This, once again, is unconnected from anything.
With that, Jarret pushed the mug back across the table. He promptly regretted it, the unpleasant grinding grating at his ears. Lacina’s hands sped to her own.
‘That is not nice,’ she reprimanded. Her delicate hands scooped up the mug, cupping against her chest. ‘I do not understand why you are acting this way, but--’
‘ “Bee spit that isn't honey.” Sorry, but I'm not sticking any of that into my mouth, thank you!’ Jarret grimaced. His words were echoing into his brain.
Lacina pouted up at him. ‘It will help,’ she repeated.
‘Help me get rotten teeth and an upset stomach, you mean,’ Jarret said. He waved his hand, sending Lacina backpedaling a few steps. ‘Go play with mistletoe and stop bothering me.’
‘I do not--!’ Lacina dropped the mug back on the table, wings buzzing frantically. ‘I am assisting you and--!’
A few more knives decided to poke at Jarret’s skull, and vibrated in tune with the fairy’s words.
‘Uuuuugh, stop!’ Jarret ground his palm into an eye, the other boring down on the fairy. ‘Leave. Go to your room. Bother a sleeping dragon. Avoid getting caught by Peter Pierce. Whatever.’
‘--you are sensitive to light, you are flinching at loud noises, and you are obviously in pain!’ Lacina’s voice was fucking piercing. ‘You have been poisoned!’
‘Yeah, willingly, that's what hangovers do! Now fuck off before I remove a loud noise!’
‘As your assistant, it is my duty to care for and protect you!’
‘Fucking-- since when? What the fuck has Sally been saying to you lot!’
‘To protect this sanctuary, nay, this world, I must protect you!’ Lacina’s hand shot up and pointed somewhere in the vicinity of Jarret’s nose. ‘If you fall, so shall the nation!’
There was a ringing silence. Literally, thanks to how high-pitched the fairy’s voice was.
Jarret glared at her. Lacina’s stance -- in all her ten centimetres -- emitted pure confidence.
With a sigh, he pushed her hand back down along with his annoyance. Jarret was unsure if he managed it. ‘I'm confiscating whatever cartoons Sally has been giving you, as well as any cookbooks I find up there. And you aren't my assistant.’
‘Child, then,’ Lacina said promptly.
‘No no no no no no-- child?’
Innocent eyes blinked up at him. ‘Yes? Is that not the correct word?’
Scrap the innocence -- this chick knew exactly what she meant.
‘No, it isn't. Babysitter. Landlord. I am not the parent of a hundred and one damnations.’
‘Fifty six,’ Lacina corrected, Jarret mouthing the number along with her. ‘And Sally-Ann said--’
‘I fucking knew it,’ Jarret muttered.
‘--you are in charge of us!’ Lacina raised her chin. ‘We could not possibly talk to you with, um, vulgar and um, demeaning, terms.’
‘No.’
Jarret yelped as Lacina buzzed forward into his face. He leant back, having to cross his eyes to keep her in view.
‘If you are not in charge of us,' she said slowly, 'Then that would mean we can fly around as we wish, correct?’
She… goddamn it.
Jarret pushed her away from his face. ‘Fine! Governor, I'm your governor. Happy?’
Lacina beamed.
‘Don't look so pleased with yourself,’ he said. ‘And landlord is not demeaning, that's what I am.’
‘Very well!’ Lacina chirped. ‘As you are our newly titled governor, I will be sure to let everyone know. It is important to let the people in charge know about any all all problems!’
For a few seconds, Jarret had a sudden and vivid view of his future. It was one filled with countless chirping, high-pitched voices and buzzing wings and an inability to do anything without accidentally batting one over the head.
‘No, no that is not necessary,’ he said quickly. ‘Why don't you take care of that? You did that before, right?’
Lacina’s head tilted in clear confusion. ‘But you are in charge.’
‘Yessss.’ Jarret drew out the word, stalling for time. ‘I… I am delegating. As governor, I am allowed to delegate.’
The room was quiet for a moment. The buzz of wings filled Jarret’s ears, a gentle breeze ruffling all his papers. The mug of… whatever it was, was starting to smoke.
Lacina’s expression brightened. ‘Ok! Nice talking to you, governor!’ she said, and vanished.
Jarret blinked a few times, then immediately checked every door, drawer, and hidden corner. She was gone. Jarret waited a few more minutes, then let his head hit his desk.
‘Damn fairies…’ he muttered. At least his hangover could rest and--
‘Oh, one more thing--’
‘Fuck!' Jarret's head snapped up, hitting his lamp. 'What!’
Lacina dropped a pile of papers on the desk. ‘Sally-Ann wanted to congratulate you on finally getting an assistant.’
