oshi

Yes, the fifth is the end. It's even got a little "the end" box in the bottom of the last page. Hopefully, you won't be disappointed, though. And like I said, Ai Yazawa uses her characters over . . . so we may see them again somewhere. It is sad that it's the end. A year seems like a very long time to wait for the final volume of a book, but it's really worth it. Now, we can buy the fifth, read it, put it on our manga shrines, and keep it forever. And worship it, if we so desire. ;)

My parents don't disapprove of me watching anime, but they do like to make fun of it. Mostly it's because of the voices. If it's in Japanese, they mimick it like, "Hai! Ababa zobo ito!" (And they paid for my Japanese classes . . . .) If it's in English, they mock it because they usually have to talk so fast to fit all the words in. So my only choice is to watch it muted. Which I don't do. (I just put up with it, and eventually they get bored and go away. Like wild animals, or young children. :)) My main problem is that they don't like me [I]drawing [/I] in "that style." Before I found manga and anime, my drawings SUCKED. They just did. I drew them, and I think that they sucked monkey-butt. However, anime helped me get proportions in order, and figure out exactly where the nose goes on a face (okay, so I wasn't that bad. But you get my point.), and I'm much more confident in my drawing abilities since then. And as any artist knows, there is no one style of drawing, anime included. It's like saying that all of the Sunday comics are done in the same way. I've tried explaining this to my parents, but they just smile and nod and basically say that I shouldn't be wasting my talents blah blah blah blah blah. It doesn't help that my dad did a lot of art in college . . . or that he thinks he knows everything in general . . . .

I like the title. ;) How's this? Name: Ban Shabriri Age: 16 Race: human Weapons: athame (ritual dagger) Appearance: White hair and pale skin, small in stature and dressed in the light garb of his religion. His hands and feet are small and soft. Biography: was raised in a shrine that worshipped a goddess of a different religion; Ban has no immediate family, and those who brought him up were unable to get very close to him. He was found abandoned in a pool of water at a young age; no one knows what had happened to him beforehand. He is quiet, withdrawn, and curt, but it is not exactly clear whether he is so because he means to insult, or if his abrupt and searing manner is the result of his secretive and dark past. He and the members of the shrine were planning not to travel to Graten, for to do so would be to leave their home; they believed their own deity would protect them. When they were slaughtered unmercifully by the Recrudescence, Ban went alone to the capital with no faith in his religion. He now carries the shrine's athame, a sacred blade that cannot be touched by blood; he uses it as a deadly weapon in silent hatred for the deity that allowed the deaths of her own children. He also is very good at swimming. :)

The fifth and final volume of this sweet little tale has just come out, and the fact that it is over makes me want to talk about it. Has anyone else read this manga? It's got amazing (if stylized) artwork, and great, deep characters to boot. The plot may seem sort of shallow at first, but once you start reading it, it becomes involved and touching. [spoiler]I'm still not sure how I feel about the ending, though. I really like George, for all his . . . Georgeness, but if they're both happy . . . .[/spoiler] The artist, Ai Yazawa, is said to use her characters over in different stories. I haven't seen any of these personally, but I have heard that Mikako, Miwako's older sister, Miwako herself, Arashi and Hiro are all in another book. I think it tells about their childhood together. I don't know for sure.

But does that explain that little bunny girl? The one all hooked up with wires and everything? I don't know if any of that means anything. The first book had two other stories inside of it; maybe that little bit was just another story that never made it off the ground. What . . . Raenef isn't a babe right now? *sarcasm dripping onto floor* (more like a puppy)

Haha! I love the Mr. Tomato part! And Eclipse has no idea whatsoever about what's going on . . . poor Eclipse. Proud, elegant Eclipse, saddled with clumsy, peppy Raenef. Oh, well! It'll all work out just fine in the end! ( . . . positive thinking, everybody. We don't want our series to end on a bad note!) And I finally got the sixth book! Cheers for me, right? (right.) That's why I'm so concerned about the finish; it seems so uncertain. I just finished Paradise Kiss, so I'm all jumpy about endings in general. (I've gotta start up on some more series. Saiyuki, maybe?)

