preparing to loose another flurry of blows) in the torso. The flames on the soldier catch immediately and the now flaming man shrieks in pain as the fire spreads up his torso and down his arms. Stadbury allows himself a moment of smug satisfaction before a flaming fist lands on the side of his face.

An incredulous Stadbury now gapes at his enemy, still screaming in agony, and must allow himself a moment to both relish the absurdity of his situation and begrudgingly acknowledge his respect for his opponent’s dedication to the fight. Another flaming fist finds its way to Stadbury’s bruised face and he realizes all at once that he can hear his heart thumping in his ears over all the screaming and bludgeoning going on. It occurs to him that he really ought to consider doing something. It occurs to him further that he really ought to lay off the fire.

Another fist to the face, another intelligible shriek of intense suffering. Stadbury rides this one backwards and uses it to make some distance between him and his assailant, distance which his addled mind correctly assumes would be advantageous. His back hits the wall and with nowhere else to go, he focuses his effort on swirling his hands. The soldier inhales and his lungs pop audibly as a luminescent orb appears in Starbury’s hands, filling the whole room with sickly greenish hue. He hurls it at the soldier and it splashes against him. The soldier mimes a scream, but is now incapable. His face melts away as the flames are extinguished and the flecks from the acidic orb land on the floor around him and eat through it. Gradually the floor around the dying soldier gives way and he falls through as Stadbury scooches back against the door to avoid the growing maw.

            Stadbury breathes a sigh of relief and lays his head against the door. The door swings open and knocks him on the back of the head. Agitated, he looks up, “Sorry Stadbury, did you get yours taken care—“ the slender dark-haired girl looks around the room and makes note of the burning bureau and the dripping hole in the center of the room. Her eyes finally land upon Stadbury’s own battered visage.

            “Mayfaire, you insult—“ he pauses momentarily to spit out a tooth, “You insult me, Mayfaire. Of course my two are taken care of! Am I not your glorious leader?! Are we not the Fellowship of Stadbury?!” He gestures grandly at nothing in particular.

            “Uh… Huh… Well, the others have their guards taken care of and we’ve actually managed to find someone who seems kind of important to take hostage. We think we might know where the sword is and the men are in the courtyard of the manor fighting their way in here right now. I uh… I hope you’ve still got enough left in you for a real fight.”

            “Of course, Mayfaire, of course. Naturally, the plan is going off without a hitch. Go on now, and I’ll catch up to you. I’ve got to finish some things in here.” Stadbury barely finishes the sentence before he collapses on the bed. Mayfaire leaves the room, shutting the door behind her and returning to her comrades.

            There remains much to do.

           

           

          

The New Hotness

In the four years that Meaningless Meandering has existed in it's current state, this is the second time I've managed more than seven posts over the course of a year. Will I reach the productivity highs of 2010? Unlikely, but this still deserves some amount of commemoration.

-The Management

The Amazing Spider-Man Review

Years after a less than stellar third installment, Spider-Man swings back into action on the silver screen with a new cast, a new suit and a new look at what some are calling too familiar a tale. Spidey still does what a spider can, but is it enough to bring back the audiences that Spider-Man 3 spurned?


It's weird to think that it's been over ten years since the original Spider-Man film was released in theaters. The movie's (and it's sequel) very positive reception was a huge part of the Superhero Movie Boom we're still experiencing to this day, so it's impact on this type of movie is hard to ignore.

Still, Sony has chosen a strange time to bring back the Webbed-Wonder what with The Superhero frenzy having undoubtedly reached it's apex with release of Marvel's the Avengers earlier this year, and audiences in general seemingly growing tired of the genre itself, not to mention the potential confusion that might stem from such a quick turn-around time on the reboot for audiences that are less in the know the release of this film right now provides potential troubles on the road to success for the new Spider-Man film franchise.

The Amazing Spider-Man tells a familiar story to anyone who has seen the original film: Peter Parker, a bullied "nerd" at Mid-town high is bitten by a genetically altered spider, giving him super-strength, extra sensory awareness and a clinginess that even his status as a highschool geek fails to properly prepare a potential suitor for. Uncle dies, starts fighting crime, supervillain, you know how this one goes. There are a few satisfying additions to the general mythos, lifted from various comic book incarnations, particularly the questions involving Pete's parents and the mechanical web-shooters that the original film opted out of including for fear of alienating the less funny-book inclined members of it's audience. Uncle Ben also manages to stave off his inevitable death for a bit longer in this version, adding a bit more emotional weight to the character's tragic end than it carried before, and watching Pete figure out how his powers work is as humorous and wondrous for the viewer as it is terrifying and embarrassing for him. It was also surprising to see Spider-Man's first dozen or so forays into vigilantism are portrayed as acts of vengeance and little else. There is darkness here -- especially when compared to it's original film counter-part -- but it's under-cut by the lightheartedness necessary for the concept to succeed.

