Writing Stuff

Saoirse, better known as Zara, smiled a big, vulpine smile, her fangs poking outside of her lips. Her older brother Arlen, better known as Ark, laughed out loud, slapping his furry knees, his sharp teeth clearly seen.
The object of their laughter was a joke by their father. Their father’s red muzzle was curled with a canine smile, his happiness a greater inner glow than his fire.
Their mother was laughing and smiling too. It was nice, considering she was the only human in the room.
Zara was a hybrid, a Zorua hybrid. This meant she had almost black fur all over her body, and bright teal-blue eyes with red markings around them. Her hair was short and spiky, naturally crimson-red at the ends. She even had a short black tail. Her hands and feet were covered in crimson fur and were clawed and fox-like, as well as a black dusting of fur on her shoulders which spiked up.
In other words, she was cute.
Her brother, Ark, was a Zoroark hybrid. He basically got all the awesome, with his red mane, crimson claws and longer, scarier muzzle and teeth, where Zara got all the cute. But their father took the cake.
Hogan O’Dorchaidhe was a Houndoom hybrid. His species got ‘doom’ in the name. He was literally a demon dog that walked on hind legs.
“And so,” their father continued, the laughter still in his voice, “I told the Beedrill to buzz off!”
“Was she mad?” Ark asked.
“God, yes!” He laughed. “She told me to go shove my horns up my arse.”
Ark snickered and Zara burst out in fresh peels of laughter.
“Reaper! Language!” Roisin, their mother, admonished.
Reaper gave her his best puppy-dog eyes (because even a demon dog can do it), and she caved, smiling.
Ark hugged his sister. “Isn’t it great when dad’s back?” He was smiling so widely that Zara managed to eek out one of her own.
“So great.”
And yet, Zara’s negativity plagued her with worries. Sure, he was in front of her now, alive and well, but the next time? Would there be a next time?
Roisin revealed a roast chicken from the oven, to the hybrids’ delight. She and Ark began busily setting the table.
Zara jumped over to hug her father. “I’m so glad you’re back,” she whispered.
Reaper smiled a gentle smile, hugging his daughter back. “I am too, Zara.” He lifted her up and hugged her tight. “God, I love you.”
Zara licked his cheek. “I missed you.”
Reaper set his daughter down, licking her soft tuft of fur atop her head. “I’ll see you again soon, okay? And I’ll have plenty more funny stories to tell.”
Her heart aching, Zara nodded and bounded to her place in the table. Her brother was positively drooling at the meat out in front of him.
The sound of a door opening and closing greeted their ears.
“Hey, any room for me?”
The family turned to see another hybrid enter the room, cries of delight and welcome rising from the table. The newcomer’s skin was the texture of wood, and a leaf was atop her head.
“Duille! So glad you could make it!” Roisin rose from the table and hugged her sister, a Nuzleaf.
Ark leapt up. “Don’t worry, auntie, we have some for you too!” He grabbed a bowl of salad from the counter top and set it on the table.
Duille sat down next to Zara, Reaper across from her and Roisin sitting at the head of the table at her other side. She stroked Zara’s fur, prompting the smaller hybrid to purr foxily. “Still cute as ever, eh?” She smiled. Zara closed her eyes in contentment.
The conversation at dinner went back and forth between Duille, Reaper and Roisin. Ark leant over the table to Zara, his eyes smiling. “This is perfect.”
Zara grinned back. “I know.” She loved her brother. How optimistic he was. No matter how Zara was sure it was the end, he would always come up with a reason, a positive excuse to keep on hoping.
Zara looked at her father, laughing away, and she immediately felt the worry return.
How could she not worry about her father’s life? Most of the time, he was far away.
Far away and working for the pro-hybrid terrorist organisation, Oblivion’s Wing.

-----

That's all I have so far!

Latios: Parallel, this is... I don't think I can express how much this means to me. This world of mine is so incredibly important to me, as a story I've invested years into mostly on my own. And here you come to join my world, bursting out of the gate with a perfect introduction! The descriptions, the mood, your characters and their interactions, the dialogue, the setting....! I'm honestly getting a little overwhelmed at how well you did. Please, please promise me you'll make this story a long one. I can't bear the thought of losing this perfect tale.

Latios, you really... just thanks. As a writer, you should know how much praise like this means to me. Thank you so much. I'm so glad I could do this world of yours justice. I promise to continue this story and make it a long one.

Thank you.

I love this! I especially love how there's a family being written in. None of the stories has a quite family-oriented thing going on, minus the makeshift ones that have been created in the others. Here, we even have at least a brother, a sister, and a father, and they're happy together. No abandonment or anything, and this sets it apart. Even as a hybrid family, although that part makes it also interesting in a different way.

I just started writing something random, and this came out. I don't know if it's inline with history, but meh. In any case I hope there's chapter material in there! I'm sorry if I got a bit nihilistic at the end; a one-sided conversation I had bits off when I was really young. I remembered it today, for some reason, so in it goes.

And Lucretia can change, if I shouldn't use Lucario.

(Sorry about typos, btw; using a desktop PC with a keyboard I'm not used to...)