"Fragile" by Nine Inch Nails is one of the most moving songs I've ever heard. It's not so much even the words; the melody and the musical break between the lyrics is one of those that one can just sit and sway to--and it's a song that characterizes the romanticism of the band completely. "The Art of Self Destruction" is a remix of "Mr. Self Destruct," and is very full of different aspects of rhythm and music. It's fun to listen to, and very danceable. Janis Ian has a lot of beautiful songs, tinged with sad themes, such as "Seventeen" and "From Me to You." But she's an older artist, so I don't know how many people will have heard of her. And since music with a lot to it appeals to me, I feel inclined to list "Ants in the Kitchen" and "Give Me Water" by the Masters of Reality as well. These have a musicality without the depth of hard-core emotions, so they're just a lot of fun to listen to.

If I made an anime, it would be based off of one of my stories. (I can't tell you the plots; you'll have to read them when they're published!) It would be full of action and move along swiftly, with many technical subtleties worked into the scenes. It's always either easier or harder to put little, important, catch-these-and-you'll-get-it bits into writing/an animated story, so all of the techniques I would have to use would depend on how obvious I wanted things to be. It would also seem like it was an intense plot on it's own, but the characters would be what the viewer is really interested in. (And you'll get a favorite character, and then I'll kill him. That's what I do.) I would probably try to get the company that animated Rune Soldier to do my anime. They do a really great job with movement of any kind. If it's crappy, I'd go ballistic and renounce any connection to the company, and file a lawsuit against them for defiling my work. (I hate bad animation.)

Ooh, Ranma! How lucky you are to find it in Japanese! (cool!) Ranma 1/2 is about a boy (Ranma Saotome) and his dad (Genma Saotome--I think) who are martial arts training in China. His father cannot read Chinese, however, and when he comes across the warnings and information on a particular training area, he doesn't know that it is a large assortment of cursed hot springs. They train, and of course, fall into the hot springs: Ranma falls into the Cursed Spring of Drowned Girl, and his father falls into Cursed Spring of Drowned Panda. This means that whenever they are wettened by cold water, they will turn into whatever drowned thing they fell into the spring of. That's why Ranma turns into a red-haired girl, and his dad turns into a sign-weilding panda bear. They go to the Tendo house, because Genma is friends with the head of the Tendo household, and has promised that his son will marry Akane Tendo, the guy's daughter. Akane is the long-haired, grumpy one, who is not at all happy about the arrangement. Of course, there is always Ranma's . . . problem. Any splash of cold water and . . . hilarity ensues. I love Ranma. But Ryoga's my favorite. :)

I just watched the first 9 episodes of this series in a row, and I'm impressed. The storyline so far is very good; it's rather unanimelike. I mean, it's realistic (or more so than some): the characters seem to fit their characterizations, rules of the times are observed--such as not having electricity in the Middle Ages--and the plot is involving without having to resort to fancy asthetic tricks like showy magical displays or otherwise. Instead, it's done quite the way an American fantasy novel would be. There are so many little details that make it more realistic, as well: how the swordfighting is drawn, with long and heavy blows of the weapons; how the raids are planned out, just as they would have to be in order for them to be successful. Even little things, like being warned not to talk when riding a fast horse--"you'll bite your tongue off"--make it much more interesting and give it a depth that many series lack. The first episode--I watched it again after I saw the others--is alarming to me, because I still haven't gotten to see how exactly those events come about. I like Griffith . . . and I don't want anything terrible to happen to him. (Well, nothing [I]more [/I] terrible.)

Aaaaaahhh!! Why must you all torture me so!? [I]Must not . . . read spoilers . . . must find . . . money . . . .[/I] I can't buy the sixth one yet! Reading these posts is making me so antsy; argh! I think they'd kick me out of Waldenbooks if I just sat down in the aisle, too. This is a sick need. We're all ill, and loving it. *glance at spoilers* . . . [I]NO[/I]! Must leave thread [I]now[/I]!

As far as I'm concerned, the fact that he has done this has just proven that he doesn't give a crap about America. He's using something that he [I]could have prevented[/I], that killed so many people, that hurt so many more--emotionally as well as physically--to bolster his career. He's devaluing the lives of hundreds so that he can play president for another four years. Personally, I don't think he should even be running. And what does depicting 9/11 say, anyway? That it happened while he was the president, and he distracted us all from it by going to war against Iraq? Impressive, indeed. (Whose organization destroyed the Twin Towers? Was it Saddam Hussein or Osama bin Laden? And who did Bush decide we should blow to hell? If you don't know the answer, you shouldn't even bother to vote.) It's disgusting, and like everything else he's done so far, it's all for his own benefit. I mean, who would want to give up being president? "It's a kick*** job!"

