And the second half
Jul. 24th, 2003 09:03 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sparkindarknessIt occurs ot me, I may have managed to get a character without mystical abilities, but I still lack one without emotional issues.
Ah well. Can't have everything.
He crawled onto the bed, eyes never leaving Ian. His cock hung thick, hard and incredibly long beneath him, drawing Ian’s eyes in quick flashes even as he tried to concentrate on the ruby eyes in that almost feral face. He reaches out one hand and grips Ian’s shoulder - the icy pale skin echoes against the rich warm tan. Inexorably, he pulls Ian closer. The strength in the hand brooks no argument as their lips are brought together. The kiss has the force of a fist, so strong and hot that Ian gasps out strangled groans and the man hisses in ecstasy.
He can take no more. With a negligent flip of his wrist, Ian is cast into the air, his body flashing in flickering light, before landing, face down on the sheets. Ian gasped in shock, and only just remembered to make the fall clumsy, awkward. He shifted, drowsily on the sheet, rubbing himself on the smooth surface, raising his buttocks up and out, before coiling down.
The man grabbed his hips in an iron grip. Ian writhed in pain as those long fingers bit and bruised his flesh, dragging him up to all fours, bringing his buttocks up. Bringing his tight, shadowed hole closer.
Ian held his breath, gritted his teeth. It was going to happen... he squeezed his eyes shut and thought of the lost. Thought of the dead.
The man plunged forward, in one strong fast motion, he forced his hard, desperate cock into Ian’s waiting backside. Ian desperately, vainly pulled forwards, held prisoner by the man’s iron grip. His breath left him in a long, ragged cry, and even he couldn’t say whether it was pain or pleasure. It hurt so much. It seemed to burn and tear. The man didn’t wait for him to recover, didn’t wait for the pain to fade. He had waited to long, the perfect form of Ian’s body tortured his lust too much. He pounded against Ian again and again. Faster and faster, he thrust himself, hard and strong, full length into Ian. Every time drawing almost completely out, before forcing himself back in so strong Ian was sure the force would shatter him. He gasped and writhed, prisoned by the man’s hands, impaled by his cock, caged by the answering lust that caused his body to push back, that ripped screams of sheer ecstasy from his lips.
It was utter agony. It was sheer ecstasy. It was both. It was neither. It was so intense that Ian’s visions ran with dazzling colours and his head rang with unearthly choirs. The man was preternaturally strong, unbelievably fast and possessed an endurance that exceeded all living creatures. And he used every fragment of this power trapped in his ivory body. His face twisted into a bestial expression of hunger and lust, fangs bare to the room. Two glowing red eyes burned, adding to the shadows that danced around the room to the beat of the fierce, raging sex on the bed.
Ian couldn’t take it, throwing back his head so fiercely his blonde pony tail lashed like a whip, he howled his pleasure to the ceiling as he came in wave after wave of sheer glorious release. His muscles clenched around the man’s cock. The man snarled, lips drawn back from two gleaming upper canines, as he came. He roared and flailed his arm, grasping desperately, his body unable to contain the intense pleasure of the moment. One perfect arm thrashed outwards, smashing into the thick oak bed post, smashing it into spears of jagged wood.
Finally the man collapsed, the orgasm rolling to a shining, warm close. His legs collapsed under him, spent, and his body went limp, falling full length on top of Ian. Ian tried to hold the weight for a breath second before his own spent body shook. He allowed himself to collapse into the pillows, panting like a marathon runner. He sprawled under the man’s weight, one arm flung over the edge of the bed, head nestled in the nest of silken pillows, breathing the thick scent of sex in the room.
He took a deep breath and pushed his torso up slightly.
“Wow, that was intense! I hope you’re a regular customer. Or will once you’ve settled your tab, right mate?” He rolled slightly onto his side so he could shoot a questioning look back at the man, who was burying his head into his hair, burrowing towards his neck. At Ian’s words, the man’s head jerked up, looking angry.
“I have told you once, not to speak of finances.” The voice was more a hiss, echoing with quiet menace.
Ian smiled brightly, slightly foolishly “oh yes, so you did! Must’ve forgotten in all the excitement.” He giggled vapidly. He put a finger to his lips and screwed his face up in an expression of extreme, but empty headed concentration - his ‘blonde trying to think,’ look. The man’s face softened slightly.
