One I would have to suggest that hasn't already been listed here would be Grave of the Fireflies. It follows a pair of orphaned children trying to survive during World War II in Japan. Another one I found rather good, though slightly more difficult to follow, would be Paprika. It's an intriguing cyberpunk sort of dealie that can be all kinds of mind-boggling.

I'll keep that in mind. :3 Hopefully I'll actually get some of that arting ability back sometime this year.

The fight that Iae's talking about is from a very old thread from an equally old board that's still around. The writing by now in that is pretty *so-so gesture* and embarrassing, but it's still public, so I'll link you. We never got around to finishing it, so by the end of his retelling, I'm pretty much filling in the blank. =/ Cos (the other participant of the current thread) and I figured more of the ordeal's end would probably end up being covered between Iaeruki and Cosmos at some point when they get back from the library (it's almost definite that prince-laddie is going to ask something about it now that it's come up).

Here you go. I started you out on the day the ordeal starts. I'll apologize in advance for the verboseness and some of the monotony. ._.; Five years is pretty damn old. I'll also apologize for the comparatively s***ty quality of my posts (the grey ones). D: My god, my brain tried to poop out carnation fields back then. The board moved while the thread was still active, and it ended up here. Unfortunately, after Cos and I posted, that was it. No one else replied back. We were actually quite pissed. =_=

I tend to do writing ones more than art ones, though that's more due to accessibility than anything. It's a lot easier to write things with me on the internet than draw things with me for, well, a number of different reasons. o.o;

I'm sure I have some sitting around somewhere. n_n And if I don't, I can always try to finish something I have lying around in my files. I have a few incompletes that could stand to be finished; one's a work that's actually an attempt to rewrite something I posted on FictionPress ages ago. Originally I was just going to edit the crap out of that, but then I looked at it and just had to scrap the whole thing. ._.

I don't mind the questions. =D It helps keep the conversation going, doesn't it?

Magic Jack is currently the focus of my TV vendettas. >_o That s*** gets spammed twice every commercial break, and it's the same damn thing with a different vendor coloring it. It's horrible. HORRIBLE. I thought seeing commercials for Scientology on Discovery and History were terrifying, but Magic Jack just makes me want to murder things.

...I like this one for the look on the cat's face. ._.



It's like he's telling you to shut up because he's hiding.

It's lots of fun. =D Depending on how you decide to do it with your partner, it's either exactly like a role-play, or it's similar with slightly different rules. When the rules are different, it's because everyone's taking control of the same characters and trying to hold them to the same mold, rather than sticking to their own. Usually we tend to be lazy and just stick to our own characters, and then fix any flow issues later.

Absolutely! 8D I could probably try writing something new that's silly, though I've found that my best humor comes out in collab. =/ It's probably because I get nigh-instant gratification when I throw funny into a collaborative work (and I do it every chance I get, oh man), whereas there isn't so much such a thing when I do it in an independent run.

Diablo Swing Orchestra - Wedding March for a Bullet

I've had a few laughs with other people about how her version of expressing emotion as Bella had been by blinking. <.<; She gets mad, she blinks. She gets frightened, she blinks. It's quite funny, but I don't know how well she acts outside of that movie, so I can't say much for her. There's a whole slew of "RPatts is so good!" flying around, though, so. *shrug* My idea of bad acting is exemplified in "Manos: The Hands of Fate", so after a certain point the line starts to blur for me, really.

I'm sorry, but I've done a ridiculous amount of research on this series, and read excerpts. It reads like a twelve-year-old's fan-fiction of an Anne Rice novel. ._. And it panders to the oh-so-popular vampire and werewolf demographic. It's overdone. The series is grossly overrated. I'm sick of seeing Twilight plastered all over the stores and everywhere on my internet.

One of my friends brought the movie over and had us watch it at my sister's house. I almost died when Edward snapped at Bella about his sparkly skin being "the flesh of a monster!" I ALMOST f***ING DIED. I thought I would explode with feebly-contained hysterics. I was relieved, however, when the movie did not include Bella's PASSING OUT when Edward kissed her. Or her heart stopping. Because then I would have just been angry. ANGRY. But I will be happy to know that I'll probably never have to watch that movie ever again and take it seriously.