Okay, here you go! This is Part 1 of this story, so there will be more. I want to break it up a bit so that it's not too long, is all . . . and I haven't finished it quite yet. Remember Adar Greenwood, from the RPG that never was? Well (with permission) I have written him as the main character. I hope you like it! [U][CENTER]Role Playing Part 1[/CENTER][/U] ?May I refill your glass, milord?? She lifted the bottle delicately, smiling pleasantly. Regarding her with distance, Adar gave her a barely discernable nod. She was quick to oblige him, tipping the wine bottle into his vessel. A barmaid on the other side of the room dropped a tray, sending its contents flying with a loud crash. The bottle slipped in Adar?s elven companion?s fingers, spilling a few drops onto the tablecloth. He glared at the offending stains with disdain, noting the lapse of grace. She held her breath for a moment then tentatively tried to wipe away the liquid. ?They ought to train their workers better,? she said, presenting an air of indignation. He looked away. The club was filling up as the night went on. Patrons from high-standing households around the Elven Realm were filing into the tables, either bringing their own guests or waiting for others to amuse them. Adar let his gaze slide to the elf sitting beside him. He himself felt quite unamused. There was a small stage at the front of the room, where an elegant stool stood alone. Every now and then, a being would go up on the stage, sit on the stool, and recite something?original poetry, pieces from literature, or some would even sing a song. He watched the empty stage with boredom, hoping someone would distract him from his uneventful evening. ?Is that Baubo Goibhniu?? his companion asked, nodding her head past him. ?I heard that he acquired a rather large number of servants from rounding up gnomes . . . .? Her obvious small-talk grated on his nerves, and Adar made up his mind to ignore her fully for the rest of the night. A being took refined steps up to the stage. Adar lifted his head, fixing his attention on her. The elf beside him tensed, then leaned forward on her wrist to listen. With a composed and confident breath, the female being on stage parted her lips. Her face was decorated with intricate symmetrical markings on either side, a custom Adar had heard was practiced in the remote southern lands of the realm. Her face itself was long and round, her expression placid. Long and light brown in color, her hair fell delicately to frame her features. Unlike most of the elven females in the building, her clothing gave no indication of her form under the robes. Adar found his interest growing as she lifted her arms, the sleeves falling away to reveal that the tops of her hands were marked similarly to her face. She began to recite from memory, her mellow voice lilting, and the other beings in the room quieted. ?Like a child in the rain, Through droplets, neither pretty nor plain, Made from the gift of the sugar cane, Lives my Genderless. ?Like a wall a veil of skin Hides all that takes place within. Neither her nor either him, Is my Genderless.? Adar halted the unconscious reaction of furrowing his brow; the words sounded simple and nearly meaningless, but her melodic voice made him believe that there was more to them somehow. His companion scoffed quietly, muttering, ?What is she even saying?? Onstage she continued despite various murmurs from the crowd. Adar listened carefully, the being captivating him although her words and motives were unclear. ?Like a home of soft-peach hue, The windows show a different view, Of perfect love, of perfect true, Dreams my Genderless. ?Like a hermit in the hills, Unseen as others? darkest wills, Alone and lost in the world?s ills, Lives my dear Genderless.? She finished, and raised her head to take them all in in one sweeping view. Adar caught a good glimpse of her eyes in the process, pleased to find that they were a striking shade of green. Her presence was felt throughout the room, and Adar felt the elf at his side repress a shudder. ?What a waste of time,? she hissed defensively, crossing her arms. Adar paid her no mind, still watching the female as she left the