“Or it could’ve slipped my mind while I was thinking of the people you killed.”
The man’s expression froze suddenly, shock widening his eyes. IN that moment of stunned silence, Ian’s hand came up from where it was dangled over the edge of the bed, holding a small glass vial he’d gently pulled from his bag. He snapped of the top with his thumb and threw the contents into the man’s perfect face.
The man jerked upright, screaming in agony. There was a sickening hissing sound and a acrid, burning smell. Ian didn’t pause, the stray drops barely had time to land on his skin before he was moving. He twisted, putting the full strength of his body behind a vicious kick that rammed his heel into the man’s face. He heard the crunch of breaking teeth, and the man’s screams grew louder as he clumsily pulled himself off the bed.
Ian rolled smoothly of the other side, grabbing a handful of rich, red silk sheets and throwing them over the stumbling, pain wracked man. His feet touched the floor, he followed the motion down, his hands already reaching into the bag.
The man hissed, rage and pain stripping his last pretences of humanity from him. He threw himself over the bed, tearing the ensnaring sheet like paper. Ian was ready, he didn’t get try to stand, the man was far to fast. He let him come, grabbed his out stretched hands and rolled backwards. He put a foot to the man’s stomach and used his unnatural momentum to throw him at the wall, before rolling smoothly to his feet. The man hit so hard he shattered the wood panel and cracked the bricks beneath.
But Ian was already moving again. He knew the man wouldn’t be stunned by the impact, knew that the bone cracking fall wouldn’t stop him. In his left hand, he raised the aerosol he’d pulled out the bag. In his right, an elegant golden lighter. The man was already on his feet again, rushing towards Ian with eye blurring speed. Ian lit the lighter and pushed the button on the aerosol, dropping to the floor as a jet of flame hit the man, inches before he could reach Ian. He felt the heat of the man’s passage as the flames caught the ruined remains of the silk sheet, still clinging to his body. The man leaped, beating fiercely at the fire, screaming in pain and fear.
Ian came to his feet, not pausing to think. Remembered words of a hard old man ran through his mind, ‘don’t pause, not even to think. They’re faster than you, faster than thought. Pause to think and you’ll never think again.’ He took the lesson to heart, and was facing the bed before the man could douse the last of the flames, before he could recover from the agony of the fierce burns that marred that perfect white skin. By the time he had raised that ruined face to Ian to snarl in hate, Ian has already shattered the whiskey bottle over the bed.
The man leapt again, straight for Ian’s throat, too fast to stop, too fast to fight.
Ian dropped the lighter.
The bed erupted into flame in front of Ian. The man howled, twisted in mid air, desperate to avoid the fire. He flung out one hand to grab a bed post to stop his suicidal plunge into the flames. He was moving to fast, his fingers scored uselessly at the wood, slowing his lunge and dropping him onto the bed, inches from the flame.
He thrashed in panic, reasoned thought long since fled in the fire’s consuming light. He scrabbled backwards, his great strength tearing the mattress, his speed tangling the mass of sheets into an ensnaring, burning mass. Like a wounded insect, he scuttered to the edge of the bed away from the flames.
Ian had moved again. Not waiting to see if the man burned, he ran round to the foot board of the bed. Seeing the man’s panicked escape, Ian ran and leaped over the foot board, somersaulting in the air and planting a flying kick squarely in the man’s chest. The man fell back down, perilously close to the edge.
Again, Ian the hard voice of an old man ran through his head, ‘always attack. They’re faster than you, stronger than you, tougher than you. They get you on the defensive, you’re dead.’ The man was trying to stand. He kicked him in the stomach, and as he stumbled back, twisted and brought the foot crashing into the side of the man’s head in a vicious roundhouse kick. Darting forwards over the treacherous footing of the riven, burning sheets he jabbed outwards with his feet in a dazzling display of martial prowess. Head, chest, neck, knee; ‘Learn the moves boy, you’re body has to know them, know what comes next. You’re head don’t have time to get involved.’ Groin, stomach, knee, stomach, head.
The man couldn’t stand, the sheets were a twisted quagmire around him. The fire burned him, scorched his flesh and singed his hair as the raging inferno crept ever closer. The blows rained down on him in perfect sequence, never pausing, never giving time to think. Sex clouded his mind and the inferno consumed his thoughts.