Y'know why the acting was bad? The lead actors hated their roles. Hated them. So that's how they played them. And wouldn't you know it? The movie was ridiculously successful anyway, because the Twitards sold it out to satiate their terrifying addiction. I hate the way Mr. Pattinson looks in that role. I think they made him up like a tool. I also don't know where "he looks like a girl" came from, 'cause that is one hell of a manly jaw for a girly-boy. =/

But I digress, this is more about the books than the one movie that's out right now. Yes, the books are stupidly popular, but that doesn't say anything about the quality of the book. A book can be an easy read without being positively horrible. SMeyer didn't accomplish that. She kind of stepped on literature, and the popularity of that among our preteens only proves that today's youth is even worse off than we realize. I mean, really, can you say we're on the road to a good, intellectual future when millions of screams cry out "f*** U TWILIGHT IS THE BEST BOOK EVAR!!!1!!!111!" when one person bravely says "I didn't like it. I thought the writing was terrible and the plot in bad taste"?

Now I'm going to have to go hunting for those parodies that Shinga wrote and posted on her livejournal. ._. They were really funny.

*keff* Hi, I'm a sadist. : D; *sheepish wave* I have... one, I think, that had just silly shenanigans going on, but I would seriously have to rewrite that one to death before I put that one up, because it's so old it was posted on FictionPress, and I never look at anything that was ever posted on FictionPress. Ever. ._. They're just that horrible.

The name, "Ist Fas" means, "One Life." It's loosely based off of the point where Iae trails off into wistful abandon and mentions that letting himself die would the most horrible and selfish thing he could ever do to someone, even strangers, and he wouldn't let himself do it.

I take both where I can get it. I like to have as much material as I can get on the stuff that I like; I have this insatiable thirst for knowledge that drives me to collect everything. Oftentimes it has an advantageous side to it, because chances are that if there are details left out of one adaptation, they're in the other. And then, of course, there's the common instance where one adaptation is a totally different story from the other, and then it's like having two series; instead of having two versions of the same one.

One more thing, especially if you're the kind of nerd that I am, more art. 8D I love the idea of having more art, particularly if I've taken a liking to the style of the series I'm working on at the time.

Thank you. :3 I think I've been told that once, though sadly my battles are few and far between. I do more with tormenting people. ._.;

This is going to look like a gigantic excerpt, which it kind of is (kind of? It is. What am I talking about?), because it's a giant (well, not that giant) retelling of a really old RP thread from the perspective of one of the characters involved. On that note, I'll say a few things now: Yup, this is the result of a good deal of rewriting, splitting and supplementing, and splicing and editing. Yes, it was originally put together for a role-play, and the part of the thread this takes place can actually be found here (NOTE: You will want just the bottom halves of our posts) if you're interested in what else is going on.

Pretty much what I did here was I took everything that I rewrote in the first place and pulled it all back together. I likely would have pulled out the supplementing I had originally added for the thread as well, but unfortunately I'm horrendously attached to that and couldn't bear to not leave it in. :< So I edited out what would make no sense and ruin the continuity any more than being in the middle of something already does. ...On that note, I'll happily answer questions regarding pretty much anything.
____

“Ah, yes. That was when Cosmos and I first met. There were four of us in that ordeal. I was dreadfully ill with a cold, and while the finer details elude my memory, I regret that the girl, Raya, was the only one whose face I cannot remember,” Iaeruki found himself saying as he continued scanning pages and indexes, a plaintive frown etching slowly into his features at the cover of a particularly old and foreign work. “Though we had only known each other for all of a meager number of minutes, we protected each other as though our memories had shared the same childhood.”

With a twitch of his ear, the insipid young prince turned and set the aged tome atop the second of the now three new stacks on the table, pausing in the midst of turning back as a convulsive shudder racked his frame. His face lightened slightly while quaking hands took another book to sift through, something strangely composed finding him along the way. “That was the first time I had ever seen a lass so zealously strangle a healer to death,” he remarked calmly.

