It's Times Like These You Give And Give Again...

Okay, so I'm re-watching episodes of Roswell. You know the old television series back in 1999, with Brenden Behr, Kathrine Heigl and Colin Hanks, and those others like William Sadler (can I just say that for some reason I find him oddly appealing) and Nick Weschler (he's cute too in that boyish, cocky kind of Sports' model kind of way). I was just checking it out and taking notes because I realized that I can't write a book series (or want to or attempt to) without having an idea of what to do with each book. You know, there's an overall story arc: evil power rises from age old sleep, threatens humanity (oh noes!!!) and teenage heroines must save the day while dealing with life's not-so-extraordinary circumstances. But each individual story has to have a plot underneath it and there is just so much that I want to that I know I'm going to have to kick some things out. SOMEthings.

GAH!!!

Also, I think I have a tendency to do things before I actually think about them. Take for instance this Board that I came up with for RPing in a semi-fantasy world in which New York City and its surrounding bouroughs have become this huge megalopolis called Wicked, NY. It's got your typical fixings of vampires, succubi, incubi, Fae, witches and shifters (werewolves, etc) and I made a "plot" for it. Here goes:

You meet her in a hotel bar.
It’s a rundown sort of place, on the seedier side of town, one of those places where the hotel patrons smell of abandoned back alleys and underground sewage; one where the bartenders sell the cheapest booze and scantily clad waitresses make their from table to table, using their feminine wiles more so than good services to reel in big tips.
It’s the kind of place where every man has to watch their back, watch their wallet even more so, and on the rowdier nights, a place where a fight breaks out at the slightest provocation. You should’ve known better than to be sucked in by anyone who frequents this place, but then again…common sense has never been a trait that had been praised with hard regard in your family
Music plays in the background, some old rock mix that’s still hip enough with the kids today to still be on the charts. It’s almost peaceful tonight, not very many people, although there are still pockets of noise resistant to the silence that wants to permeate. This should have been your second clue, but…common sense, remember?
Honestly? Who could have known what lay ahead? You’d only come in here to get a drink, after all. Life for you is a slow, unchanging march towards death; what’s a few drinks really? And as you guzzle down more, commiserating on how you’re probably going to be doing this every night, for the next couple of years of your sorry life until it becomes routine, she saddles up next to you at the bar with a face as pale as milk crystal, eyes as dark as onyx gemstones and lips that look like two ripe, plump cherries mashed together, surprising you out of your misery.
What the hell--?
She’s not a regular, and you can tell…just by the way she winks at the bartender, orders the same drink you’re having and pins you with her black-eyed stare until you feel like a rat on display. She’s like a predator as she leans forward, whispers a scandalous joke in your ear and throws her head back in laughter. You can only stare dumbly, captured as you are. This doesn’t usually happen, and you’re wondering if she’s a TV show host on one of those reality shows where they trick some dumb shmuck into thinking their the fucking king-of-the-castle. Strangers just don’t walk up to you in a bar. They don’t just engage you in a conversation. You don’t get mesmerized by them.
That’s just not the way things are done. Not anymore.
Couple of years ago. Maybe. Before the Cataclysm. Before the world’s superpowers got tired of silly, oil wars in the Middle East. Before the world’s leaders decided that they were sick of playing with soldiers’ lives and wanted to play with the world on a massive scale. Before everything went ‘boom’ and bombs exploded in the sky and people lost their lives and life had changed for everyone, irrevocably, forever.
Nine years later, and you just didn’t flirt with some random stranger in a bar.
But she did. She’s flirting with you, and you’re trying not let this bother you. Trying not to let this get you at all. But she does, and it is, especially when she whispers in your ear again, telling you to meet her in the alleyway behind the hotel bar.
You know this is a bad idea, everything is screaming at you: THIS IS A BAD IDEA. But you swallow that voice along with the last dregs of your drink, slap down a five dollar bill and leave, entering the cool night air, looking up at a sky of stars that suddenly seem very strange to your booze-clouded brain. Nine years ago, you probably would not have been out here, but the Cataclysm changed everyone—even you—and you kind of just learned to stop caring anymore. People claimed nowadays that strange things happened in the night, and even stranger people haunted the darkness. Or, maybe not people…
Things….
But those are only rumors. You’ve never seen anything. And, since the Cataclysm, you’ve been out at night a whole helluva lot. If there was anything, wouldn’t you have seen it?
You make your way behind the hotel, straight out to the alley that you’ve probably puked in a few times on your way home after a nice round of drinks. You peer into the darkness, trying not to gag on the smell of stale piss and cigarette smoke; the combination makes your eyes water. You blink, trying to find her, and step one foot at a time into the darkness. It’s then that your instinct kicks in, that inner knowing that human beings are born with, that helped their ancestors, the cavemen, survive: something’s not right…
The screech comes from above, startling you, and you whirl in both shock and fear, and duck in time as a giant, solid shadow swoops over your head. You can hear where claws raked the air. Wait…Claws?!
Your heart’s hammering now, and you breaths coming out shallow and strained. Where the hell’s the woman? What the hell was that?
You hear another screech. You turn to look. Whatever the hell it is is coming back at you, impossibly large and scary as hell. Holy shit! You’re frozen in place, not knowing what the hell to do and the big thing slams into, knocking the breath from your chest and slamming into the pavement and concrete. Your mind is in a whirl, you’re struggling to breath and all you can think is: what the hell did I get myself into?
It won’t occur to you until much, much later, when you’re half dead and this big, shadowy thing materializes into the pale woman in the bar and slits—literally—slits open your wrist vein with her [I]teeth[/I] that maybe, just maybe those crazy [b]things[/b] that people’d been telling you about, THOSE THINGS, maybe, actually exist….
Welcome to Wicked, New York…

(PS: Can I just say I REALLY wish blogspot would use formatting when copying and pasting stuff...JEEZ!!)

I'll write more later. Now...

Back to work!