stage. She accepted a glass of water from an eager patron, politely but firmly declining invitations to several different places. Standing near the counter, she turned to face him from across the way. She had seen him when she scanned the crowd, for certain. Adar gave her an airy glance, checking further out of the corner of his eye. She was smiling. His companion was becoming nervous. She put one slim hand on his arm, pulling it to her. ?Milord, perhaps we should leave here? It seems to be getting awfully crowded. With your wife visiting relatives, your home must be lonely. I?ve never seen the inside of your house. It must be beautiful,? she said, touching his face lightly. He glared at her, sharp green eyes searing through her assurance without mercy. She drew back, sufficiently cowed. ?Did I just hear you invite yourself to my home?? he demanded caustically. The fact that she had mentioned Mystic only annoyed him more. She shook her head in protest, picking up her glass with alacrity. He looked back to the intriguing female. She was still smiling, having observed him the whole while. Bringing her water, she made her way through the shifting patrons to his table, never once breaking her elegant, meticulous gait. She stopped before him, not even for a second minding anyone other than Adar himself. ?Good evening, milord. I see that I was not mistaken; you are indeed the esteemed Adar Greenwood I?ve always heard glowing talk of.? He nodded; the description seemed accurate enough to him. ?And you are?? ?Trompeur Tigre, but you are welcome to call me Chat, milord,? she replied, pronouncing the foreign syllables with a graceful tongue. ?May I join you?? ?Of course.? Adar took his time and examined her eyes more closely, waiting for the elf beside him to take the hint. After a moment of reciprocated silence between himself and Chat, she got up, embarrassed, without a word and left the club. Chat sat in her place, moving her discarded wine glass and replacing it with her own water. ?I hope I didn?t concern you with my recitation,? she said, and he realized her voice was lower than it had seemed, once she was no longer projecting it. ?No, it was interesting,? he told her, barely aware of what he was saying; he studied her movement and appearance with scrutiny, alert for any signs that she was not up to his standards. ?It was certainly different.? ?Good. It was meant to be.? Chat gave him a secretive smile. ?In the area of my homeland, poetry is not respectable unless it can be interpreted many different ways. The poem I read was not one of the best, but it is one that I enjoy.? Her lips were sleek and dark, complimenting the strange markings on her face. She watched him carefully as he watched her; piercing green eyes that seemed to delve deeper than he cared to attempt. The green pleased him; it was important. Only pure-blooded elves had eyes so vivid, and he would associate with no less than pure-bloods. Chat put one patterned hand on his under the table. The gesture took him slightly off-guard, but he showed no surprise. She stroked his fingers, long, painted nails dragging along his skin; her gaze drifted about the rest of the room casually. Adar found it difficult to look away from the rich, red wine stains on the tablecloth. ?. . . impressive.? She took her hand away, and he realized that she had been speaking. Such long ears,? she said, touching his left ear gently. Another trait inherent only of those elves with pure bloodlines; he noted that she recognized it as being of value. Adar?s ears were tall and slim, each coming to points high above those of other, lesser elves. He tried to glance quickly at Chat?s own, but her hair effectively blanketed them in silky layers. She trailed her fingernail up the entire length of his left ear, with an almost unbearable tediousness. Her face grew nearer, and he could feel her tongue follow her finger?s example. Her breath was hot on his skin. ?Your ladyfriend was right. It is getting awfully crowded here.? Adar faced her, and was once again met with the brilliant hue of her eyes. He snapped his fingers authoritatively, and an obeisant worker lurking nearby rushed to accommodate him with his bill.

