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I watched a couple episodes of .hack//SIGN today and enjoyed it a lot. Unfortunately, it also appears that the last episode I have is a cliffhanger, and I cannot, for the life of me, find the ones I need (sixteen and higher). Heck, I don't even know exactly how long the anime is.
I'm really enjoying it so far. I can't figure out whether or not I like Tsukasa or I want to smack him, but hey. We'll see when I watch more.
As noted in my pita, I want to try and have a story-post here for every regular entry there. And the idea I have is rather inspired by the imagery and music of .hack//SIGN, thus the exposition above.
Enjoy, I hope. Comments are something gratefully accepted.
***********
she has brown skin and capable hands; they are well-worn and know their tasks well. sometimes she sings when she works, knotting cords together and tying colorful beads in place.
people here know her face, smileworn and sunbrowned. they know the sound of her voice, a little bit rough but always comforting. she has earned her place as grandmother: she knows all of the oldest stories, and her children and their children pass by often on the dusty streets.
once upon a time she was a young woman. that is strange to think about for anyone who knows her as she is now. they know her as small and fragile, bird-delicate bones and finely wrinkled skin over that. to her people she is an old woman, the grandmother, and the idea she was once young seems is odd.
( Read more... )
I'm really enjoying it so far. I can't figure out whether or not I like Tsukasa or I want to smack him, but hey. We'll see when I watch more.
As noted in my pita, I want to try and have a story-post here for every regular entry there. And the idea I have is rather inspired by the imagery and music of .hack//SIGN, thus the exposition above.
Enjoy, I hope. Comments are something gratefully accepted.
***********
she has brown skin and capable hands; they are well-worn and know their tasks well. sometimes she sings when she works, knotting cords together and tying colorful beads in place.
people here know her face, smileworn and sunbrowned. they know the sound of her voice, a little bit rough but always comforting. she has earned her place as grandmother: she knows all of the oldest stories, and her children and their children pass by often on the dusty streets.
once upon a time she was a young woman. that is strange to think about for anyone who knows her as she is now. they know her as small and fragile, bird-delicate bones and finely wrinkled skin over that. to her people she is an old woman, the grandmother, and the idea she was once young seems is odd.
( Read more... )