Ian drove him back, panting for breath. His muscles ached with fatigue. The old man whispered across his mind ‘remember to finish it quick boy. Most of them don’t need to breath, and don’t have to worry about lactic acid either. Those that do can last way longer than we can. You start an endurance test and they’ll finish it.’ The man was concentrating too much on the fire, he wasn’t looking for any other threats.
Ian dropped to the bed, legs seemingly caught in the sheet. His breath left in a hiss as the fire, mere hair’s breadths away , burnt his skin. The man stumbled upwards, hissing in triumph.
Ian brought his feet up together in a double kick. Every ounce of remaining strength in one last kick. It his squarely in the man’s chest. He fell backwards, sprawling down...
...onto the shattered remains of the oak bed post he’d shattered at the height of passion. His eyes widened in horror, he opened his ruined mouth to scream, “NOOOOOO!”
The wooden shaft pierced his chest. Impaling his heart.
Ian rolled off the bed, and looked down at the vampire.
His eyes didn’t burn with challenge anymore. No longer did those beautiful green eyes shine with seduction. The gentle veil of drunkenness was gone. They were flat and cold, like two cruel gem stones. The beautiful face no longer carried the promise of pleasure, no longer roiled with confidence and naivety. No innocent smiles or wicked grins softened it. The face was set and hard, heavy with unyielding fate and harsh decision. It was the face of an angel of judgement, come down from heaven with the writ of execution in his eyes.
Frozen by the stake, the vampire quailed in terror.
“I know you can hear me.” The voice had changed, still young, but no longer pleasant and cocky. It was flat, emotionless. The voice of unshakeable justice. The voice of unstoppable fate.
“You will die tonight, vampire. That stake will hold you prisoner for the flame. But before your death, as you wait for the fire to reach you, to consume you; I want you to know why.” The vampire whimpered. Ian didn’t blink, his unwavering stare nailed the vampire in place as much as the stake did.
“You die for Simon. You die for Michelle. You die for the others you lured here. You die for those who had so little. You die for taking away what little they had. They were weak, desperate, vulnerable, cast out, pariahs. Their bodies were bought and sold by predators as vile in their way as you. But they lived. They lived and loved and wanted and needed. It may not be much, but it’s all that anyone needs and all that they had.”
His voice seemed to echo over the crackling of the flames, eclipsing the sound without gaining volume.
“And you took it from them.”
Ian stood like a statue near the door as the fire inexorably crept across the bed. He watched, unflinching, as the flames reached the vampire. He watched, unblinking, as the flames consumed the body that twitched feebly in agony. He watched, face hard as the fiercest judge.
He watched, and soft, silent tears ran gently down his face.
The vampire was consumed. Ian turned and walked stiffly from the house. Pausing only to dress, he slung his bag over his shoulder and left the grounds.
He thought of Michelle and Simon, and countless others. Their deaths had been avenged with another death. He thought of the victims still walking the street. He thought of the predators, human and non-human stalking hungrily among them.
He thought of the dead. Those who had died, those who will die and those who’d kill.
He thought of death. And quietly, fervently, prayed for life.
Ah well. Can't have everything.
He crawled onto the bed, eyes never leaving Ian. His cock hung thick, hard and incredibly long beneath him, drawing Ian’s eyes in quick flashes even as he tried to concentrate on the ruby eyes in that almost feral face. He reaches out one hand and grips Ian’s shoulder - the icy pale skin echoes against the rich warm tan. Inexorably, he pulls Ian closer. The strength in the hand brooks no argument as their lips are brought together. The kiss has the force of a fist, so strong and hot that Ian gasps out strangled groans and the man hisses in ecstasy.
He can take no more. With a negligent flip of his wrist, Ian is cast into the air, his body flashing in flickering light, before landing, face down on the sheets. Ian gasped in shock, and only just remembered to make the fall clumsy, awkward. He shifted, drowsily on the sheet, rubbing himself on the smooth surface, raising his buttocks up and out, before coiling down.
The man grabbed his hips in an iron grip. Ian writhed in pain as those long fingers bit and bruised his flesh, dragging him up to all fours, bringing his buttocks up. Bringing his tight, shadowed hole closer.