Thank you, Dagger. I will be posting a short story for you, as a birthday present. But it's not quite done yet. *grin* For now, here's a teaser. It's one of the bits I wrote on strangeminds, but it's not the first. (It's just the shortest, and the least indecent.) So if there are things you don't get, you'll just have to go there and read the others. And am I shamelessly plugging myself? Yes, yes I am. [B]This story contains sex . . . without the candy. Squeamish, stop reading now.[/B] [U]Sarah's Eyes[/U] He didn?t bother to look up as the bedroom door opened. Sarah strode inside, her pale blue eyes like twin indifferent moons set wide and slanted in her face. She sat upon his bed, regarding him impassively and drawing up the front of her shirt. Shanker shook his head, holding out one hand to stop her; she scowled, thinking he did not know that Sicker lurked just beyond the door. ?Undress, Shanker.? She was four years his elder, but he had known Sicker the longer. ?Sarah, don?t,? he said quietly, in a voice his older brother could not hear. ?There is a price for your intent.? ?Hmmm.? Her tone was unreadable, but she continued to disrobe. Putting both hands on his chest, she pushed him onto his back. ?Undress.? Sicker was planning something, that much was obvious by his presence. While he could sense Shanker?s whereabouts, he could not judge specific movements. It was something else. Shanker knew how Sarah despised him, and how much she loathed it when Sicker ordered her to his bed. He tried every time to allay her hatred; he attempted to better explain his position to her, and his sorrow for her captivity. She would hear none of it, and fair tutored Kanuz, a year under Shanker, in the surmised necessity of detesting the family with the periwinkle blue eyes. Shanker was one such. Though he was in no better a situation than either Sarah or Kanuz, they both simply hated him for what Sicker forced him to do, with no regard to the tears he cried even as he did it. Kanuz reviled him for Sarah?s bitter words; he took everything she said as solid truth. Neither of them chose to listen, for he remained cursed with the same eyes of sadness and sickness as Sicker and Jonquil. But they were allowed to leave. They roamed the streets, yes, and feared Sicker for his punishments if the profits gained from their services were deficient; but they were not held down by blood. Sicker knew where his family went, everywhere. But he could track his captive pupils only through associates. Sarah and Kanuz could escape so easily, yet they never dared. Kanuz was a coward, in truth, but he strove to convince even himself that he did not leave because of Sarah. She had given up; she no longer cared about her fate. Her sole goals were to avoid pain and to anger Sicker; in this way she reminded Shanker overmuch of his sister. He was unsure of how Kanuz would take to the fact that Sarah was so far into her apathy that she cared little even for him. Shanker would never tell him so; Kanuz likely wouldn?t believe him and would only hate him more for it. Sarah ignored his protests, straddling him in the skillful manner of one who no longer appreciates her own actions, unbuttoning his shirt. Shanker pushed her hands away repeatedly, whispering urgently, ?Just wait a moment longer! I swear to you, this is a trick!? He didn?t know what Sicker intended. Whatever it was, it was surely a doubled-edged sword, with neither side a pleasant alternative to the other. But he knew his brother, inside and out in ways that made him sick to his stomach, and knew that one side of the blade would draw darker blood than the other. He just didn?t know which side. Listening while trying to keep Sarah at bay, Shanker waited for Sicker to think on his plans. He could not find out what they were unless they entered his brother?s mind. All Sicker was occupied with, however, was hearing their encounter from the other side of the door. ?Sarah,? Shanker pleaded, grasping her wrists, ?I?m telling you, wait. I want to help you.? She laughed, a noise that was barely a laugh and bereft of effort. Eyeing him scornfully, she pulled her arms from him. ?You lie.? ?No,? he insisted, trying to cover her bare form with the blanket. ?No, Sarah, I?m not. Just [I]wait[/I].? She ripped the blanket from his hands, her abhorrence for him clear in her moon-blue eyes. She pushed her palms hard against his chest, pinning him under her weight, and continued unclothing him. With determination set in her fair features, Sarah spread herself atop him and bit him in the cleft of his shoulder as deeply as she could. He held his tongue, aware of Sicker?s waiting presence, and she bit harder, grinding her teeth into his flesh. Letting out a quiet gasp of pain, he tried to drive her away, but her jaw was locked on his neck. Finally, she released him, color in her cheeks. ?Cry out, damn you!? she spat, frustrated, a thin trickle of Shanker?s blood running from her lips. Shanker forced back the blur of tears from his eyes and shook his head. That was what Sicker was waiting for; to hear him make a sound. He wanted to know why. ?If you don?t do this,? Sarah hissed, a rare thing of emotion for her, ?he?ll beat me until I can?t walk anymore. [I]Cry out!? [/I] she repeated, raising her own voice and aiming a fist at his face. He caught it before she hit him, reading Sicker?s Think. He had heard Sarah?s outburst, and was considering whether or not he really had a deal with Ribald. Ribald. Shanker grabbed her face with his free hand. He forced her to meet his gaze, whispering in a dire tone, ?He?s going to sell you to Ribald, if I cry out. Ribald will own you.? It gave her pause, the color rushing from her cheeks and leaving them a frightened white. Ribald was a customer, a great, disgusting mass of a demon, who used his weight in playing rape on hard floors. Sarah knew him well, knew her broken bones and bruised flesh, Ribald?s gifts; the thought of acting as his bedservant every night was more terrifying than being deprived the privilege of mobility. She was tense upon him, and pondering frantically. He watched her gaze, cold and indifferent, while her thoughts revealed her horror. He relaxed his grip on her wrist and face, letting his hands settle near to her form on the cot. With a barely discernable start, she pulled herself off of him and sat inattentively on the end of the bed. She was weighing her choices. ?Sarah,? Shanker began, but she cut him off with a gesture. Not lifting her head, Sarah whispered gravely, ?You . . . don?t make a sound. But he?ll want proof.? She glanced at him, hatred sharpening her words. ?Do what you want with me. But if you make any noise, I?ll see you dead.? Kanuz would do anything she asked. Shanker nodded, with no ambition to touch her at all; however, she was correct. Sicker would want proof that she had tried her best to make him cry out, and he would inspect her to make sure. She was resigned to the fact that there was no way around it, but Shanker knew what she thought of him and knew that the path she presented was just the one to stronger hatred and fear. He thought quickly, searching his mind for some way to convince Sicker of their act other than going about it. Another presence entered the building. Shanker read it swiftly and took in a hasty breath; even if he had a plan, it would be for nothing. Ribald was already there.