-

Zara ran through London's alleyways, a manic grin on her face and yelling grocery-store-owning pursuers on her tail. Really, it was unfair; they had food and didn't need it. She didn't have food but did need it. It made perfect logical sense... if you were a starving twelve-year-old. Which, at that moment, Zara was.
Despite the antagonism towards food-stealing, Zara loved London, mostly for its dark alleyways, tall buildings and maze-like, complex streets. But she also liked it for its aura of apathy toward everything. The dullness that hung in the air, the uncaring but not blithe nature that drove many others away. But for Zara, it was perfect. Apathy was perfect.
If only she could be apathetic about her father. God, she wished she could.
A constant pain throbbed in her heart, beating to a different rhythm. It wasn't the type you could cure with a pill or a surgery, caused by a cancer or virus; it was the type that couldn't be cured by any chemical or herb. It wasn't the type caused by an illness or injury; it was the type caused by losing your father to death at the age of seven, and losing your brother to terrorism in the same day.
Ark had claimed that Reaper was still alive. Lucretia, the Lucario hybrid that had brought the news, had said he was missing. That there was no trace, except for a bloodied hunk of his fur. Ark believed that he was still out there.
But this time Ark's great hope was not enough for the two of them. Zara knew, with a terrible certainty, that her father was dead.
She'd always known he would die too soon.
Reaper had caught himself deep in the web that was Oblivion's Wing, a pro-hybrid terrorist group that carried out violent attacks. He had only become part of it because of a moral debt. When he had died in one of those attacks, he had yet to fully repay it. And now Ark was obligated to repay it.
It seemed that with her father's death, everything got worse. The attack had been huge, creating a surge of hatred against hybrids. Duille began to use her old name, Caoimhe, and went into hiding. Roisin hid her daughter and made less and less contact with other humans. Ark could rarely return home. And Reaper stayed gone, hidden or dead. It didn't matter, really; either way he had abandoned them.
Zara couldn't take it. She'd left a year later, stowing away to London. But it was like trying to run in a dream. She never got any further from the heartache.
Zara turned and began to run backward, giving the shopkeepers an obscene gesture before flipping back around. One yelled something unmentionable back, while another threatened to do something equally unmentionable if she did not give back their goods. In response, she threw an apple into the air, leapt forward, crunched it between her sharp teeth and flipped forward, hitting the ground running, to shouts of dismay and anti-hybrid cussing.
Years on the streets of London had drastically improved her physique; it seemed that hybrid bodies, at least the one that she had, were naturally capable of more than human ones even when relatively unfit.
These shopkeepers were all human. It hadn't taken long for them to start panting, and now their footfalls slowed and stopped. Zara leapt up to the side of the alley and grabbed a window ledge, pulling herself up so that she was scaling the wall. Another successful escape.
What would Ark think of her now?
Zara shook her head and chased away thoughts of her brother. She ran across the rooftops, her chest tighter and tighter. Strong and able though she had become, apparently her aerobic capacity was still as bad as an unfit human's. Panting, she jumped the last rooftop gap and slowed to a stop, collapsing beside the chimney. Grinning, she dropped her bursting bag beside her; if she was careful, it was enough food for a week, maybe more.
The thoughts came back. What would Ark think of her now? She had destroyed what was left of their family by leaving. Now each of the four points - five if you counted Duille - were separated. Possibly forever. What was she hoping to achieve? Where she had put herself was a dead end. No school, no graduation, no job, no life. Just stealing apples from the grocery store in St. John's Wood.
Zara suddenly paused, a chill creeping through her. Her grin faded, and her eyes slowly lost focus. Why was she doing this? Why was she here? Why wasn't she at home with Ark and her mother? Why, why, why?
Her hands clenched tightly, a snarl creeping onto her vulpine face. Because of humans. Because of Oblivion's Wing. Because the world was filled with nothing but vile, or ignorant, or cruel, or apathetic, or naive people, as her brother had refused to believe, as she had always known.
Whether they be human or hybrid, no one in this world was truly good. Good was just something people made up as an ideal to try to achieve, one that no one would ever achieve.
Zara felt a wave of tiredness crash down and swamp her. Her eyes began to flutter closed. Her train of thoughts was in freight mode, losing coherency.
She huffed in laughter, licking a snippet of apple off her lips.
"Good night, God. Maybe tomorrow you'll save us. Maybe tomorrow you'll actually exist."
She closed her eyes, feeling her consciousness snip away.
"You know, God," she said conversationally. "The best place to start would be the Middle East. You know, when you actually start existing. Apparently that place is really messed up."
She turned over and rested her head on her bag, her voice now a murmur.
"I know it's stupid, talking to you if you don't exist yet, but since you're supposedly all-powerful maybe you'll be able to hear the past. Who knows? The expression is 'God knows this' or 'God knows that'. So maybe you will know."
She was barely coherent, simply rambling. She was half-asleep, half-awake.
"If you supposedly made everything, then didn't you make hybrids as well? Last I checked there was nothing in your book to say we're evil. You'll need to take care of that, of course. Maybe stick something in there about us being equal to man or whatever the hell you want."
She giggled. "Oops, I said hell! Well, since I'm a hybrid, some people think I'm from there. It's really stuffed up; more so than the black-white human thing."
She snuggled in tighter to the bag of food. The smell of salami drifted through, and she smiled unconsciously.
"I don't mind if you come to Ireland last. My family can wait; maybe forever. But if you do come, could you fix the Church? They're supposed to be your devout followers but they're real jerks." She tittered with laughter. "That would be funny to watch. A priest being told off by God..."
She started to drift off, eyelids fluttering.
"So funny... so funny..."
She fell asleep.
So funny...

Latios: Sorry I couldn't get to this any sooner, but once again you've greatly impressed me! I loved reading every word of this and as far as I can tell it would fit perfectly in my story's canon, if you'd like to fit it into one of your chapters. And as far as the nihilism ending, I found it rather funny actually, so good job there, too! I could keep gushing about it... so I will!
It's lovely, how well you've thought out hybrid-human interactions. Maybe it's not that complex, but you still did well. Zara's character is well established and I really feel invested in her and her story. I might rip apart everything I read for analysis, but it seems you've woven a scene too strong to tear~

Awww, Latios, thank you so much! I was worried I'd lost touch with this story and it's characters and I feared that my writing for it would be lacklustre. I'm so glad that I've managed to continue doing justice to your world. Thank you~