Perhaps it's unfair to compare the film so closely to it's 2002 counter-part, but the comparisons are going to be made. Andrew Garfield plays a convincing Spider-Man and post-spider-bite Peter, but doesn't convincingly portray a nerd, or at least, not to someone who has walked a mile in the pocket-protector. Less nit-picky audiences might be able to ignore the fact that the "geek" turned hero starts the film with a rebelliously dreamy fashion sense and a skateboard strapped to his back, but fans of the character are going to be left a little confused. The confusion will fade, however, once Spidey emerges, and with him the prankster-like sense of humor that he is known for. Spidey mocks and taunts his enemies as he webs them to walls, and Garfield manages to convey an appropriate sense of mirth in beating down his foes that MacGuire's frankly wooden behind-the-mask line readings didn't capture.

The movie in general benefits from it's lack of MacGuire's exceptionally punch-able face and the supporting cast manages to do a good job of supporting the new Web-Head. Uncle Ben in particular has a vague kookiness about him as he imparts his wisdom to Peter, conveying the, "With great power comes great responsibility," message that his predecessor made famous while awkwardly dancing around saying the words in that particular order so as to retain some sense of self.

As far as Spider-Man's rogues gallery goes, the Lizard is an appropriately b-list representative that makes a lot of sense for a fledgling Spider-Person to face down, and from a re-boot stand-point I can see why they chose him: Tackling Goblin again would have made the film more tiresome to potential viewers than (based on the reaction to the film's existence I've seen from the people I know) it apparently already conceptually was. That said, the Lizard is not a terribly engaging threat and though Kurt Connors' growing lunacy does something small to assuage that I find myself during his scenes wanting the action to go back to Parker so he could shoot some webs at something, or at the very least, for Connors to go find Parker so we can see the two engage in another bout of acrobatic fisticuffs.

All in all, the film is a fun ride, but as many have said it might have been too soon to do this story again. Though there's really no way to get a new franchise off the ground than to start at the beginning, it's unfortunate that the changing sensibilities of the super-hero genre of films has, in a way, necessitated this re-boot, but for being essentially the same song as the original, it manages to change the tune enough to keep things interesting.

That said, a few thoughts about a potential sequel:

1) Will they have the balls to actually kill off Gwen Stacey as the original comics did? There actual seemed to be a bit of fore-shadowing towards something to that effect, which was surprising to me.

2) Green Goblin is being set up as a villain by the looks of things, and the stinger after the credits lent a small bit of credence to that theory. Goblin (and moreover, Norman Osborn himself) is one of Spider-Man's most notable enemies, so he's going to come into play at some point, but I think it would be smarter to have Osborn himself pulling the strings on the next film's villain and then, in a potential third film have the Goblin enter. Both to use Osborn in a way that makes sense to use Osborn before blowing that metaphorical load (as the original series failed to do) and to not rush right back to the Green Goblin well and risk alienating another sect of their already jaded audience.

VAGUE NUMERICAL SCORE FOR LAZY READERS: An Optimistic 3/5

Flight of Fancy

I wanted to make sure I got at least one thing posted on here for the month of April, and I realized that most of the fiction I've posted here is either A) Horror, B) Horrible or C) A combination of the two I'm going to refer to from here on out as "Horrorbul". Anyway, here's an older story I wrote for a creative writing class I took a few years ago that's a bit more light-hearted and a bit less terrible. 

-The Management

“Okay, breathe in real deep. Close your eyes and… Fly!” Jennifer felt strong hands on her back push hard. She felt like a cartoon character: Her chest shot off the edge of the cliff first, the rest of her body followed, snapping back into form like a rubber band.

Now she was falling: Headfirst, arms at her side, face molded into a look of grim determination. The waves were crashing at rocks at the bottom of the sheer cliff she’d been pushed off of. She fell for a few more moments, the wind rushing through her hair before she began to scream. The determined look vanished, replaced by one of terror, her arms flew from her sides and her hands covered her eyes.

And then the rushing wind stopped. Jennifer’s long frazzled red hair fell over her eyes.

Jennifer looked up at the man who had caught her, he looked down at his little sister, clearly annoyed, “Jen, are you even trying anymore?” He asked, “Or have I become a personal bungee cord for you?” The pair were floating lazily up the side of the cliff; Jennifer was cradled in the young man’s arms, her left arm draped around his neck.