“It did not last long,” the man began without even a moment’s thought. “Or at least, I do not believe it did,” he amended barely a breath later. Leaning over his new stacks of books to combine the old ones, Iaeruki furrowed his brows slightly in pensive reminiscence, taking a volume off the combined pile, where he went only so far as straightening to look at it, before his expression collapsed, and for a frozen instant he paled at its cover.

A brief flicker, and then a sudden flash, ripped across the back of his mind. A sickening weight filled his chest, and disembodied voices began to dance around his ears, seemingly punctuated by wooden scuffling and thumping. A terrible burning seared into his throat, and for just a brief moment, he saw a stained floor with red-tinged vision, table legs, chairs, bloodied and partially corroded fingers, feet—two pairs, one bare and shifting for ground and leverage, curling small toes into the floorboards. A cold dampness lingered against his skin around the edges, making abruptly immobilized limbs all the heavier.

Conscious reality betrayed gravity with great fervor, and without any further warning flittered speedily away from the edge of existence, leaving the foundation for panic to bubble up from the deep and creep towards the surface. The flight was cut short, however; a pair of blood crimson beacons brought everything to a complete stop, before sending it into a hurried scramble towards the reverse.

From the corner of his eye, Iaeruki finally noticed Eltevedt staring intently at him. His face twitched. Then, chasing away the decadent apparition from his thoughts, he finally turned to look at her.

A curious, thoughtful blink met him, the dark Taekimous’ ears perked, alert, and her hands idle atop the pages of the encyclopedia the man had given her. He only locked up for a second, but she still caught it—a pang of alarm, something old, haunting. Their eyes met, but only long enough for the dragon to quickly turn away, and though she did not realize it, it was due to the perceptive ember in her gaze.

“And yet,” Iaeruki began, resuming as though nothing had been disrupted at all, “despite everything, I do not recall if we ever did find out why they came to assassinate us.” Trembling hands fussed with the book in them, soon setting it into one of the three stacks he had been slowly building. “Rokuro was the one that had the premonition. That morning he rushed through the building with such fervor that by the time I rose to coherency, he was outdoors in the mud, panic-stricken, in tears. The realm of dreams had showed him our deaths.

“Cosmos and Raya had followed him out while I was still rising from my table. When I made it to the door, he was telling them to leave.” There was a slight pause; scarlet-tainted gaze blinked pensively at a damaged index page. “Cosmos immediately argued, and expressed his point with such fervor that his tone bordered on shouting. He would not leave; he would stay where he was and fight. Raya turned to make her way back inside without a word, save only to request that I let her through.

“For a lost moment Rokuro looked at me, and that was when I saw the terrified grief in his face. I was… bewildered, to say the least. Then, resolutely, he rose, forced Cosmos around by the arm, and with clenched teeth stressed the severity of the situation. He could only disclose vague details of the premonition, but he made this much clear: There were four coming, and if we did not leave, we would surely die.” One hand set a book onto one of the new stacks, the other reaching to take a volume from the combined pile.

“Everyone was shaken by it.” The silver-topped man paused halfway through pushing the hardcover open. “…Save for myself. When I let it sink in, I at first thought, maybe, this was the time. Perhaps, this was the time I could let it come, let it push me off the coil… let this piteous husk of a creature finally die, but, no…” His tone seemed to lose strength, a dim wistfulness pulling at his countenance. “How would I face her in the afterdark, knowing that I could have done something against it? How would I face her if I did not at least try and help the others first? To die selfishly is far more terrible a thing than one could ever do in life, and I would not have that taint sitting atop my soul.”

Pausing again, Iaeruki flipped through gold-leafed pages, furrowing his brows, and looked up, blinking at his youthful companion. “Ah, but,” he chuckled wanly, trying a smile for levity, but it fell short, feeble at best, “it is not me you are interested in, is it, lad? No, forgive me, sometimes I stray a little.”