She vanished.
Jarret stared at the opposing wall. His expression was blank.
A minute passed.
Across the hallway outside, Sally-Ann looked up. Muffled shouting reached her ears. She smirked, winked up at the fairy in the corner, and got back to work.
Word Count: 821
Time: I don't know, to be honest. This one was patchy and I spent a while fixing things.
Prompt: Hideous Hangover Cure (http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/HideousHangoverCure)
It's a pretty descriptive title. It's a cure for hangover that is hideous in some fashion. Jeez, first the amusement park, now hangovers. RNG really wants to make me write on things I can't relate to well.
Goals: Write something that began "in medias res." Building off of that, write non-clunky exposition. Then there's dialogue, and writing with free indirect discourse (which I do a lot, but I've been reading Katherine Mansfield and thought "gee I should try doing this deliberately").
Successes: People! Talking! With names! Whoaaaaa! More seriously, I feel that the character's had somewhat distinct voices (although I cheated again with "swearing" versus "lack of contractions." Ah well). But, there's more of it. And as a bonus, there's some vague comedy attempts. And 200 more words than normal.
Improvements: I think it shows how I put this down for a bit. The direction of the scene seems to have swung like a swing every few lines. I actually went and edited parts of the fairy's dialogue because her tone had gone frightfully inconsistent. (Plus I am near certain I overused the swearing. Why are there no "how to write sweary characters" guides).
If I were to edit this, the first objective would be to add some scene setting. There are too many short paragraphs and that is making the page look like a zebra. =D
Next Prompt
I thought I should do this, because after I got the Hangover Cure and the Theme Park tropes I was very tempted to "reroll."
Prompt: Physical Scars, Psychological Scars (http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/PhysicalScarsPsychologicalScars)
...Really. I decide to telegraph what I write and THIS is what I get? I swear, RNG does not like me.
Said the night to the lambs, you’ll say to the headsman. Do you see what I see?
He’ll strike -- one two -- and you’ll hit the ground. Obviously it’s not the best approach, but there will be no better path. You’ll smirk back up at him, daring him, and he’ll strike again. One two. Shall the fate of traitors be decided by blood and anger? Of course. That’s their downfall, right there, they just need to use it. Their arrogance.
Way up in the sky-- and he’ll hit again. A cut shall slide across your face, across your lying little mouth, he’ll say, or something to that effect. That’s what they all say. All traitors to the flesh deserve no pity. That’s their cry.
Blood will be iron against your tongue but you’ll hold your head high, on the ground, where all can see you. All the night air, surrounds, envelops, and you’ll hold your head high as you’re dragged from your cage into the crowd.
--little lambs, you’ll say, you’ll spit any blood out of your mouth and onto the snow. It’ll be a red stain, sudden and dark and shocking to the ground. It won’t be in line with their “perfect” plots, and you won’t back down easily. Do you see what I see--
They’ll strike and kick and try to keep you silent. You know this. But you won’t stop. Not for this not for this, never for this. You will not back down. You can’t. Not so long as there are people who need to see, need to know.
So you’ll keep talking.
A star, a star, dancing in the night, you’ll shriek the words out not matter what they do, with a tail as big as a--
And they’ll try to stop you.
Again, and again, one and two, barbs and chains and dragging you away in the snow, but you will not be silenced. You’ll see the faces of the hidden little sparks, and that will drive you onward.
With a tail--
One two.
--as big--
One two.
--as a kite!
And those little sparks will hear, and they’ll fly and they’ll fly, as far away as they can before the desert can ride. Those little lambs will be gone. They will flee. They will never, never, never track them down. If you are to die, their agenda will die with them.
And they will be fine.
They will be ok.
They will.
They will.
They….
Word Count: 412
Time: 14 and a half minutes. I ran out of words.
Prompt: Physical Scars, Psychological Scars (http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/PhysicalScarsPsychologicalScars)
When an injury causes physical scars, they can often symbolise the emotional/mental scars the event left behind.
Goals: I borrowed from Eko’s suggestion, since I was drawing a blank on how to use this prompt. I also added “allusion to Do You Hear What I Hear,” because why not. I was going to play with the formatting a bit more and distress the writing, but I dropped that as a primary goal.
Thoughts:
I did my best in 2nd person | nonpast/future tense. However, I feel that overshadowed the initial prompt, which explains why my writing petered out. Furthermore, English has pretty much two words for future tense -- will and shall. That is irritating. Repetition is sad. Hence why contractions show up in this (plus most readers will naturally think with contractions and “you” do so as well. Don’tcha?). I did like how I had an excuse to use italics for dialogue; it has an interesting effect. Plus I had some fun with ambiguous uses of “they.”
