chrryblssmninja (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
chrryblssmninja) wrote2009-08-09 01:06 am
chrryblssmninja) wrote2009-08-09 01:06 am
Entry tags:
la lalala la
orig fic orig fic what?
First two, then four, then more. The pregnant women started appearing in the stairwells and alleys of Organ Row, waiting for the treatment. I didn't pay much attention until the murders began.
It was either the mothers - or a mother's "placenta pimp" - killing off the competition. Any not-rich woman that wanted to have a child would have to flee to the countryside, far from any facility that did the treatment. Who knew if you were going to beat her price?
They were suspicious women. Most of them pale beings fearing the slightest touch of sun. I don't think it mattered if the mother was pale, but I bet customers would argue differently.
There were the medical repair uses, of course, but the rich people who paid for those things preferred keeping within bloodlines. No, the biggest payer was the cosmetics industry. It had started in Asia. I don't know if animal placenta was used at first. But I've often heard that it's a big thing in Asia to have white skin. Wasn't long before women and some men sought out products with placenta, believing that it would make their skin as untanned and smooth as that of the babies that provided it.
Before long, I was guarding my mother, day and night. Hid a shotgun under the counter, slid weapons into the shelves. We barred the windows on the inside, and I'd put off virtual school until the nights. I had to wait after closing the store for Father to come home from work. I'd be on the ready while he opened the lock, making sure no one could attack him from behind. Then we'd go to the back, lock a second door, set a barrier, and walk upstairs to our home.
Then came that month's Teacher Day. No way I could avoid this and stay home. We called my cousin to take over guard duties. I was a little worried during class, but I thought I could at least trust my cousin to do her best.
I should have wondered about one thing, though, while this month's teacher lectured us on "Math and its Mysteries."
Why was my cousin was wearing more expensive clothes than usual?
In our language, the baby's name would have meant, "Golden Boy."
idea based on this thread with![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
tresca
also help from this article.
I think I might expand this into a longer story. Maybe title it, "Youth."
First two, then four, then more. The pregnant women started appearing in the stairwells and alleys of Organ Row, waiting for the treatment. I didn't pay much attention until the murders began.
It was either the mothers - or a mother's "placenta pimp" - killing off the competition. Any not-rich woman that wanted to have a child would have to flee to the countryside, far from any facility that did the treatment. Who knew if you were going to beat her price?
They were suspicious women. Most of them pale beings fearing the slightest touch of sun. I don't think it mattered if the mother was pale, but I bet customers would argue differently.
There were the medical repair uses, of course, but the rich people who paid for those things preferred keeping within bloodlines. No, the biggest payer was the cosmetics industry. It had started in Asia. I don't know if animal placenta was used at first. But I've often heard that it's a big thing in Asia to have white skin. Wasn't long before women and some men sought out products with placenta, believing that it would make their skin as untanned and smooth as that of the babies that provided it.
Before long, I was guarding my mother, day and night. Hid a shotgun under the counter, slid weapons into the shelves. We barred the windows on the inside, and I'd put off virtual school until the nights. I had to wait after closing the store for Father to come home from work. I'd be on the ready while he opened the lock, making sure no one could attack him from behind. Then we'd go to the back, lock a second door, set a barrier, and walk upstairs to our home.
Then came that month's Teacher Day. No way I could avoid this and stay home. We called my cousin to take over guard duties. I was a little worried during class, but I thought I could at least trust my cousin to do her best.
I should have wondered about one thing, though, while this month's teacher lectured us on "Math and its Mysteries."
Why was my cousin was wearing more expensive clothes than usual?
In our language, the baby's name would have meant, "Golden Boy."
idea based on this thread with
trescaalso help from this article.
I think I might expand this into a longer story. Maybe title it, "Youth."
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now the idea's sprouting crazy in my mind and there are cyborg maids what
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lovedpretty!no subject
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My original fic tends to be trashy plots with dysfunctional people throwing half-assed shit at each other. And not to mention, they tend to stay in the beta mode for months (and my beta person is distracted by her no-good-bf...)
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I can try and beta if you need
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also, the reason why she's taking so long is that she doesn't have mword to keep the formatting the same...
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it might take up to two weeks at most
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Part 1
Part 2
THANK YOU. SO MUCH.