Shutting his eyes, the Ryuakurei lifted his shoulders back, drawing in a long, quiet, pensive breath. He gave himself a moment to search his memory, paying no mind to the otherwise disruptive twitch jerking his frame. Where was he…? Ah, yes, that was it. “Everyone was shaken by Rokuro’s prediction, save for myself,” he reiterated, picking the loose end off the table. “With Raya, I felt it—her face was a mask of flustered discomfiture—but,” scarlet-shot emeralds drifted almost serenely open, rising towards the ceiling with an absent inclining of his head, “Cosmos… he began to exhibit tell-tale signs of panic. His eyes widened, his breathing became weighty, and there, somewhere in the middle of it, a prick of fear spiking with his backward steps. Despite my cold, I could smell it.

“He sought the ground, and then the sky, and for a long moment the silence that befell us thickened, until a spark flickered in his eyes, and he began to call out to the sky. Admittedly, I had lost myself in deeper thoughts at the time, and do not recall what he may have said, but the roaring howl that jarred me from their clutches was enough to understand that it had been a declaration, a vow, and the brandishing of his sword to the sun solidified the notion.” Letting his head sink forward again, Iaeruki absently regarded the books on the table, reaching out for the smaller of the three stacks.

“Rokuro found no assurance in it, and as I tried to prompt him for any further details to the situation, I was fiercely reminded of my illness. My lungs began to lurch and heave, and I was quickly reduced to a hunched and quivering mass of miserable coughing and blood-riddled hacking before I could inquire anything of him. I had considered the prospect of relocating, but before I could suggest it, I needed first to know if anyone in the vicinity would be harmed in our absence. Rokuro’s response…” pale features contorted in a reminiscent wince as feeble hands slid a dusty volume free, “was… not particularly heartening.

“Raya wordlessly slipped past me. Cosmos accused him of lying and began back to the door; whatever else he said, unfortunately, was mostly drowned by a new spell of coughing before it reached my ears, but I at least gleaned that he was referring to a recent promise. Then he called attention to my illness as Rokuro ran past me, and though his suggestion in any case was a prudent one, I had decided that I would not rest until the situation was resolved, regardless whether the virus killed me—or spared me—in the process, and I told him precisely that as I returned inside.”

Cautious fingertips lightly brushed the aging hardcover as clean as they could, before Iaeruki paused to courteously turn away, and then lean forward to blow the rest of the dust away. “Cosmos let the door close behind me,” he began as he straightened, an awkward grimace racing across his face with another abrupt jerk of his frame. “Raya was tearfully gathering her belongings while I crossed the floor to begin preparing the only treatment I knew would keep me on my feet. By the time she began for the door, Cosmos passed through it, and within the next few moments she had gone.

“Soon everyone else had left as well, and only then did it become apparent that Rokuro had come to terms with our alleged fate. He turned to discuss the circumstances with Cosmos, but they only had time enough to exchange anxious reassurances before our worlds twisted into a terrible, ravenous atrocity.”

A sharp tremor rippled through the ailing prince’s body, shoving a hand out to swiftly catch the table. A curtain of silver fell into his face, obscuring the bewildered blinking he sent its edge, before a wet snap cut into the silence, squeezing a quiet grunt from his throat. Another tremor raced down his form, a dull creak straining out of his ribs, and then a muted crackle sounded, before twisted threads of black danced off his side, thickening, and then arcing with a sharp crack. Tweaked, feeble shaking gradually swallowed the man’s frame as he carefully pushed himself upright, a quaking hand rising toward his lip, into which he loosely cleared his throat.

“Raya burst through the door so suddenly that it slammed against the adjacent wall,” Iaeruki began, his voice a slight croak until he paused to clear his throat again. “Her eyes were wild, the air around her roiling thick with terror as she backed away from the door—I could have choked on it, but instead I nearly choked on the remedial tea I had been drinking and broke into another fit of hacking. When I found the chance to look towards the door again, there were four standing there.

“My mind reeled; it was far too soon. I began to lose track of my thoughts, even as the first of them spoke. He was meant for Cosmos, a magus of holy,” slender fingers rubbed at his upper lip a moment, “the energy emanated from his presence in much the same manner the smell of rot would from a days-old carcass. The next that spoke was a mountain of a man, a barbarian. Raya had made her way to my table then, I vaguely remember the touch of her sleeve rubbing the blood from my lip, and she spoke to me, but,” the man frowned, running his hand absently across the cover of the book in his other arm, “most of what she may have told me passed through without ever reaching my mind.