For the content of the work, I feel this is a piece that needs more around it. It might be good for say, a prologue, with the explanations for the scene filtering into the plot in later chapters. I mean, come on. Kite. It seems like such a strange word to have present! I have many ideas as to what that will be. Which is good, because I needed more ideas for this series of snips.
Anyway, Next Time:
I'll probably use Physical Scars again at a later point, since it wasn't really used this time.
Exotic Equip-- (http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/ExoticEquipment) Nope.
Crush Filter (http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/CrushFilter).
...
...I am going to hit the button one more time. Just for fun.
Pinocchio Syndrome (http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/PinocchioSyndrome)
Now that's better.
Worms of nerves were racing under her skin. This is fine. Things are going to be A-OK, no problems to be found, and it is full of good and everything is super fine. Her nerves were still on fire. There’s no reason for them to be. One conversation, that’s all.
Pace’s shoes squeaked against the floor, each sound raising her nerves another notch. Calm. Calm down. There are no reasons to worry. Matt said this would be ok. Squeak, cried her shoes, and dammit she should have not worn her trainers today. Stupid, stupid, lazy.
No, nope. This is fine. Squeak, went her shoes again, and Pace let her palm hit her face. Calm down. She dragged the hand down her face, eyes opening in its wake. Same snow-field of squeaky floors. Damn, she should not have worn her trainers -- Harley could probably pick up every bit of dirt she left behind her and then they would know she’d been walking in circles and then they’d know she’s nervous and god everything sucked.
At least the walls were not white. Harley wouldn’t be able to see how Pace had been leaning against the wall. Wait. Damn, colour wouldn’t do anything to hide that. Harley probably could see the sweat. No, calm down. If Harley was bothered by it, they’d be bothered by literally everything in the place. She’s a human -- Harley’s smart enough to know how humans litter cells everywhere and dammit Pace had been a moron. No reason to worry, she’s just another human to Harley. Chill for god’s sake. Harley would expect humans to be shedding themselves all the time.
Except that most humans did not walk back and forth while waiting for them, and god damn it Pace had been doing it again. Imagine if Matt had seen? He would giggle about it for weeks.
Deliberately, Pace went back to her chair and sat. If there was a way to sit with decisiveness, she damn well near achieved it. She found herself looking at the clock on the opposite wall. Ten more minutes.
The moment she read the clock, the nervous energy was back, and she was back on her squeaking shoes. Screw being laughed at. She needed calm. Calm calm calm calm calm.
Note: repeating the word calm over and over again really does not help in, you know, becoming calm. Stupid Pace. Stupid, stupid, Harley probably would join Matt if they heard him make fun of Pace, and then where would Pace be? Other than in a pit of shame. And in the location of being laughed at. Dammit.
As she passed it, Pace looked again to the clock. Nine minutes. Wow, she got a lot done in that minute. Nope, she can’t do this. She can’t do this! She needs to call this off. It may be one conversation, but doing the conversation would either break everything or well, not break everything but make everything scream in nerves and pressure and Harley can probably pick up on that and then Pace would absolutely be in that pit of shame and--
‘You asked for me?’
Pace nearly screamed, and certainly she did not trip on her own feet, nope, ha ha. Ok. Be cool, Pace. Be the coolest butterfly ever -- be cooler than a butterfly because they aren’t really super cool but they are damn cool. Pace looked behind her.
‘Oh! H-hey, Harley.’ Pace pushed her face into what kinda felt like a smile? Damn her. This is already a steaming pile of donkey hair. ‘You, phew, you got here quick.’
There was a pause. Then, Harley’s facial display blinked into raising one eyebrow. Wait, that’s a single one? Oh man, they can do the “the heck?” expression, Pace is doomed. Doomed! The blue lights blinked back to being neutral after a moment.
‘My apologies, ma’am,’ they said. They “blinked.” ‘Did you require my assistance?’
‘Uhhh no, not really?’ Pace said automatically.
Wait, shit, balls.
‘Very well,’ Harley was saying and no no no no that’s not what Pace meant to say.
Pace darted forward and caught Harley’s wrist. The smooth metal was cold against her fingers, not betraying an inch of the processes running under them.
‘W-wait, wait.’ Pace’s tongue was lead in her mouth. ‘Wait,’ she repeated.
Harley did as they were asked. Their head tilted, display blinking to look “down” at Pace’s hand. Oh damn, they know. Pace immediately let go. Don’t blush, for god’s sake.
When she let go, Harley stayed put. They were utterly motionless, like a sorcerer carved from marble, or from ice at summertime. Their display blinked back into raising an eyebrow.
