issy2

It says 'Chicken Feather' because you have made less than 30 posts. When you post your 31st post, your 'rank' will upgrade to Rat Meat. This will keep going up!

Ty Sword:)

Ty:) Which is the new chapter? I'm getting confused :-k .

That's not the point... The point is to give constructive criticism so the stories can become better.

ah-ha! Ok how about this...*whispers* Oops I did actually just type up the whole plot in this box and nearly click 'Submit' That was close...=p Okey Dokey...Come back tomorrow morning and Chapter Three should be in place. (assuming you live in Britain)

Yes, this is interesting and original. It's different and the fact it was a 'tattered journal' is realistic and you prove that.

Put me down for everything Byers said. :) That was great; readable, realistic and immensely real. Great description as well; I can see all this happening! =D> =D> =D> =D>

:) Good for you Katha. I'm behind ya every step o' the way.

A couple of my personaly favourites:) Jimmy Carr Jonathon Ross Lenny Henry

Lol, I think I just sent you a private message...I'm no good at that lol, not sure if you got :) Yeah, I hope so. Enjoying it? Need ideas. :-k Issy.

Soo...I'll bet... 1. You didn't read all of it. 2. You don't know what constructive critisism is. 3. You're not welcome on this thread if you're going to talk like that. At least if you don't like it (THAT I could understand) you could humble yourself enough to give me a few suggestions? Not enough...DETAIL? Ooook you'll definitely haven't read it.=D> Aaaanyway... Chapter Five My return was greeted by the arrival of a dog-cart from Falador. It was Sir Amik's messenger, fresh from Falador Castle. Father grudgingly invited him in and rang for the maid. 'News from Keldagrim, sir!' the man said breathlessly, kneeling at the Lord's feet. 'Rise. Come, sit with us,' I left the room, but as I closed the door I heard words which stunned me to the core. In between large sips of ale, the messenger informed us that Sir Amik would be returning shortly, and several of the servants would be coming round to collect him. 'But-but he's been here for nine bloody years! Ye can't just whisk the lud out anytime ye like!' ' With respect, he's not your son, my Lord.' I had often suspected Father had grown very fond of Jon, and, as he rose and, in surpressed rage, paced the room, he snarled, 'When can we be expecting Sir Amik?' 'Two weeks. Three maybe.' I could do nothing but stand and stare at the door. Maybe eavesdropping on my uncle's messenger had not been a good idea... My throat was tight and I could not breathe. A piece had ripped fomr my heart and shattered. Jonathon had been with us so long I could never imagine life in Varrock without him. I knew the time had to come, but now...with the ceilis, and the dances, and our treehouse recently complete! With our new horses Father has keenly paid for. With Jon came my father's realisation, understanding, and, above all, love. I staggered out through the kitchens, and vomited in the drainpipe. I felt tears coming and did not try to stop them. Hot, salty drops were spreading on my tongue, my body shaking in sadness. It was as though someone told me Jon was dead. Well, he was going halfway across the world. Overcome by a fresh bout of tears, I retched into the gutter. I knew that both psychically and mentally I was utterly overreacting, but there was nothing on the distant horizon other than bitter loneliness. I let my eyes ooze tears for another few minutes, then stood up. Dusk was coming. Chapter Six Jonathon was having a short music lesson with our tutor (whose lessons were surprisingly enjoyable while I and my 'brother' took them together) while I went and spent my pocket money at an art shop, newly opened just off the West Avenue. I did not ride, but ambled slowly out of the courtyard. I was starting to feel at ease with the villagers; they were friendly enough, and fantastic cooks! Reaching the archery store, erect on one side of the square, I turned cautiously down an alley. I was not more than halfway through the dark, cramped passage when I heard a voice behind me. 'Jonathon!' it whispered. 'Mary?' I asked instinctively, then gasped. 'Katherine! Hi!' 'There's a ceil'i on tonight. I told Mary and Rebekka you'd be there.' 'Short notice,' I remarked. It hit me then how close we were standing... More silence. In fact our conversation had many a long pause. 'The Falador Flutists,' she continued. I was hardly listening...that gorgeously soft and tender voice sent shivers down my spine. I took a deep breath. 'They'll be there. I thought your brother might like to come,' I gave a short laugh. It's feeble sound echoed around the walls on either side. Silence. 'He's not my brother.' I said finally. 'And...Katherine...umm...I-' I shook myself and rattled on. 'I'm not Jonathon. Sorry. I'm Irus.' She was clearly shocked. 'Oh.' 'I hate my name!' I continued recklessly. 'It's so ...embarrassing.' 'No,' she said quietly. 'I like it.' We stood, centimetres away. She was so, so close. Her eyes made me feel excited and vulnerable. They were a gentle grey, but they bored into me and made me wonder whether she could read my thoughts. 'I-I'd better be going,' I stammered eventually. She betrayed no emotion. 'Um- see you tonight!' I ended with foolish cheerfullness. 'Goodbye,' she answered. I ripped myself away and walked towards the light at the end of the alley. Those had been the scariest few minutes of my life. Chapter Seven When I returned to Jon, I barely dared speak to him. I was too shocked. 'Goodbye, Father!' I called, grabbing a hunk of nutty bread and ripping it apart as I left the room. 'Don't be late!' he gruffly replied. To be honest, I think Father was overjoyed at our recent outings. He may not have been entirely powerful over the Varrock and its citizens, but any authority he had was now totally warm. Fear snuck through me like mist. My stomach churned. I was utterly petrified. Mounting Sebby, I clicked my tongue and prayed I wouldn't have to do much; after all, the (short) journey had been made so many times, and in such swist succession that the horse had memorised it. The barn was warmer than ever. The dancing had started with a lively waltz, and we joined the swirling mass of skirts and jackets before the clashing crescendo of the final notes. I had recklessly accepted three tankards of ale. I felt light-headed and dizzy, but not unpleasantly so. Stumbling outside to check on the horses, I clutched the doorframe for support. 'Irus,' I swore inwardly. This was the second time Katherine had caught me unawares- completely alone![/u] 'You got hooked on the ale!' she exclaimed. 'Oh dear. That stuff can take weeks to lose effect,' 'Oh,' I could think of nothing else to say...but I was just thinking how slender she was..sloping shoulders and those gorgeous eyes... This was an exact replica of the situation a few hours ago. Katherine was so, so close... And then I was thrust against the wall, her lips on mine, her hands on my shoulders...and I didn't try to stop her. I kissed her back, then tore away, gasping for breath. Katherine gave a triumphant grin, turned on her heel and flounced back inside.

