Author Topic: Writing Prompts!  (Read 62851 times)

amurderofcrows

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Re: Writing Prompts!
« Reply #90 on: December 20, 2010, 04:27:40 AM »
And my first post as well:

This is, "The Super."

"Hey, you the super?"

"The building has no super. I'm the handyman."

"But you're Gamble, right?"

"Yes, I'm Gamble."

"Oh, good. Thought I'd gone to the wrong building, man. Don't scare a brass like that! Wrong building, wrong check in with my case worker, and I'm back at the department faster then you can say 'dismantle'. Here — Ms. Golightly said to give this to you."

"So Golightly was your case worker?"

"Yeah, man. She said that this was a good buliding, that it had good people. I wouldn't go wrong with this building."

"And that I was the super."

"She didn't say it like that, but she said you were the man to talk to. Didn't say you were a red man, though."

"It probably wasn't pertinient to the discussion at hand."

"Uh. Whatever you say, chief. Anyway, Golightly said you were the man to talk to for the building. I need some space for downcycle, and to be when I ain't working."

"You got a job assignment yet?"

"Nope; not a lot a call for librarian-recorders in Brasstown. But she's gonna send me any openings I might be good for. I got good digits, so many I'll get some factory work, assembly line gigs. So don't you worry, I'm gonna have somethin'."

"Doesn't matter to me. You don't pay rent to me — this is state-assisted living."

"Or what passes for it, yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Anybody ever told you you got a — kinda flat way about you? Don't laugh much, ain't cracked a smile. You do smile, right? Red Men smile? I can't say I ever met one of you before."

"Few people can. I prefer 'golem' to 'red man'."

"Oh— Sorry."

"Speaking of, you've given me a letter and your model. What are you called, and how do you identify?"

"Man, you know your stuff! I'm called Talkback, and I guess male. They treat me like a male."

"It's the vox. You've got a male-leaning vox. When you can't go by a visual cue, humans will go by sound, especially manner of speech."

"Huh. You know a lot of them? Are there any in the building? Other brass told me, that some humans live in Brasstown. That true?"

"That's true. There are three in the building. You'll meet them if you stay long enough. That leads me to the rules. Building has a curfew; there's a human child. You may not sleep, but he does. No loud noises after ten p.m. I don't care what you do outside the building, but I do care what you bring in. We play by the rules in my building — no chems, no shriektalk, no illegal mods. You want that, you find a new building."

"Shriektalk ain't illegal."

"'round here it's not good for business. You want to shriektalk outside, I can point you to two shriekeasies within walking distance, no problem. But you start playing with the wiring here, and we end up with problems. Problems that bring the department."

"I get you."

"Good. Like I said — I don't care what you do outside the building. Inside, that's another story."

"So we got three meats. Any other brass? Or- golems?"

"I'm the only golem in Brasstown at this time, as far as I'm aware. In the building, there are some other brass; you can meet and greet on your own time. The humans are a small family with a young child, and a single female. Neither will cause you and trouble, and none of them have any connection to the department— or the Hammer, so don't worry about that."

"You got a datareader hidden in here or something? 'cause you sure seem to know a lot about — things."

"I could also have just read that letter you gave me."

"Golightly give you my Rampancy docs, or what?"

"Not so much. Listen, it doesn't matter who gives me what. Just know that I run a tight building. You'll be safe and sound here if you follow the rules. You don't, you'll be binned so fast your screws will shake loose. Got it?"

"Got it. So — what do I call you, and how do you identify, 'Gamble'?"

"Gamble is fine. Male is what humans default to with me, so it's good enough."

"Right. So — those shriekeasies... where are they?"

"Here, let me get you a map — and a card. They'll want to know you've been vouched for, and I've got some friends there. Talk to a brass called Deuce Two-Tones, he'll set you up and give you some space. He's an old model LIB1010; the one with the chest full of ports, connectors all done in gold. Can't miss him — he'll be mobbed by tin kiddies hoping to earn a gold port of their own."

"Golightly wasn't kiddin' about this bein' the right building. This place is wired."

"But remember I said — keep it outdoors."

"Sure thing, Gamble. Sure thing."

"Here are your keys. You're ground floor, Unit B."

"Thanks, man. You're alright, for bein' clay. That's almost like bein' meat, ain't it?"

"Couldn't tell you. You go find Duece. Tell him I said hello."