That’s your cue to talk, moron. Pace smiled again, trying to keep it normal. ‘I just wanted to um, you know. Um.’
Harley had stopped right under one of the lights. The white glow surrounded them. It painted moonlight across every facet, turning wires and plates into diamonds.
Their visor was still raising an eyebrow. Blue and black -- the only black on them. ‘I do not know, ma’am,’ they said.
‘Don’t call--’ Pace bit her tongue. Don’t call me ma’am, you are absolutely allowed to talk to me, don’t call me ma’am, please. ‘I just wanted to… you know.’ Dammit, tongue. Work please.
The visor blinked, it was back to neutral, and some part of Pace was labelling it as “disinterest” or “annoyance,” and Harley hated her. That was it. She was done, dead, roasted.
‘As I said,’ Harley intoned, ‘I do not know.’
Words fled Pace like a barrage from a gun. ‘Hangoutwithme?’
The clock’s ticking was really, really loud. Pace could feel the heat of nerves now. Aw crap, Harley is going to sense that. Oh god. Oh god she is screwed.
Harley’s visor blinked a few times. Twin question marks, only for a second, then maybe a smile, then that raised eyebrow again and back to neutral.
‘I do not understand, ma’am,’ they declared.
Don’t call me that. ‘No, no that’s fine. That’s fine as fu-- as, stuff.’ Crap, crap crap crap. ‘Matt um, he said that you wanted to do… stuff. And he said that I should um, I should help? Do stuff?’
Her nerves were shaking in her skin, tensed up and afraid. She was ice, melting under the moonlight’s radiance. Should have had more clarity. That was not clear. Work, talk, dumb tongue, dumb you little dumb.
The slight whirring -- so quiet that Pace had tuned it out long ago -- kicked up a barely noticeable notch.
‘My apologies,’ Harley finally said. Their expression was painfully neutral. ‘Are you referring to Mr. Morner’s conversation on the twelfth? ‘
Was that when the non-work talk was? Pace thought it was the twelve. Maybe?
‘Um… yes!’ Just go for it, just go for it. ‘Yes, that is exactly it, yes, right. That. That is exactly what I am talking about.’
And the winner of the “most eloquent speaker award” goes to Pace. Good job with that clarity.
‘I see,’ Harley said.
Tick, tick, tick, went the clock. Why were they made so loud?
‘I do not understand.’
Pace had no idea what her face did, but it probably looked dumb. ‘What? But you--’
Oh! Stupid, stupid idiot!
‘--Ohhhh, right.’ Pace cleared her throat. Maybe it would reset her stumbling tongue. ‘Hang out. Have you… have you heard that phrase before?’
Harley’s vision blinked. This expression had the eyebrows tilted into what would be two sides of a triangle. Their mouth was a small and thin line.
‘I have not,’ they said.
‘Oh god--’ You idiot, don’t speak in pretty much a foreign language! Pace scooped into her pocket and tried to find her phone. ‘Ok. Ohhhhkay. Give me a second.’
Again, the silence was filled by the ticking. It echoed in the room. Pace quickly pecked the words Hang Out Define in the search bar.
...Helpful.
‘In spite of seconds being an abstract noun, I have gifted you with one.’
Pace’s eyes darted up in time to see what was (yeah that was) an amused expression on Harley’s display. It blinked away the second Pace saw it. Oh god, she was blushing, wasn’t she?
‘Yeah, you have,’ Pace said. Her voice had to be a good octave higher. ‘Uh, right. Ok. Hang out.’
She looked again to the screen. Pace really didn’t think that washing clothes was going to help.
‘It’s basically when… two or more people get together and… do stuff.’
That was pathetic.
Harley’s display blinked back into amused. ‘You are not skilled at definitions,’ they noted.
‘Nope!’ Pace was definitely blushing. Harley absolutely knew. Oh man, she is going to die. ‘Ha, you’ve got me all clued up.’
...Why is Harley not saying anything? Oh damn, oh god damn. The light reflecting from them was making gorgeous patterns around the walls, just like Harley did with every-- don’t stare they’ll think you’re weird.
Pace had to keep talking. The ticking clock was far too loud. ‘Ha ha, you’re going to need to ask someone else for a propa thing, but that’s fine. right? Absolutely, totally, yup. Ha.’ Her voice was whiny and pitched into pain. ‘That’s all--’
Harley cut over Pace. ‘You were asking me to partake in “doing stuff” in a get together?’
Pace’s tongue tangled around itself. ‘Sorta?’
That was not what she meant to say.