“Sluggishly I rose from the table, and Rokuro began to call on the wind. Cosmos seethed, exchanging few words with the magus before advancing. A sharp gust pushed itself at our assassins, kicking dust into the air and shoving all but the largest of them back a pace. Rokuro turned to Raya, and we learned then that the barbarian had been sent for her. It was baffling—to slay a lass so small? As he shifted to inform me of the healer intended for my own demise, Cosmos lunged to charge, and as he turned back he quickly redirected his winds in a valiant attempt to stop the lycanthrope from barreling headfirst into his own tomb.

“Cosmos collided with a table, and while I tried to understand the new details to the situation, as well as precisely what was happening in the first place, I suddenly felt the inexplicable impulse to move closer to my table. The moment I had, a sizable blur hurtled past my head, which I turned to follow, and then quickly found myself staring at Rokuro in a large hole in the wall. Then I heard Cosmos roar—I whirled my head around to look as soon as I registered from whence it came—and saw him swinging his blade for the holy mage, one of his hands mangled, bloodied,” unearthly emeralds squinted in strained reminiscence, “useless, before he suddenly fell back, preempted, floored. At times, it is almost appalling how easily the undead can be repelled by anointed energies and images.

“His eyes widened, and just as I jerked around to regard the barbarian, I heard his assassin address him personally. I did not think anything of it—I question whether I could have, the world had become a nigh incomprehensible blur—and glanced to Raya, and then Rokuro, who was extracting himself from the wall, summoning earth as he did so. Within the moment a boulder had been launched at the beast of a man, and the impact sent him toppling to the floor. As he broke free and prepared to retaliate, a reprimanding snarl cut him short, and for the first time I caught true sight of the man sent to kill Rokuro.

“His energy was distinct, far different from the basic elemental nature of most living creatures. He was a weapons mage, a specialist in conjuring blades ranging across a vast spectrum of diversity. I barely had time to derive even that little detail before my vision was washed white, and my eyes ignited with fires akin to the infernos of Catholic Hell.” Iaeruki’s free hand drifted subconsciously aloft, his brows furrowing as pale fingertips pressed reflectively into the respective eye. “Thoughts, feeling, perception, and cognition burned away, and I had quickly forgotten everything but pain, even as my body recalled rigidity and motion. Soon my hand was burning as well, my vision had turned crimson, and the voice of a dragon echoed through my ears. As conscious thought returned to me I was throwing a woman, the healer, haphazardly into a table.”

Wandering fingers began to rub both eyes, gradually sliding down to run along the pale dragon’s high cheekbones instead. “The force of the impact broke it, bringing the count of damaged furniture up from one to two, though I did not see the extent of what I had done until long after the skirmish was over. My body shook as I checked the burn left on my face—I may as well have been splashed across my eyes with acid and Greek fire for the reaction it caused. They wept blood, as did my fingers, and keeping them open had become a battle in itself. Sound twisted into a horrific beast; I could no longer understand the din of the room beyond pounding clatter and thunderous noise. With my olfactory and auditory perception rendered useless to me, I began to realize the new importance set on my damaged eyes.

“I tried to find the healer, but within a heartbeat I had forgotten I was doing precisely that and instead attempted to survey the vicinity again. Cosmos was still on the floor, agape, and for a moment he seemed paralyzed, until he gradually rose to his feet. As I began to turn away, I saw him snatch at the holy mage’s crucifix with his disfigured hand, but what he may have done further was lost to me. I had found Rokuro then, pressed against the wall, a conjured dagger at his throat, and one of his hands at the weapon mage’s chest. In the instant it took me to begin shifting my attention again, an incredible force erupted from his palm, pushing him further against the wall, while the man on the other end of his arm was sent tearing across the floor through the air.