Oh, I'm so ashamed. Sailor Moon was my first anime/manga, and because of this, I wasted about a year trying to learn Takeuchi's techniques--which I have since found to be complete and utter crap; with no effort put into her illustrations and and every character making exactly the same face every time they are shown. I do not like this series [I]at all[/I] anymore, in case you couldn't tell. I actually started off with the Toonami set-up: DBZ and such, but I was also exposed to Pokemon. (I do like the Sapphire Gameboy game, but I do not emulate this particular style.) I saw Vampire Hunter D and Ranma 1/2, and these are the animes that actually got me interested enough to find good stuff. I am now extremely picky about what series I collect--they have to have good artwork or a great storyline, and if I can draw better than the published artist, I usually avoid their works altogether.

I'm going to fill up this thread with my own works. Feel free to comment, but if you are easily offended, are being supervised by your mother, don't like nastiness with a plot or do not want your opinion of me to change after you read my writing . . . don't read my writing. I'll be sure to put disclaimers over works that are iffy. But today, we'll start off nicely. This is a poem I wrote and posted on a site called strangeminds.com (I have other pieces there under the name Mizan, if you're interested. I doubt they'll let me post half of them here. If you do read them, try to do it in the order that they were written. Otherwise, you'll be super-confused in the stories.). Anyway. This is called The Blind Place. He put it there (the place that makes you blind) he didn?t know the consequences it was spur of the moment he hid it there and left it for someone else to find but no one looks all the signs were always there they didn?t know the consequences ?not every seed planted grows? everyone saw together alone always never a pair and she came back with her head heavy, neck weak she knew too well the consequences gazing at the newborn tree he was sitting in its shadow (waiting there for her to learn to speak).

I read that alien abductions are actually cover-up stories for when cult members go awol. They are programmed to believe that they were abducted by aliens, a story so unbelievable that no one takes them seriously--and no one ever finds out that they were actually being psychologically programmed using trauma-based mind control. If any of what I read is true, we have a huge cult conspiracy going that we need to take care of. Hmmmm . . . . You know, this reminds me of times that I wake up and feel like I'm spinning. I can have my eyes open or closed; it doesn't matter, and it feels like I'm on a revolving table in my bed. Of course, hystex is involved when this happens. It's [COLOR=Green]green[/COLOR]!

Okay, Perfect Blue is not a crap anime. It's a psychological movie. You actually have to watch it a few times to understand it, and follow it as you would a novel. It lacked imagination? Do you know what even happened in it? If all you got out of it was that the "guy who was stalking her" was cool, maybe it just isn't for you.

I think you mean "tasukete kudasai!" (please help!) *wink* I don't know how successful you'll be recruiting artists for your work over the internet. I mean, working together on a manga takes a lot of corresponding, and unless you actually see each other, it'll be hard to finish. Big-time hard. I'm working on a manga for the Rising Stars competition right now, with a partner, so I know I can't help you. (That deadline's sneaking up like a sonofa . . . .) Perhaps you should try to write your story into a real book form, or even short story, and keep it around and improve upon it, so that when you meet a physical person who can draw, you can bring it up. Even if you can't draw, you can definitely help with the production of a manga. There's a lot more to it than just drawing. Inking, toning, etching those condemned tones, placing the word bubbles and words, drawing out the panels, blotching, pen-techniques, blah, blah, blah . . . . Those don't take artistic talent so much as just a real tolerance for nit-pickyness. I don't do those things. :) I wrote the story and designed the characters, draw, and do the words; she does the panels ('cause my straight lines are never straight), inks, and tones. Teamwork! Gomenasai. Ganbatte kudasai!