"Sure thing, man. Sure thing."

musestreet

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Dialogue: Writing Prompt
« Reply #91 on: December 20, 2010, 04:30:53 AM »
Count me in as yet another first-timer to the forum.  When I saw Brandon's prompt earlier this week on Twitter, I figured I'd give it a try and see what happened.  This is the result.  I hope it's a fun read, even if I'm sure there's plenty of tweaking to be had.  You can find it at my serial fiction blog, Ink Raindrops, as well. http://abruce.november-fifth.com/

Title: Roland's Madness

“Let’s start with your name. Can you remember that?”

“Claude? Is that you? Ye’ve lost weight, dearie. Just like ye were ten years ago, when ye wore that lily-white dress, and-”

“No. I’m not Claude. My dress is blue. See, right here? Blue. And that was more than ten years ago, I promise you that.”

“With a pretty lass like ye, maybe I’ll be lookin’ a little closer, eh?”

“No, no. Please! Sit back down, you’ll hurt yourself. How could you- oh, never mind. Questions. You still didn’t tell me your name.”

“They used t’call me Captain Jericho. Mister Winter. Mud-boy.”

“Those aren’t names. They’re nicknames. You’ve told me all of them before. I want the name you were born with. The name your mother gave you.”

“Mama... Mama dances under the sun... singin’ her praises far and wide...”

“...and that is a wartime drinking song. This is getting us nowhere.”

“Loosen up, lassie. Relax a spell. Sit ‘ere on my lap and we’ll talk, just like we use’ta.”

“This is important. You’ve forgotten so much, I barely know where to begin. And yet, sometimes I think you do remember, somewhere in there...”

“O’course I remember the war! Th’ lightning, th’ fire, laid waste t’everythin’. This old man was luckier’n most. People died out there.”

“I didn’t say anything about... well, okay, I said ‘war’ a minute ago, but...”

“Blood, lassie, ain’t fer the likes o’sweet things like yerself. I had a girl yer age, once. Cried every time th’ wagon brought th’ bodies home. I miss her, I do. Is she here yet?”

“I... she’s here. She’s doing her best to help you right now, if you’ll only let her. She’s holding your hand now. Can you feel it?”

“I can feel just fine, lassie. Tell ‘er I’m sorry, all right? I’m sorry I wasn’t good to ‘er. Like I oughta been. Didn’t spend enough time home. Didn’t teach ‘er the things I shoulda. All my fault.”

“You... do you know what you’re saying? Do you remember, now?”

“No interruptin’ an ol’ man, now. If I stop, I may jus’ not start again. Things don’t work th’ way they use’ta, after ten years. Captain Jericho use’ta say that.”

“...Never mind. I didn’t think this would be so hard. ...Okay. That girl you talked about, she was just a baby when you knew her, right? Do you remember her name?”

“Sugarplum. My dear, sweet Shelley...”

“That’s right! So you do remember! Or...”

“...stop a moment, lassie. My head... I’m not quite right, am I? Th’ words just don’t come anymore. Like drippin’ water from a well. They come, an’ then don’t, and then...”

“It’s okay. Take your time. You’ve survived a very serious injury. It’s only natural that it would take some time to heal. Maybe I’ve pushed too hard. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry yer pretty li’l head now, Claude. God knows I love ye just the same.”

“...I love you too. I’m not Claude, though. Try to remember.”

“I remember... fire, an’ lightnin’, and death. I didn’t want to. I wanted to go home, to my Claude, and my dear, sweet Sugarplum, and...”

“Is that why you did it? So you could come home?”

“I forgot to remember... their names. I wrote them on my skin. With red ink.”

“That... that was blood, not ink. They washed it off when they brought you in.”

“I forgot... I forgot everythin’! How did I forget? I remember... I remember forgettin’!”

“Calm down. Take it slowly, one step at a time. You seem angry. Did I upset you?”

“Memories... like fire an’ lightnin’ in the back of my head, burning... killing... have mercy on me, Gods of Virtue! Take pity on me, Gods of Mercy! Begone, demons of recollection!”

“Father, stop! You have to sit down, please! We can get through this, you just need to calm down. I just wanted to know why...”

“Th’ fire burned it away. All of it. I took the fire in my hands and it burned my mind away. I took the lightnin’ in my hands and it struck my soul astray. Mama... dances under the sun...”

“Father... I’m so sorry! We’re so close. You remember the magic, and the war, and you even remember Mother and me. But you don’t remember your name, or why...”