That's another big thing. If they respect you, why? Do they respect your personality? Are you kind? Hardworking? Generous? Sociable? Or do they respect your clothes, your accent? Your make-up and hairstyle?

Hi everyone... Just wondering; what are your thoughts on non-conformity? Personally I trail around ingame wearing a sara skirt and full bronze. Anyway...What is it that makes you want to be the same as everyone else, in real life and online? Are you just a replica of everybody else? What makes you YOU? If you walked into school one day in a fluffy white dress, wellies and 1930's pilot's glasses how would your friends react? Why do we all have to be the same? BTW; has anyone out there read 'Stargirl'? It's a reeally great story by Jerry Spinelli. But read it slowly. Personally, I wear what I want, I do what I want. If other's like it, good for them. If they don't, I don't particularly care. Another conformity-thing is Tribute Bands. In my experience (please no flaming on this) I think tribute bands suck. They copy what someone else has done and alter it to suit the public. Idiots...*hisses under breath* Discuss! EDIT: Please appreciate that this is a subject which could VERY, VERY easily turn to pointless flaming. Everyone has their opinion, please do comment on what they say but respect it.

I like it, mildly comic...but I don't get it. :-k

yeah ronnie good luck at school, just do your best and concentrate and you'll be the best :)

Can I have two made please? Color(s): 1. Orangy, reddy, dark red, yellowy... Text: EMBRACE Subtext:THE MUSIC Other Information i need to know: Based on my second-favourite favourite band, Embrace Color(s): Nearly plain white background Text: (in black and red) THE KOOKS Subtext: (as shadow) THE KOOKS Border: Black squiggles/nice swirly pattern:) Other info:Based on my favourite band! http://www.thekooks.co.uk

HOT!!! The Tetftw train!