‘Matt s-- Matt, he um. Social interaction and stuff and he thought I’d be best at it even though I’m rubbish and you can say no if you want to!’ Pace clamped her mouth shut.
Tick, tick, tick.
Good job. You’ve ruined everything. Harley will decline, then they’ll tell Matt about how weird Pace had been and then he’ll probably hack the cameras in this room and find the recordings and then he’d never let Pace around Harley again because she’s weird and she’ll never be able to chat with Harley between shifts and--
‘What would occur?’
‘Huh?’
Harley sounded patient, right? ‘When we are “hang-ing out.” What would occur?’
Pace tore her mind out of her thoughts, and became very interested in her trainers. Look at how dirt-coated they are. Wow. ‘Uhhh. I was thinking play video games?’ Her thoughts scrambled again, begging for attention. ‘Just… not worky, obligation stuff. Doing things for fun? You know what--’
‘Yes, I know what fun is.’
‘Good! Great!’ Pace said to the floor. ‘Wow. You are ama-- a really well put together… person. Yup. Ha ha.’ Oh god why did you say that.
‘I see. Very well.’
She really needed to clean these shoes. She should have thought today through. It would take immeasurable effort to force her gaze back up to meet Harley’s display.
Pace managed to raise her gaze to Harley’s foot. What an achievement, not.
‘...Wait, was that a yes?’ Pace managed.
It probably wasn’t, you are getting your hopes--
‘Yes.’
Unbidden, Pace’s neck spasmed to facing forward. Harley was still there, not looking like they hated Pace.
‘Oh! Wow, ok. Um.’
Harley was looking neutral. Were they happy about this? Just acting out of obligation? Shit, Pace should not have mentioned Matt, Harley may be doing this cause of obligation. Shit shit shit.
‘When do you want to?’ Pace said. She coughed, trying to dispel some of her dumb little dumbness. ‘Hang out, I mean.’
Harley’s head tilted -- the first time the statue moved in the conversation. The lights scattered like birds in the sky, like thoughts in the wind, like starlight far above.
‘I will need to consult with Mr. Morner,’ they said.
Oh thank god, they weren't brushing this off. Relief made Pace’s shoulders sag. ‘Well, he’s the one who said I should get a move on-- um.’
If she had the power to glare at her tongue, she would be the queen of the world.
‘Yeah, and so he’s all for us.’ Pace felt her eyes widen and she quickly tried to correct herself. ‘Hanging.’
Harley blinked back into a raised eyebrow.
‘Do you have a favourite pizza?’ Pace blurted out. ‘I was thinking pizza. I’m rubbish cook.’
Harley’s head tilted back to not being tilted. ‘I… enjoy pineapple,’ they said.
‘Pineapple?’ A grin wanted to leap into Pace’s life, shout praises, scream with joy. No, don't celebrate too early. Unbidden, her mind leapt over her reason and steamrolled her. ‘D-do you mean you’ve had it on pizza or are you talking about you’ve had it separately, because I know that Matt bloody well loathes it and if you haven’t had it he will kill me if you like it because then he’ll have to--’
Harley raised a hand. It was a smooth gesture, metal plates sliding against each other without a whisper of sound. Pace shut up.
‘I enjoy pineapple pizza,’ Harley stated. Their display blinked into amusement. ‘Mr Morner and I have had discussions on the topic.’
‘Oh. Peaceful ones?’ Because the talks with Matt she had were filled with shouting and screaming and “your taste buds suck.”
Harley’s display did not so much as twitch. ‘No. He threw a spanner at me once. He missed.’ The display blinked. Pace wasn't sure what changed. ‘I did not,’ Harley stated.
Huh. That did not sound safe.
‘He ok?’ Pace asked.
Harley’s display whirred into a frown, then back to neutral. ‘I see your misunderstanding. It was made of rubber.’
Wha…?
‘I'm lost,’ Pace said. She pressed a hand to the back of her neck. It felt warm with settling nerves. She was doing this! ‘But hey! Someone else who likes pineapple pizza here! Sweet, literally, so you'll talk to Matt and let me know when you want to hang?’
Harley moved again, this time to nod. Again, Pace didn't hear a sound.
‘That seems the best course of action,’ they said.
Pace nodded more times than necessary. ‘Ok! Great. See you… when I see you.’
Oh yes! Look at her, the master of diplomacy! The queen of romance! Yes! Whoo! She was amazing, take that nerves!
Before she reached the door, Harley’s voice halted her in her tracks.
‘What games do you have?’