Ian held his breath, gritted his teeth. It was going to happen... he squeezed his eyes shut and thought of the lost. Thought of the dead.
The man plunged forward, in one strong fast motion, he forced his hard, desperate cock into Ian’s waiting backside. Ian desperately, vainly pulled forwards, held prisoner by the man’s iron grip. His breath left him in a long, ragged cry, and even he couldn’t say whether it was pain or pleasure. It hurt so much. It seemed to burn and tear. The man didn’t wait for him to recover, didn’t wait for the pain to fade. He had waited to long, the perfect form of Ian’s body tortured his lust too much. He pounded against Ian again and again. Faster and faster, he thrust himself, hard and strong, full length into Ian. Every time drawing almost completely out, before forcing himself back in so strong Ian was sure the force would shatter him. He gasped and writhed, prisoned by the man’s hands, impaled by his cock, caged by the answering lust that caused his body to push back, that ripped screams of sheer ecstasy from his lips.
It was utter agony. It was sheer ecstasy. It was both. It was neither. It was so intense that Ian’s visions ran with dazzling colours and his head rang with unearthly choirs. The man was preternaturally strong, unbelievably fast and possessed an endurance that exceeded all living creatures. And he used every fragment of this power trapped in his ivory body. His face twisted into a bestial expression of hunger and lust, fangs bare to the room. Two glowing red eyes burned, adding to the shadows that danced around the room to the beat of the fierce, raging sex on the bed.
Ian couldn’t take it, throwing back his head so fiercely his blonde pony tail lashed like a whip, he howled his pleasure to the ceiling as he came in wave after wave of sheer glorious release. His muscles clenched around the man’s cock. The man snarled, lips drawn back from two gleaming upper canines, as he came. He roared and flailed his arm, grasping desperately, his body unable to contain the intense pleasure of the moment. One perfect arm thrashed outwards, smashing into the thick oak bed post, smashing it into spears of jagged wood.
Finally the man collapsed, the orgasm rolling to a shining, warm close. His legs collapsed under him, spent, and his body went limp, falling full length on top of Ian. Ian tried to hold the weight for a breath second before his own spent body shook. He allowed himself to collapse into the pillows, panting like a marathon runner. He sprawled under the man’s weight, one arm flung over the edge of the bed, head nestled in the nest of silken pillows, breathing the thick scent of sex in the room.
He took a deep breath and pushed his torso up slightly.
“Wow, that was intense! I hope you’re a regular customer. Or will once you’ve settled your tab, right mate?” He rolled slightly onto his side so he could shoot a questioning look back at the man, who was burying his head into his hair, burrowing towards his neck. At Ian’s words, the man’s head jerked up, looking angry.
“I have told you once, not to speak of finances.” The voice was more a hiss, echoing with quiet menace.
Ian smiled brightly, slightly foolishly “oh yes, so you did! Must’ve forgotten in all the excitement.” He giggled vapidly. He put a finger to his lips and screwed his face up in an expression of extreme, but empty headed concentration - his ‘blonde trying to think,’ look. The man’s face softened slightly.
“Or it could’ve slipped my mind while I was thinking of the people you killed.”
The man’s expression froze suddenly, shock widening his eyes. IN that moment of stunned silence, Ian’s hand came up from where it was dangled over the edge of the bed, holding a small glass vial he’d gently pulled from his bag. He snapped of the top with his thumb and threw the contents into the man’s perfect face.
The man jerked upright, screaming in agony. There was a sickening hissing sound and a acrid, burning smell. Ian didn’t pause, the stray drops barely had time to land on his skin before he was moving. He twisted, putting the full strength of his body behind a vicious kick that rammed his heel into the man’s face. He heard the crunch of breaking teeth, and the man’s screams grew louder as he clumsily pulled himself off the bed.
Ian rolled smoothly of the other side, grabbing a handful of rich, red silk sheets and throwing them over the stumbling, pain wracked man. His feet touched the floor, he followed the motion down, his hands already reaching into the bag.
The man hissed, rage and pain stripping his last pretences of humanity from him. He threw himself over the bed, tearing the ensnaring sheet like paper. Ian was ready, he didn’t get try to stand, the man was far to fast. He let him come, grabbed his out stretched hands and rolled backwards. He put a foot to the man’s stomach and used his unnatural momentum to throw him at the wall, before rolling smoothly to his feet. The man hit so hard he shattered the wood panel and cracked the bricks beneath.