“Well, I’m sorry!” Jennifer said, frustrated herself, “But you’re not really giving me a lot to work with here. You’re shoving me off and just yelling ‘fly’” She made a flapping motion with her hands as she said the last word, “I’m sort of new at this and your ‘baby bird method’ isn’t really working too well, Desmond.” The two reached the top of the cliff and Desmond pulled his arms from Jennifer and let her fall in a heap to the grass-covered earth below.

“Oh, yeah, and I’ve been at this, for what? Three hours now?” The night prior Desmond had had one of those falling dreams; the ones where you wake up right before you hit the ground, and he’d done just that, only when he woke, he’d found that he’d rolled out of bed. Not particularly fascinating of its own accord, it happened often, this time, however, instead of landing face first on his carpet, he’d found that he’d simply floated above it. Upon further inspection he’d found that he could float freely through the air simply by thinking about it: He could fly! He hadn’t touched the ground all morning for fear he wouldn’t be able to do it again. “S’not my fault I’m a prodigy,” he touted smugly. Jennifer glared enviously at the empty air between his feet and the ground from her position in the grass.

She let a long burst of air escape her lips, “’Prodigy?’ You couldn’t even do it again if you touched the ground. You don’t know how you did it.”

“That’s exactly what I’m talking about, Jen.” Desmond ran a hand through his hair, “I don’t know how I did it. How am I supposed to teach you? Now, please, can we get out of here? We’ve been at this all day and we won’t make any progress until I have some idea how this works.”

Jennifer stood up in front of him.  She was just a little shorter than him. She began brushing off her sun-dress. “Okay, fine. Just let me try one more time. “

Desmond hesitated, “One last time, then we’re out of here.”

“Oh, and I don’t want you to catch me this time.”

“Are you kidding? Out of the question,” Desmond said immediately, “If something happened to you, I don’t know what—“

“You don’t have a choice!” Jennifer lunged at him, grabbing him by the shoulders and forcing him down onto his feet. Desmond’s knees buckled. He hadn’t stood on his legs all day and it had taken its toll, he reached out helplessly as the red-headed girl bolted past him and dove off the cliff, smacking into his shoulder as she went and sending him into a spiral that left him facing the opposite direction on the ground. 

What followed was the most deafening silence Desmond had ever experienced in his life.

And then a scream shattered it.

That scream.

 The one that meant she needed to be caught.

Desmond began to well up. His legs were throbbing from their sudden exposure to his own weight. He crawled over to the edge of the cliff and summoning all his courage forced himself to look over the edge.

He was rewarded for his efforts by a fist to his jaw.

Jennifer had stuck her fist upward super-hero style as she’d flown past him, not expecting him to stick his face out. The blow had knocked Desmond onto his back. He found himself staring up at the girl floating above him. “Des, I did it! Did you see!?”

Desmond rubbed his jaw, “Yeah I saw you little brat! Get back down here!” She stuck her tongue out at him. “I said get down here. We’ve got to get home!”

“I’m just going to fly.” Jennifer jeered, “Why don’t you?”

Desmond fumed, “I swear, if you come anywhere near me, I’m throwing your ass to the ground.”  On the way home, Jennifer made it a point to keep her distance from her brother.

It's Stupid

I live out in the middle of nowhere on my own. I moved out here something like three years ago to live with my grandmother after grandpa died, she passed on herself not a couple of weeks later and now I'm living in this huge, out of place old mansion by myself. To be perfectly honest, it gives me the creeps, but I don't want to sell it. There's too many memories from when I was a kid. The house is about hour away from the town I was born and raised in and with the town, everyone I know. I can make it there in something 40 minutes provided I'm riding on the highway, traffic is good, and I'm really hauling ass. On weekends when I don't have work to catch up on, I cruise into town and spend the evenings drinking and fooling around with my friends. I don't like sleeping in any bed but my own unless it's completely unavoidable. Because of this eccentricity I frequently find myself making the long, lonely drive back to the house at two and three in the morning and sometimes even later.

On my drive home I follow the highway right up until it ends. It's meant to go further but right now it's under construction; my exit is signaled by the white and orange road-blocks and the reflectors surrounding them. I pull off onto the ramp and make a right turn. From here the rest of the way home is a series of winding country back roads. These are actually pretty pleasant to drive during the day, but at night... Well, it's stupid, because I've driven these roads a million times, but driving them creeps me out. I saw this video once on the internet, it was some kind of short horror movie about these kids that got lost on these sorts of road and were killed. Their camera picked up the murders. It's stupid, but it really got to me, and the back roads I ride to get home make me think of it.