Pace’s thoughts scrambled. Like eggs. Or jelly. Beaten and confused and mildly wary but mostly wobbly in excitement. ‘Oh um, I've GTA -- Grand Theft Auto -- and I got some old Zelda games. And when I say old, I mean old, like, the top down ones. Some more too. Matt’ll probably rummage through it all like a maniac beforehand, I can ask him to make a list for you. If there's any in particular you want to play, I could go buy a copy?’
The time it took for Harley to reply was achingly long. Did she do it wrong? Pace could feel her heartbeat in her neck, clutching to her in fear. Did she do it wrong?
‘That is fine,’ Harley said. Relief poured down like rain.
Then--
‘Thank you, ma’am.’
Oh.
Oh fuck, no, please.
Pace ruthlessly held onto her smile. No. Harley was not doing this because they're a robot -- they are Harley, they are Harley, don't think stupid things like that! Harley is Harley and Harley is amazing, and there's no way Pace is accidentally forcing Harley into this… right?
Her tongue was lead again.
‘O-oh. No… no problem,’ Pace forced out. ‘See you?’
Harley inclined their head in a nod.
Pace fled the room.
Word Count: 2,555
Time: 97 minutes (1:37)
Prompt 1: Crush Filter (http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/CrushFilter)
In TV, one method to show that person A has a crush on person B is to switch to A's perspective and show B in an incredibly flattering light.
Prompt 2: Pinocchio Syndrome (http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/PinocchioSyndrome)
"I Just Want To Be Normal." But with Normal being Human. Sometimes this refers to humans that were forced into being something else, or the individual in question has never been human and just want to be.
By the way, the reason there are two is because A) I skipped over one prompt out and needed to make it up, and B) because I needed something other than Crush Filter for ideas.
Goals: Write romance.
Thoughts:
One of the main blots of advice writers toss out is “write what you know.” Another is “shamelessly steal from other writers,” but that isn't pertinent to this. The things I know have absolutely nothing to do with romance. I know zilch about it, and regularly have disdain towards the topic, especially if it is the sole thing holding up a work. I dislike romance as a literary device.
Naturally, that means I should practice writing it.
To that end, I ended up writing a dialogue-only script of 600 or so words (20 minutes), just to try and make it at least sound ok. I have no idea if I pulled off the romance or not, but hey, I ended up writing a metaphorical ton. I got dialogue practice, description + plot practice, and a good dash of writing a short story practice. I also greatly enjoy how I ruthlessly avoided using the phrase "Pace paced." =D
I did plan to write the same scene again, from Harley's perspective, but then the length grew very long.
Anyway, Next Time:
Please let this on actually be within my field of knowledge. Please.
Pep Talk Song (http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/PepTalkSong)
...Ok then.
This was actually handwritten after my Linguistics exam. As another deviation from the norm, it's a poem.
Dunes's Plan
On starry eve when shadows leave
Their corners to dance and sing
They turn their eyes and shout goodbyes
To worries that they would bring
It’s moonlit now with dapper crown
The courts and the jesters pray
The sands are bright, filled with moonlight
No sunlight to scorch our way
Feel breezes clear the sparks of fear
Brought on by a morning’s scorn
See rabbits leap when others sleep
To wails of the new born
No need worry, fear filled scurry
Let those concerns turn astray
On banks of sand and endless land
Echoing back their dismay
The sands welcome all those undone
By pressures that they have forced
Join hand in hand amongst our plan
And we will shift history’s course
Word Count: Not really relevant, but it’s 122
Time: Between 7:15 PM and 8:15 PM... so an hour, even though I stopped and started a lot.
Prompt: Pep Talk Song (http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/PepTalkSong)
A song intended to encourage the listener.
Goals: I haven’t written a poem in a while. I did spend several weeks turning over what I could write when I had time to sit down and do so. I ended up with zero ideas.
Thoughts:
I only had pen and paper on me when I wrote this, so all the rhymes are fairly simplistic. I justified that via placing this song/poem squarely into the Sparks universe. Seriously, it needs a better name. I certainly fulfilled the prompt -- though I cheated again. I did a syllable count to ensure if someone did try to sing this, they wouldn’t stumble over how to pace things. Side note: When I tried humming, I somehow ended up with “Do You Hear The People Sing” references, which doesn’t even work because the count is all wrong. Part-way in my initial thoughts I did think "If this is set in the Sparks world, then I am going to make that sand seem nice." I am uncertain if I pulled that off.
Anyway, Next Time:
It's good to be back in this. Hopefully when I hit the random trope button, I get something nice. For once. Please.
Spreading Disaster Map Graphic (http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/SpreadingDisasterMapGraphic)
Are you kidd-- this is a written medium!!