But Ian was already moving again. He knew the man wouldn’t be stunned by the impact, knew that the bone cracking fall wouldn’t stop him. In his left hand, he raised the aerosol he’d pulled out the bag. In his right, an elegant golden lighter. The man was already on his feet again, rushing towards Ian with eye blurring speed. Ian lit the lighter and pushed the button on the aerosol, dropping to the floor as a jet of flame hit the man, inches before he could reach Ian. He felt the heat of the man’s passage as the flames caught the ruined remains of the silk sheet, still clinging to his body. The man leaped, beating fiercely at the fire, screaming in pain and fear.
Ian came to his feet, not pausing to think. Remembered words of a hard old man ran through his mind, ‘don’t pause, not even to think. They’re faster than you, faster than thought. Pause to think and you’ll never think again.’ He took the lesson to heart, and was facing the bed before the man could douse the last of the flames, before he could recover from the agony of the fierce burns that marred that perfect white skin. By the time he had raised that ruined face to Ian to snarl in hate, Ian has already shattered the whiskey bottle over the bed.
The man leapt again, straight for Ian’s throat, too fast to stop, too fast to fight.
Ian dropped the lighter.
The bed erupted into flame in front of Ian. The man howled, twisted in mid air, desperate to avoid the fire. He flung out one hand to grab a bed post to stop his suicidal plunge into the flames. He was moving to fast, his fingers scored uselessly at the wood, slowing his lunge and dropping him onto the bed, inches from the flame.
He thrashed in panic, reasoned thought long since fled in the fire’s consuming light. He scrabbled backwards, his great strength tearing the mattress, his speed tangling the mass of sheets into an ensnaring, burning mass. Like a wounded insect, he scuttered to the edge of the bed away from the flames.
Ian had moved again. Not waiting to see if the man burned, he ran round to the foot board of the bed. Seeing the man’s panicked escape, Ian ran and leaped over the foot board, somersaulting in the air and planting a flying kick squarely in the man’s chest. The man fell back down, perilously close to the edge.
Again, Ian the hard voice of an old man ran through his head, ‘always attack. They’re faster than you, stronger than you, tougher than you. They get you on the defensive, you’re dead.’ The man was trying to stand. He kicked him in the stomach, and as he stumbled back, twisted and brought the foot crashing into the side of the man’s head in a vicious roundhouse kick. Darting forwards over the treacherous footing of the riven, burning sheets he jabbed outwards with his feet in a dazzling display of martial prowess. Head, chest, neck, knee; ‘Learn the moves boy, you’re body has to know them, know what comes next. You’re head don’t have time to get involved.’ Groin, stomach, knee, stomach, head.
The man couldn’t stand, the sheets were a twisted quagmire around him. The fire burned him, scorched his flesh and singed his hair as the raging inferno crept ever closer. The blows rained down on him in perfect sequence, never pausing, never giving time to think. Sex clouded his mind and the inferno consumed his thoughts.
Ian drove him back, panting for breath. His muscles ached with fatigue. The old man whispered across his mind ‘remember to finish it quick boy. Most of them don’t need to breath, and don’t have to worry about lactic acid either. Those that do can last way longer than we can. You start an endurance test and they’ll finish it.’ The man was concentrating too much on the fire, he wasn’t looking for any other threats.
Ian dropped to the bed, legs seemingly caught in the sheet. His breath left in a hiss as the fire, mere hair’s breadths away , burnt his skin. The man stumbled upwards, hissing in triumph.
Ian brought his feet up together in a double kick. Every ounce of remaining strength in one last kick. It his squarely in the man’s chest. He fell backwards, sprawling down...
...onto the shattered remains of the oak bed post he’d shattered at the height of passion. His eyes widened in horror, he opened his ruined mouth to scream, “NOOOOOO!”
The wooden shaft pierced his chest. Impaling his heart.
Ian rolled off the bed, and looked down at the vampire.