9/10... I think the egg0hatching idea is REALLY cool...:)

Weird puffy little hats (usually pink or white) Furry boots Jeans or ra-ra skirt And something random on top. (for GIRLS, I said, for GIRLS!) I think they look crap...I wear what I want, when I want. I am a non-conformist.

Ok, if this isn't some really stupid joke (which isn't funny, alot of people out there are killed by bullying) ring Childline on 0800 1111. It's confidential, no phone records, and it's also free. Maybe you should talk to your parents? If this is as serious as you say, you might have to get the police involved.

FUNNY links? I fail to see how this is funny?

Yeah, same .

YES!!! DO credit the author. Stick that everywhere! It's fantastic! It's brilliant! (no that's not sarcasm)

Chapter Three Jonathon pasted it to the wall of his bedroom, on the door that led to mine. Every time he opened the door he stopped to stare at it. ÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ãâ¹ÃâI love that picture,ÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ã¢ââ¬Å¾Ã¢ he whispered to me, late one night several months later. Our friendship had developed and I loved him like a brother. ÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ãâ¹ÃâI love it too,ÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ã¢ââ¬Å¾Ã¢ I murmured sleepily back. 'G'night...' My voice trailed away and I felt the pressure leave the bed, as Jonathon rose and stumbled back to his own room. Chapter Four When I look back, in my minds' eye, I wondered how I could have ever been such a cold-hearted, lonely child. With Jonathon I laughed easily and my stiff nature was oiled. My brother and I had grown to be dashingly handsome young lads of eighteen. Jonathon, in particular, with his long, deep-coloured hair, was a picture of but my life was going too fast. Everything in was so different in this exciting new world of adolescence. Jon's parents were still engaged in the war with the Dwarves. I had never known wars could last nine years. This thought scared and intimidated me. I learnt alot from Jonathon, but two things in particular I loved. My new 'brother' was a talented musician, and he had brought his own flute; a broad, mahogany pipe that sang a deep and mournful song. With our arts, my painting and his music, we were a powerful pair. One night as we rode our horses, a noble black stallion for Jon and a lively dun-coloured destrier for myself, we heard music welling exquisitely from a barnyard, freshly thatched and painted gayly. 'Jonathon,' I whispered, stopping Sebastian. 'Listen,' And so we did. In the end we tied our horses up outside, and entered the room. The building was of a staggering size compared to most in the town; male and female peasants ambled, chatting and laughing. At the other end was a stage, rising several yards into the air. Upon it was an orchestra of extreme rarity; playing groups were seldom found in those days. Their music was enchanting. It entered my heart and stole my soul from my mind. I was captured by beauty. It was the clear the peasants loathed us; the two lads who've got everything, the sons of Lords and cousins of Kings, handsome, rich, priviliged in every way. But we humbled ourselves. We took off our jackets and collected stew and ale from a woman who bustled around a hude fireplace several metres long. We sat against the hard walls (no seating was provided) and dreamed, sinking into golden pools of anguish, until the music grew to a clashing crescendo and stunned us. Staggering outside, we grasped Sergeant and Sebastian's necks, and tottered home. Whether it was the unexpected strength of the ale, exhaustion from a long day's hunting, or the musicians that sedated us, we will never know. Barely a week later, we found ourselves at another concert. This time, we did not act like Lords, but slipped in and danced with them, joining them, as them. 'No ale, thanks,' I said to the girl who was serving this time round. 'I think it knocked me out last time!' She laughed. 'I haven't seen you before,' she remarked. 'I thought I knew everyone. Are you Varrockian?' 'Umm-no,' She raised her eyebrows. 'Well, I'm Katherine. Pleased to meet you,-?' 'Jonathon,' 'I love that name!' she exclaimed, and shook my hand. I met many others, too. I became quite friendly with Katherine, and, too, with old Stewart, the mill-grinder, Artskof and Behilde, two visiting hunters and relations of Bryan and Lilliani. Jonathon and I were welcomed into this odd new feeling of communal joy. The music, too, intrigued us, but came second to the friends we had swiftly made. Indeed, only one thing was worrying me; my supposed identity with Katherine. I could not confess! The fear of feeling a fool was much mroe than that of Jonathon discovering I had used his name to introduce myself to an attractive young woman! I have always been good at putting things at the back of my head and letting dust settle, and so I did so then.

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