Edit: It just occurred to me that some people pronounce history as "Hiss - store - ee," while I've grown up saying "Hiss - tree" (effectively skipping the middle syllable, or merging it sufficiently to be unnoticed when I say it). Oops?
Thanks, Tau.
Hmmmm but skipping the "o" would look messy (to me)! The horror! =P
This is unconnected from anything I've written on here, but I did borrow, transplant, and rename characters from a project of mine into this, because I am lazy.
Behind the cluttered table the door slammed shut.
Echoing across the hall were sharp snaps of sentences that shook the peeling wood walls; patters of panicked shoes; paper rustling; a squeak of fright from Pamela; a bark of a dog from outside, which soon turned into a flood of barks; panic; calm; twitters from a battered bird cage held by tape and twine; and not a single sound paused as the door slammed shut. Finnley sure didn't look up, he didn't have the time. His fingers crossed the map, divider spinning from town to town alongside a ruler.
BANG.
Finnley jumped, drawing his hands back. A book had been slammed on the table, nearly hitting his hands and more importantly the map. Atop the book were familiar painted fingernails -- light purple, wherever she found the paint.
‘Checkers, what--’ he began.
‘Everyone shut up!’ Checkers roared.
All motion ceased.
Checkers tossed her hair over her shoulder. It looked matted. Was that blood? No, surely it was mud. ‘House meeting,’ she snapped. ‘Doll, shut your birds up.’
‘They're really, really bothered by the dents....’ Doll still obligingly picked up a dusty black sheet and carefully draped it over the cage. The birds’ song barely dimmed. Doll frowned at them, then her eyes lit up. ‘Oh! I could move them out to the hall if they're bothering anyone! Back in a sec!’
‘Doll--’
The door clicked shut after her. Checkers muttered something under her breath, palming her face. Finnley would put two cents on it being a swear or dosen.
‘Nobody else leave,’ she growled.
‘Can I have the table back?’ Finnley requested.
Checkers ignored him, and the book remained squarely on the map. She was too busy glaring everyone into gathering around the table. Pamela quietly took a chair and perched on its edge, while Copper stepped beside her and kept steady eyes on Checkers. Sonia silently groaned and dropped heavily to a crate, neatly cutting Charlie off. He fumbled, then stopped and stood where he started.
One who didn't move was Barbara. She kept tapping away at her ‘pad, locks of hair twisting a protective net around her.
‘Barbara, get over here,’ Checkers said crisply.
‘Fuck no.’
‘Babara, get over here now or so help me I'll put you on the watchman’s shift with Kapit.’
That got Barbara’s attention. By “attention,” Finnley meant “Barbara actually looked up.” It was at least a step in the right direction. Finnley inched his chair back from the table, hopefully out of the line of fire.
His map would be toast.
‘...Yeah, because that’d be an “optimal use of our resources,” wouldn't it,’ Barbara said. Her voice and expression twisted, drier than a corpse in the wastelands.
‘May we all, please, attempt to get along,’ Charlie boomed. He had his arms folded, head tilted towards the ceiling, and a smile that Finnley wasn't sure if he should take as a warning or genuine amusement. Charlie looked to Checkers and waved his hand. ‘You had an item of some importance to share, did you not? Speak, please, and we shall hear.’
Checkers shut her eyes for a moment, nodded, and stepped back from the table. She left the book on the map… argh, it was almost certainly torn from the force she'd leveled on it.
‘Where's everyone else?’ she said sharply at Pamela.
Pamela startled. ‘I don't know?’ she managed. ‘Taylor -- engine, Kapit, Simon… watch?’
‘Casey is with Taylor, as far as I am aware,’ Copper said. ‘Fletcher is still attempting to fix the rain collector, so he and Mike have been running from the deck to the engine room for advice. And... I believe Amber is recovering in her room with Iris.’
‘Fantastic,’ Checkers said dismissively. ‘Charlie, how are we going with food?’
‘We will need an additional supply run for water. Other than that, we are well equipped as of now, and will not need to touch ground until the end of next month.’ Charlie’s eyebrows had drawn together, mapping concern like an overbearing grandparent. ‘Checkers, is everything alright?’
‘It's fine.’
Finnley eyed her hands. They were shaking, and the air was not cold. When he looked back at her, he stifled a yelp. Checkers was glaring right between his eyes.
She held his gaze long enough to drill holes in his confidence, then turned back to the group. ‘What about ammunition? Do we have enough ammunition? Fuel?’
‘We're good for ninety eight days,’ Barbara called, her attention back on her ‘pad.
‘I cannot say the same,’ Copper said. Her fingers were twisting at the hem of her clothes, though her expression stayed as stoic as stone. ‘Bullets are near impossible to locate on our supply runs, furthermore--’
‘Find a way to make it,’ Checkers snapped. ‘Because after today, none of us are setting foot on the ground ever again.’
