altairattorney

There was a constant in the gentle swaying of his memory. From time to time, the smell came back. It washed over him with the wind, thick enough to erase the aroma of the woods; it caught him when he walked along the borders of his home, faintly distracted, and wished that his eyes could reach farther. It was a sweet smell, alive with humidity and rain. It got unbearable in days of bad weather. He’d walk out to the woods, leaving behind the chatter of happy young voices, to study the depths of an iron sky. And though the raindrops drenched him, and his hair grew moist, what he felt was something else entirely – the smell shone sun

If that is the deal, then it is good. He says it louder than fear. It’s good and the good reaches beyond the price to pay; the good overwrites him, like a stain, it spills all over the way his heart is screaming. If that is the fee, then it is good. So much to keep, when the things that must go are almost nothing. What is Stan Pines, after all; what is this empty sack of air and failure, what is this torn scarecrow, to anyone. Stan Pines is trash held together by spit. Stan Pines is a shadow without a man, a story with no bound ends and no seams. If he can give way to something better, then it is good. It is good to the soles of his f

Chell followed the arrows. It wasn’t like she had many other options. Their existence itself was a fluke she could not have predicted. While she traced their whispers with caution, she was well aware there was nowhere else to turn. In that maze of clattering pipes, they were the only guide she could hope for. As her feet dug deeper, in the halo of the red guiding lights, she found herself wondering if the arrows were also part of the game. Maybe she was crawling to her doom, deceived by the ghost of a fake escape route. Maybe the voice was relying on its final elaborate trap. Well, she thought, this was just what it wanted – for h

Post-series experiment, FWWM included. Huge spoilers. Curtains closed. The music plays on, in perpetual motion. He ends his path in the chair it started from. Different room, maybe,  masked by the same looks. He cannot be certain – as if anything were certain in this place, music aside. He know for sure he is tired of chasing himself. More than enough to him. He clings to that, and he is sitting again. * “No, Albert. You don’t- no. If you just – If you were – for God’s sake, Albert, yelling at me won’t change ANYTHING!” * She sits as well, once more. Did she ever leave? Did they? Her figu

There must be order in the shape of life. Doug hears it said over and over, echo of a lifelong curse, in the convoluted paths his job forces him to tread. It is a subtle law, dripping from wherever he can see – their faces, their unrestrained tongues. That he is supposed to make sense is all they agree to tell him. He refuses to answer, and leaves them behind. Too strong, too unyielding, are the forebodings he walks along. He must watch their projects, shining with logic and deceit, unfold in silence – the greater truth, the shadow of danger beneath, he alone seems to recognize. He is obsessed with the dark side of things, they a

Dear Ace Attorney friends, I am typing up this meta post from my painfully slow netbook, hoping for my PC to come back safely. These are the lengths I am ready to go to for dem lawyers. As I lay sleepless last night, a series of personal thoughts strayed in the direction of Justice for All. I have wanted to break down my interpretation of the last case for a very long time, especially because some of its crucial details are easily missed or mistaken for something else. The innate ambiguity of the canon really doesn’t help, especially when it comes to the huge mess the law and the courtroom rules are. However, despite the pile of thing

[spoilers for entire series] “What’s new, Albert?” The only response he can find is a grunt. How Denise’s voice can still sound this relaxed is a mystery to him. He does not regard himself as the grounded, hands-on kind of guy without a reason – if there is a condition he hates more than anything, well, it is the calm of helplessness. It wouldn’t be nearly as bad, if only this place weren’t so full of it. Of course their search needed to throw them here, after two decades of trying to fix one giant screw-up. A restricted area of a godforsaken desert. “Nothing, really,” he spouts. R

Her vigilance grew along the size of Aperture. If Chell had believed to be lost, back where the hidden pipes drenched her in red, its immensity unfolded to prove her wrong. That first testing track was but a shell – she had been spat out, unwanted, to end up roaming the open sea. The more gashes tore apart the chambers, the farther her eyes could reach. She laid her gaze outside wherever possible, eager for information. The end of it never came. She adapted herself to counterbalance it. She measured distances gone rogue with her short, balanced steps. Even just to small segments, her jumps brought back its harmony. It was simple. There

Please note: this is not a post meant to police what fanwriters should do. Hobbies are first and foremost about doing what we want, so. You’re free. I am under the impression that, regardless of the story type, a great number of fanfiction authors are ready to sacrifice characterization in favor of the context. To be more specific:they start from a situation or a series of events they want to stick the characters in,they have no problem with making them behave very differently than they would, as long as the situation keeps working. While doing so is not objectively wrong, there are several reasons why, as a reader, I have so many prob

The thought that it was all over felt anything but new. It was a shadow at the back of his head, a faithful follower, no matter how fast he forced himself to run. Solaire perceived it vaguely, yet always there – brushing his ankles along the sting of the lava, wherever its molten gold chewed at the edge of the sorcery. It reminded him of the ring. How its circle tugged at his finger, equally solid, equally persistent. And if thoughts could melt into magic and magic into thoughts, in a land cursed with so many blessings, then his end was bound to come along. Sooner or later, Solaire told himself. The idea, so sudden and so old, spilled