Sometimes when I'm driving on these roads, I'll get a car behind me. It's stupid, but I can never shake the feeling that they're following me. The roads are only one lane, they couldn't really pass me if they wanted to. Still though, I can't get the notion out of my head; I think about how easy it would be for them to follow me back to my house where no one else lives; even comes by, and do whatever they want to me. It's stupid, but if the car that's behind me is following to closely I speed up. Just start tearing down the road in an effort to get away from them. Sometimes, but not often, they speed up too, which doesn't do a lot to help my anxiousness. It makes me think of that story. The one where the girl is driving home from a school dance? And the car starts following her and flicking it's bright lights on and off? Then at the end you find out there was a murderer in her back seat and the person following her was turning the lights on and off to keep him from stabbing her while she was driving. So I check the back seat of my car. It's so stupid! I'm laughing just thinking about it. Ha ha.

If they're still behind me, and they speed up after I speed up and I can't get get away from them, I pull over to the side of the road and let them pass. It just makes me way too anxious to have them following me for so long out there in the dead of night. I'm a very careful person, so I always turn on the caution lights when I pull over to the shoulder.

Here's where it gets really stupid, you're going to love this. I'm freaking out at this point, you know? I'm just losing it. If the car passes me, I just take a deep breath and keep driving home. Sometimes, but not often, though, they don't. Sometimes, they see the caution lights flip on and stop. They walk up to the window and tap on it a couple of times. Saying something I can't quite make out, although I can hear an upward inflection in their voice. Probably a question. It's so stupid, I can't even explain to you how embarrassing it is to tell you this, but once I know they're in range, I unlock the car door and kick it open. Usually it catches them off guard and the impact causes them crumple to the ground, but some are quick enough to jump back, or savvy enough to keep their distance. 

It's stupid, but once they're on the ground, or even if they aren't, I leap from the car and beat them with my bare hands. I really get in there, you know? Just waling on them. They cry and they scream and they beg me to stop and sometimes, but not often, I do, but never before they're beyond help. It's stupid, but the blood dripping from my fists gives me the courage to finish my drive home and I do. A lot of times, I'll even get another car behind me and do you know what? I don't even get scared!

Vegeta Sucks

In the universe of Dragon Ball Z, a man’s value is not determined by how hard he can punch or how loudly he can yell, but instead by how loudly he can yell as he punches really hard. By the end of the original Dragon Ball series, protagonist Goku has yell-punched his way to the top of the Tenkaichi Budokai (roughly translated as “The Yellingist Puncher”) tournament ladder and has been formally recognized as the world’s foremost expert in yelling and punching, both separately and in conjunction.

When your protagonist has been officially recognized as the strongest person on the planet and your series is based on him fighting progressively more powerful foes, there’s really not much to do but bring in some space aliens. In steps Vegeta, the proud prince of a powerful galaxy conquering warrior race with his sights set on Earth. In his first appearance Vegeta handily wipes the floor with every character that isn’t Goku and even then only loses that fight due to bad luck and some assistance from Goku’s pussy friends. When the dust settles both men are battered and almost unable to move and Vegeta lies helpless, his fate in the hands of Krillin, perennial bitch of the Dragon Ball universe. Always one to recognize a pattern, Goku begs Krillin to allow Vegeta to live on the merit that given the nature of the series, they’d probably all end up friends anyway, something Krillin is incapable of forming an argument against.  Vegeta gets into his spaceship, flies off swearing vengeance on Goku and the audience collectively goes, “Oh, shit, this buster is gonna be trouble.”

I could write an entire entry on the characters in the Dragon Ball franchise who didn’t live up to their potential, but no one got it quite as bad as Vegeta. In the storyline immediately following the one in which he was the major threat to the heroes, he is surpassed in Punch-Yelling capacity by Goku and spends the rest of the series playing catch up. When he isn’t getting his face smashed into the geographically vague desert environment as an example of the power of whatever freaky-deaky space alien is lobbing fireballs at the earth this week, he’s relegated to the growing group of gaping losers that follow Goku around and offer insightful commentary like, “I’ve never felt this type of power!” Even his little victories are snatched away immediately, either by bad luck or his own hubris. When he appears to be able to go toe-to-toe with Frieza, Frieza simply transforms and bats him away like a fly while the ten-year old Gohan takes his place in the fight. Despite this bad history with transformation, in his battle against Cell where he clearly has the upper hand, Vegeta allows the monster to absorb the android it needs to complete its transformation and once again receives an all you can eat buffet of fireballs and fists. 

The Prince of all Saiyans

Vegeta receives arguably the most character development of anyone in the entire series, growing from brutal would-be world conqueror to over-bearing Tiger Mother. There is a case to be made that DBZ is more about him and his journey than that of its actual protagonist and for the entire run of the show he’s consistently one of the top three most powerful characters. Despite this, his crowning achievement after his first appearance is admitting that he is inferior to Goku and distracting the last bad guy by presenting his ass for a whooping long enough for Goku to save the day. 

-The Management