“I sought Raya, and though I regarded her for naught but a second, my subconscious latched to her presence, for what purpose I cannot be certain, but I knew then that I had to watch over her. I had to protect her, even if I could not support myself.” A rattling cough suddenly tore itself from Iaeruki’s chest, lurching his shoulders forward, as though he’d been struck in the solar plexus. He backed away from the table, pushing the tome he had in hand precariously on the edge, and curled an arm high across his middle, turning away as the other pressed a shaking hand over his mouth.

Clotted, desperate coughing racked his frame, twisting his features in a distressed grimace, even as the short-lived fit came to a stop. Taking a moment to recover breath, he once more resumed posture, rubbing the heel of his palm against his lip as a feeble “sorry,” slipped from his tongue, and turned towards the table again, peering at each of his companions in turn. “A twinge wrenching deep into my gut forced my focus around from Raya after that fleeting moment, and as I strained to focus and discern why, there, halfway across the chamber, barreling towards her, was the barbarian. My illness had leeched so much of the life from my body that it wanted nothing more than to collapse where I stood, but, with what stubborn will I could muster, I pushed myself into motion. I reached into my blood, strained for the chaotic energy laced within it, and my feet carried me unsteadily across the floor to intercept him.

“He was nearly upon her when I mustered the strength to lunge, and with a howl, I threw myself at him. I gave myself enough altitude to pull his head around and grasp him by the face, but I had enough velocity and momentum that I barely had time enough to push my chaotic energies forth and flood his body before I went flipping over his head and tumbling to the floor. An agonized cry rent through my thoughts, and the thud of his collapse sounded as my haphazard rolling came to a stop.” The previously aloft hand once more drifted skyward, a few slender fingers rubbing into the man’s temple.

“The world spun. For what seemed an eternity I could not discern where the dimensions of our reality lay, but eventually I recovered my bearings, and as soon as I had, I looked up, and I was greeted with a forbidding sight. The healer stood over me, silently incensed, and this was all I could understand as my thoughts were viciously interrupted by her fingers yanking me aloft by my tunic, while her other hand clasped tightly around my neck. It burned through my throat, even into my chest; again, I had forgotten everything save searing pain, but this time, so had my body. I could not see, could not breathe… I could not even scream, and the best efforts my vocal cords could manage were choked, voiceless… but I could hear, and what picked its way into my mind singed itself into my memory—she had addressed me by name and rank, before making it clear that she alone was my concern.

“Reality began to twist, mutate, its edges fading to blackness, until unfamiliar blood caught my senses by surprise, and I soon came to the realization that I was flat on my back. My body turned on its side and curled in on itself, my hands fought amongst each other over which would take to my throat. Breathing burned. The urge to cough was nigh overwhelming, but I did my best to suppress it with feeble success. As soon as I was able, I forced myself around to my hands and knees. A glance across the floor enlightened me to the slowly rousing form of the barbarian, and with great reluctance, I dragged myself towards him, reasoning desperately with myself as I drew my dagger, and then plunged it through his larynx. Whatever the cost, I could not allow them mercy.

“I did not look to make certain he was dying; the horrific gurgling was well enough to understand what I had done to him.” Dark brows knotted together, Iaeruki’s unearthly eyes narrowing disdainfully into the distance. “I shudder to imagine the expression that may have been on his face. I did not contemplate long on that matter, however, when I turned around to find Raya, and discovered that she had taken to the healer and was determinedly strangling her.

“I thought I had a moment to tend to my neck, so I sought to do precisely that. Unfortunately, I was direly mistaken, and within the next few moments I had been bound to the floor, and the chaotic energies laced through my blood began to rise in protest. My thoughts raced, my senses floundered, and I quickly lost perspective of just what was happening. My spirit began to writhe, and in the same time it took for my very being to being reacting, everything came to a crashing halt. I can only assume the healer was slain, but as I rose, I saw without perceiving, and felt without comprehending. The last thing I recall was the terrible sound of screaming, desperate, horrified, anguished screaming, chilling to the very soul, until everything blanks out, and my next memory thereafter is of waking in the same building in which we had fought.