His eyes didn’t burn with challenge anymore. No longer did those beautiful green eyes shine with seduction. The gentle veil of drunkenness was gone. They were flat and cold, like two cruel gem stones. The beautiful face no longer carried the promise of pleasure, no longer roiled with confidence and naivety. No innocent smiles or wicked grins softened it. The face was set and hard, heavy with unyielding fate and harsh decision. It was the face of an angel of judgement, come down from heaven with the writ of execution in his eyes.
Frozen by the stake, the vampire quailed in terror.
“I know you can hear me.” The voice had changed, still young, but no longer pleasant and cocky. It was flat, emotionless. The voice of unshakeable justice. The voice of unstoppable fate.
“You will die tonight, vampire. That stake will hold you prisoner for the flame. But before your death, as you wait for the fire to reach you, to consume you; I want you to know why.” The vampire whimpered. Ian didn’t blink, his unwavering stare nailed the vampire in place as much as the stake did.
“You die for Simon. You die for Michelle. You die for the others you lured here. You die for those who had so little. You die for taking away what little they had. They were weak, desperate, vulnerable, cast out, pariahs. Their bodies were bought and sold by predators as vile in their way as you. But they lived. They lived and loved and wanted and needed. It may not be much, but it’s all that anyone needs and all that they had.”
His voice seemed to echo over the crackling of the flames, eclipsing the sound without gaining volume.
“And you took it from them.”
Ian stood like a statue near the door as the fire inexorably crept across the bed. He watched, unflinching, as the flames reached the vampire. He watched, unblinking, as the flames consumed the body that twitched feebly in agony. He watched, face hard as the fiercest judge.
He watched, and soft, silent tears ran gently down his face.
The vampire was consumed. Ian turned and walked stiffly from the house. Pausing only to dress, he slung his bag over his shoulder and left the grounds.
He thought of Michelle and Simon, and countless others. Their deaths had been avenged with another death. He thought of the victims still walking the street. He thought of the predators, human and non-human stalking hungrily among them.
He thought of the dead. Those who had died, those who will die and those who’d kill.
He thought of death. And quietly, fervently, prayed for life.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2003-07-25 07:41 pm (UTC)i'd be willing to do a beta for you--altho i would suggest asking for other volunteers also to catch the stuff i'll inevitably miss.
(no subject)
Date: 2003-07-25 08:50 pm (UTC)I think a pseudonym is a must. I'm qualifying as a lawyer, I think it might still be a little too straight laced.
I always think descriptive = overly wordy, but then I've dropped a lot of books everyone else says are good for that reason, so I'm coming to think that I might be off on that one.
Thank you again! I think I'll take your advice... well, once I know what "beta-ing" is. I can guess, but I'll look silly if I'm wrong.
(no subject)
Date: 2003-07-26 01:40 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2003-07-26 12:52 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2003-07-26 04:08 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2003-07-27 04:10 pm (UTC)yup, definitely go with a pen name, then. *nods*
well, i could see some points were it's maybe on the verge of too much,but not too much--as in "cut out an entire section" but the ocassional repeat of a phrase kinda thing. i'd pick on stuff like that, but pretty much leave the rest alone. it paints some very nice visuals.
as far as tastes go, if anne rice can get away with using 3 pages to describe the particular shade of green in a blade of grass in the moonlight, i think you're pretty safe. =p
generally, i object to a lot of description, i'm one of those people who do put books down because of that-- but yours is very appealing, somehow. *blinks* and i have no idea where i was going with this babble at all.
(no subject)
Date: 2003-07-27 04:21 pm (UTC)Ah, that's the reason I don't like Anne Rice, I keep hearing Monty Pythonish "Get on with it!" screaming in the background. Have you ever read the Thomas Covenant books? Great story... but you have to DREDGE for it.
(no subject)
Date: 2003-07-27 04:29 pm (UTC)Wanna help me out and beta? Please? I bribe with gift-wrapped builders.
(no subject)
Date: 2003-08-14 11:48 pm (UTC)I'm very flattered that you asked me. I could try, be happy to actually. But, uh: 1) I don't really write, though I do read a lot (a lot= anything and everything I can get my paws on) 2) I've never beta'd before.
I don't know when you wanted it done by. For all I know, the deadline's already passed. But if you still want me to, I'll give it a shot.
(no subject)
Date: 2003-08-16 10:13 am (UTC)I think I need to have it in by September...