Outside, the dog was barking again.
‘...Come again?’ Finnley asked.
Checkers scowled. She grabbed the book, nearly tearing it from its spine, and threw it to a bookmarked page. The page didn't looks special. Her voice took on the familiar cadence of quotations. ‘ “Known commonly by the terms “blight” or “creeping blot,” the eighth curse of the dragons is the third deadliest currently known, and commonly characterised by how all areas infected with the curse becomes blacked, drained, and…” fuck this, basically, it's a dragon’s curse and it lasts for around twenty years. It spreads through physical contact. It doesn't get through water, but everything else turns into sludge.’
Abruptly, Checkers turned on her heel and strode to the wall. She leant against it, arms clasped at head height and cushioning her head.
Finnley slowly picked the book up, shifted it off the map, and carefully placed it. His hands shook. His heart was steadily playing in his ears, tapping on his chest in gulps.
‘...Fuck,’ Barbara said.
Huh. She had put her ‘pad down.
‘...Good thing Taylor had the airship,’ Barbara joked. The humour fell flat, bulldozed by the weight of worry.
Charlie had started flicking through the pages, eyes never pausing for longer than a moment. Without breaking his stride he said, ‘Have you informed the others, Checkers?’
Checkers did not respond.
‘I will,’ Pamela said. She slipped off her chair, hovering like she was about to fly away. ‘We done?’
Finnley looked back at the map. Back to the simple marks he had made, denoting each drop of melted land they had passed. So much for his job, if it all were fading.
‘Checkers,’ Charlie repeated. He looked up towards her. ‘We will survive. Pamela has her crops, and we can cross the ocean if the need arises. We will survive.’
‘Besides,’ Barbara said. ‘It's only the third most dangerous, right? Pssh, easy. Dragons don't know who they're messing with if they only go for third.’
Checkers… her shoulders had stiffened, though when Finnley didn't know. A moment later her arms dropped.
‘I'll tell them, Pamela. You all just--’ Checkers’s voice hitched, ‘--work on, everything. I'll keep looking through the library once e-everyone is informed. Goodbye.’
This time, the door did not slam shut. It only swung on the wishes of gravity; though, the click still cut through the hall with more force than the slam.
Word Count: 1,205
Time: I’m not sure.
Prompt: Spreading Disaster Map Graphic (http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/SpreadingDisasterMapGraphic)
Used to show the effect of something on a wide scale. Map, plus expanding graphic superimposed on the map, equals something expanding across a landscape.
Goals: I wanted to practice/find these characters’ voices, especially as I only had vague character points so far. The names took some adjusting. Also I ended up shuffling most of the characters out of the room so I absolutely side-stepped this goal.
Thoughts: Ew it got long
Heh, I had some fun with semicolons in the opening. Since I wanted to use characters I have (semi) established, it took me a good long time to get this functional. Namely the names -- the renaming sucked. In order to make my head hurt less, I decided to retain their first initial. Aaaaand then I discovered that I had far too many characters starting with "C." I swapped one out with a "K" instead. (Capital > Kapit).
Furthermore, I'm noticing a small problem. Namely how I'm finding it difficult to avoid this layout:
'Blah blah blah blah,' Character said.
Character did a thing. 'Blah blah blah.'
'Blah blah.'
'Blah blah blah blah!' Character did a thing.
And then it repeats solely following those patterns. I'm not so sure if it's as obvious as I think it is, but when I'm writing I end up following that format with disturbing frequency. Admittedly it's much easier to get on with the dialogue by doing that, but it feels repetitive and a wee bit like they're just talking heads. Welp, that's what editing is for!
That said, I did manage to pull off a scene. A character (Checkers) entered the scene with a goal (tell about thing), fulfilled the goal, then exited the scene to fulfill a new goal (tell others about thing) OR possible introspection and re-evaluation (Oh gods, we are all going to die/No, calm yourself). I can't take credit there since I did not plan that in the slightest, but hey, it happened.
Also this snip FINALLY gave me a way to distinguish Pamela from the other characters (Namely Taylor and Copper). Phew. That'll make life easier.
Anyway, Next Time:
Oh hey, that was my tenth snip. Sweet. As a celebration, I will allow myself one veto (that can't be transferred if I don't need it). Also, I should probably take a step away from the POV influencing the narrative, it's becoming far too great a crutch.
Self-Induced Allergic Reaction (http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/SelfInducedAllergicReaction)
...On one hand, I'm glad I got something fun. On the other, now I don't get to use my veto.