“Had I been of better health, perhaps I would know more today, but I never found the nerve to question what else transpired among any of them. It may have been for the better; my slumber had been haunted in deeper phantasmagoria by greater demons after that.” Weary eyes blinked at the faded cover of the tome balanced in his hands, bits of silken silver slipping forth to settle before them. “But no matter,” he abruptly added, as though in afterthought, vainly trying to shake his hair from his eyes. “I have yet to even begin my research, and here you have already made well on your way.”

It's his eyes, I think. Arakawa has them drawn a little... mmh... longer, I guess we can call it? It's hard to really use the right size terms for eyes because the directions are inverted. D: But other than that, yes, it's very close. *nod* His big ironskinned form always looked like it'd be fun to try and draw.

If you do look into the books, I wish you luck, and hope you find a good one. =D

There are things in it that are just plain creepy, but in general we're looking at strange occurrences, and things that lie on the border of the ghostly supernatural, pretty much as DH describes.

The first episode had Ginko investigating a boy said to have a godly left hand. Whatever he drew with it would come to life. He later finds the spirit of the boy's grandmother turned half-mushi, and a broken sake dish that slipped from the folds of her kimono. The dish was part of a rare mushi ceremony she had become part of ages ago; its broken state was due to the ceremony being interrupted, leading to her entrapment between the human and mushi worlds (so even after she died, her other half, her spirit, remained in the house with her grandson).

So Ginko had the boy draw a complete version of the dish from his imagination using his left hand. It emerged from the paper as a whole, then split in two, and one half disappeared. The half that the boy's grandmother carried was joined with that which the lad had conjured, and the ceremony could be finished. She had a drink of the "wine" that the dish draws of and became whole again, then her grandson had a drink, and had a long look into her memories of the ceremony (called a banquet, actually) and what happened.

I suppose most people would say that's how the episode ends, but it really ends with Ginko leaving the next day to continue on his way.

Hulu shows the entire series in dub, if you don't feel like hunting for it, but I do recommend watching it subbed. I'm not an elitist anime nerd by any stretch of the mind, but I've found that for some reason I just prefer the dialogue in the subtitled version better. ._.

Greed was almost ruined for me by obnoxious, rabid, teenage fangirls that I actually deigned to attempt to role-play with (oh why did I do it). D: I love it how his default expression is this half-grumpy, condescending look. You almost have it down; I could definitely recognize him as Greed. Unfortunately, I'm not sure I'd be able to give you pointers, because there really are no good tips on emulating the art style of other people. Arakawa's is actually harder than it looks, too.

On the foreshortening issue, I have the same problem. My only suggestion is to look for some references or a low-cost anatomy volume that touches on it. I bought an artist's anatomy book ages ago, and now I don't even know where the deuce it went. ._. I think my house ate it. Either way, the Monarch is probably my favorite villain ever on that show just because he's too goofy to be properly effective at what he tries to do. n_n But he tries so hard. His face is fantastic.

Aaaghlephhhffgh... Thank you for the compliments. Amusingly enough, I had been a little rusty with my coloring when I did work on the crest, though I'm not sure how well I'd be able to duplicate that particular shadowing on the wolf's legs.

Also, apparently I lied about when I was going to get that other bit spliced and put up. ._.; Curse my ill health and spontaneous schedule.

Yeah--OH GOD, YOU'VE CREATED A MONSTER. D8!!

...Okay, I can't not laugh a little for saying that. I'll probably have it up sometime tomorrow night after a little editing and such, since it'll pretty much be a bunch of post splicing. o.o; Which is funny, because it was originally some story-splitting beforehand. XD

*snerk* Thanks. That's the Daiphoran crest. The guard wear that on their uniforms and their armor. I figure since this work is over two and a half years old by now, I can just explain it with all kinds of hectic crap going on around the same time Salem was trying to write that. ._.; It is in fact finished, and I'm not sure where I'd begin to fix it if I did rewrite bits of it. I'd probably have to transcribe it to figure it out, and there's really no need.

I have a more recent bit I've done that's kind of like a first-person piece. It's, funny enough, Iaeruki (I'm sure we're stunned to find out by now that he's my primary male character) retelling a major event that happened when he met a friend of his. Perhaps I can take the posts that battlefight was spread out into and put it back together again. It was actually pretty fun to rewrite. ._.