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This is not connected to anything. It is also fairly long.


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
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
"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
...Ok then.

Oh hey, I'm still alive.

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
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

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?

The meter (and the changing of it) is quite nice in that poem.

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?

Solution (occasionally seen in song lyrics): hist'ry

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
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

...On one hand, I'm glad I got something fun. On the other, now I don't get to use my veto.

This story takes place in the Sparks universe. Maybe.


I once heard a story about the old man, who spends his days stepping from rock to rock. I would often sneak up to the towers to watch him. Step, step, step, my eyes would constantly follow his path. Would he stumble? I wondered. Would he fall, today? But, no. I never saw him fall. I spent day after day sneaking free from the Sands. I coughed and I cried and I wept until those around me sighed and stepped aside, but no matter how early I arrived or late I left I never saw him fall. I never saw him leave or appear. I would watch until he was swallowed by the darkness, and then be forced to retreat.

The story I heard about him was told to me long ago. It was a warning, a weapon, and a promise. I listened, and I hold it, as all of us were told to do.

What I was told was this.

Once, there wasn't a tower. Once, the tower we lived and breathed upon was just a rock. We were buried far below. We were still in the dark, our eyes bright from the light we sheltered. We were still children, too afraid to dare try. In that darkness and silence, we danced and we played with our fingertips full of flurry and flight. In that darkness and silence, we knew nothing.

Then the earth around us shook. Once, twice. Then it stilled. Nothing was thought of this, and when I learned of this I thought it strange. ‘Weren't they afraid?’ I asked. ‘The sands were collapsing!’

‘Hush,’ I was told, and the story continued.

Those who felt the earth shake stilled. But then, as nothing happened, they shrugged and went on. They danced, they played, they shared their flight.

‘They were fools,’ another said, when I heard the story. ‘The blasted fools should have left the damn cave, then we wouldn't be--’

‘Hush!’ they were told, louder than mine. ‘Don't be s-- silly. Stories have beginnings and ends, don't spoil it, dear.’

The other scoffed, but fell silent and listened.

Earthquakes continued. In the dark there was no day, nor night, nor dusk, nor dawn. Nothing was there to mark time’s passage -- if its passing was a concept we grasped. It kept on, who knows for how long.

‘Sand trackers? Wouldn't they know?’ someone asked.

‘Shut up,’ another said. ‘I want to listen.’

It kept on shaking. Then, as has happened many times since, the caves collapsed utop us.

‘Oh no!’

‘Did they survive?’

‘Don't be stupid, course they did! ‘Ow could we be here if they didn't?’

Many of us didn't survive, I was told. The sands are a heavy thing, so far above us. They crushed. They stole the air. Many of us, the sands took, and still take.

But a pocket of us lived, trapped, and were slower to fade. They were able to breathe. For the very first time, there was a hole to the sky.

When I was told this story, someone interrupted and asked how this was possible. They spat fact after fact, bitter and cold, and never let the teller have a word. I and others watched and drifted away, though the teller listened to each and every claim. I coughed and cried, and slipped away to the Great Tower, and the story had to be finished on a different day.

That was the first time that I noticed the man. Up in the tower, I watched the man walk. I stood on tiptoes and tried to see him as he passed far below. I did not know the story was about him, but I enjoyed the watch I found. He never looked up, but I looked down, and watched.

But the story continued, and taught me who he was.


Word Count: 638
Time: 36 minutes.
Prompt: Self-Induced Allergic Reaction
Someone deliberately exposes themself to something they are allergic to.

Thoughts: I admit, it took me a good long while to get started on this one. Until about… an hour ago, I was thinking about trying my hand at Fred and George antics or something. I'm glad I opted against it, in the end.

...It now occurs to me that I tried to write a story with at least three time periods involved near-simultaneously. Hm. I'll need to read over it in the morning to see if it makes any sense. Oh, ouch, especially since I was very ambiguous with my personal pronouns up there. Oops. Also, looking over it I seem to have misplaced my tenses. Some things are in past tense when by all rights they should be present. (On the other hand I'm not absolutely certain if they are in the present or not). I'll take a look over it again if I continue this story branch.