Oh, I didn't realize that. Of course, I wondered why Demon Diary looked like it was flipped, but it didn't sink in that they were just like that. Hmm. Well, good. I hate it when people flip the originals. Blade of the Immortal is still doing that--although if they change it now, after we have bought half of the sixteen dollar books, I'll be mad. (I want them to look pretty on my bookcase.) Actually, they do this weird cut-and-paste thing with the panels, instead of flipping them. Nevermind. This way, Manji's scar is sometimes on the right . . . and sometimes on the left.

My school doesn't even have enough money right now to properly heat the building. In my health class, we were given a bag of flour in a burlap sack--with a face painted on it. Try nurturing that. I do love names, too. I name all sorts of things, and I give my friends nicknames, too. Fish, Yoshi, Bee, Mori-chan, and Virgo-boy (he doesn't know about that one). Each of my characters have about three different names, too, depending on which one of them is talking to the other. Uilleand is Uilly, Lea, or Butter, Kanuz is Ka, Kannie, or a**hole, and so one. *smile* Names for people? Well, I don't like ordinary names. I would not name my child any name that I would give my characters, but my characters are all happy with their names. Girls Isbel Shae Valmai Yue-Liang Mayonaka Alione Lilitu Sian Ophiel Boys Tristam (okay, this one is the one I want to use for my boy) Zaid Yasir Gavin Lynn Ewan Shanker Chester Nagaraka Kitsune Vinegar Tom I like last names better, actually. You can stick in some more meaning behind them, and just make them sound cool without everybody always having to call your character by some long, intricate name. Like these: Agaliarept Andromalius Dantalian Cimeries Sambula (I didn't make these up--that makes them more fun; if you can find words that no one's ever heard of. It makes for interesting namesakes.) Anyway. That illustrates my point. I don't want to give away any more of my precious names . . . precious, precious . . . .

I like Buffy! (No one knows this except my roommate, though . . . it's a secret.) I don't know the names of any of the episodes; I'm no good with that--although I do like the one that goes in depth all about Spike's past. [B]Favorite Character[/B] : Spike! He's cute. He's blonde. He's British. ([I]Some[/I] people say that he's old, but that just makes him a classic, in my opinion.) [B]Favorite Baddy[/B] : Spike, of course. That might be redundant. I can like him, despite any awful things he's done, because on the inside, I know he's just a poor, tormented soul in need of intensive cuddling. . . . . mehehe. I don't know how long I've liked it, and I don't know what seasons I've actually seen--I miss a lot because I can barely tell time, and thus miss crap while I'm doing other stuff. Hmmm. Yeah. I've seen a lot of them, though . . . enough to know what's going on if I happen to catch one. I do not own any Buffy merchandise. If I wanted anything, it would be Buff's hairdo. So simplistic, yet so soft--and the way it stays [I]just so[/I] in the face of evil is a real benefit.

I bought Demon Diary for the potential of shonen-ai snuggling, and kept buying it for the story and characters. (Gravitation soon fulfilled my needs.) The only things that confuse me are the other little stories in the first book. I can't tell who's male and who's female! (While it's not necessarily . . . necessary to know, it might help.)

Oh, I want this one. I've been drooling over it in the advertisements in the backs of my other manga, and keeping track of it on Tokyopop.com. I like two out of the three stories that you used to describe it--not X, though, because I've only seen the movie (blech); the only question I have is how the offspring of a hunchback and a dwarf seems to have come out so . . . pretty?

Ah! Les Bijoux! Under the Glass Moon! Spectacular illustrations! They're just so . . . pretty. Other than that, I guess I hadn't really noticed the difference (except that I couldn't read the sound-effects and cannot pronounce the names of the artists. I can do that with manga.) It all probably depends on how the artists are influenced by other artists--manga and manwha. I haven't seen an ongoing trend in storylines or anything like that to differenciate between them, but I also haven't read many examples of manwha. I'd like to, though; I want to take lessons from these artists . . . .