“‘Ere now, my dear, sweet Shelley Sugarplum. Don’t cry. Yer daddy said he’d be home t’ tuck ye into bed. He lied. But he made a bet and won it. All he had to do was call a li’l fire, ride a li’ lightnin’, and he’d be home afore sunset. The demons told him, they did.”

“Wait. Did they really tell you that? That using magic... would get you home?”

“Sure did. Won th’ bet, he did. An’ he forgot all about it. He tried t’ remember, though. He sure did try.”

“...that’s what I wanted to know. Those Gods-cursed wretches... they’ll pay dearly for this. Even they have to know the side effects of magic, after so many years...”

“Are you still here, Claude? Turn down th’ bed, love. A nap’ll do me right good...”

“Oh, no. ...I’m not Claude. I’m Shelley. Your Shelley Sugarplum. I’m... glad you remembered me, at least a little. I’m not that little girl anymore, but... I...”

“Good night, miss Claude. Tomorrow, maybe we’ll take Shelley Sugarplum down t’ th’ lake an’ get ‘er feet wet. She oughta learn t’ swim someday.”

“...just rest, Father. Rest, for the first and last time in thirty years. Mother has been waiting for you a long time.”

“Thank ye... my Sugarplum.”

“Goodbye... Roland. My father. You’ve given me everything I needed. I’ll make sure this never happens again. The truth must be told.”

papaholmz

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Brandon's Dialogue Challenge
« Reply #92 on: December 20, 2010, 05:20:24 AM »
Title: The Purgatory Incident

“Next!”

“Yes, hello; I’m next.”

“Name?”

“Kára.”

“Age?”

“732.”

“Previous occupation?”

“Valkyrie.”

“Wow! No kidding, a Valkyrie?”

“Yes.”

“We’ve never had a Valkyrie come through here before. Witches, Trolls, and Vampires sure, but never a Valkyrie.”

“I’d imagine not.”

“‘Kára’ doesn’t sound like a Valkyrie name.”

“I know.”

“Most Valkyries have awful names like Brynhildr or Geirdriful.”

“I’m lucky. I was born during that whole ‘the-gods-are-dead’ era when traditional Valkyrie baby names were out of style.”

“You don’t look like a Valkyrie.”

“Now what’s that supposed to mean?”

“No, no, don’t get me wrong, you’re very beautiful and all-”

“Thank you!”

“But… where are your wings?”

“My wings were repo’d when my employment was terminated. Want to see the scars?”

“I’ll pass. Say, how exactly does a Valkyrie become unemployed anyway?”

“It’s a long story.”

“Well I’m working a double and this line isn’t getting any shorter.”

“All right. Are you familiar with Valhalla?”

“Yes, of course. Who isn’t?”

“Well, as a Valkyrie it’s my job to decide who will die in battle and then to usher them to Valhalla.”

“How do you choose?”

“Very carefully.”

“Did you have to go through Valkyrie training?”

“Yes.”

“Was it hard?”

“It wasn’t too bad. The worst part was the long list of ‘death criteria’ I had to memorize.”

“How long?”

“Long enough to fill six volumes.”

“How do you remember it all?”

“With today’s technology it’s actually pretty easy. I recently bought an app for my scryPhone called iReaper Pro that has all sorts of info on death, including a section specifically for Valkyries.”

“I’ve seen that app in the appstore before but never knew who would use such a thing.”

“It’s very popular with Valkyries, Sirens, and a few Vampires. And I’m pretty sure Lucifer and Grim even use it.”

“I had no idea!”

“Plus, the app helps keep me mobile. I mean, you never know when a battle is going to crop up halfway across the world with no time to pack six volumes of ‘death criteria.’”

“Especially in our fast paced society.”

“My point exactly!”

“But wait, I thought Valkyries only worked Scandinavian battlefields. There hasn’t been a battle in Scandinavia for decades; is that why you lost your job?”

“No; eventually Odin got tired of paying us just to serve mead to the Einherjar at Valhalla so he contracted us out to the Pope.”

“Is that legal?”

“Apparently it is.”

“What did the Pope need with Valkyries?”

“With all the scandals the Catholic Church has had recently the Angels are tied up running supernatural interference with the media.”

“I bet that’s a full time job.”

“It is, so the Pope contracted us to usher any Catholics who die on the battlefield into Heaven.”

“But don’t some Catholics have to go to Purgatory before they’re allowed into Heaven?”

“Yes. In fact, that’s where all my troubles began.”

“This is going to be interesting.”

“Last week I was at Venus Nails getting my nails done, black of course, when the message came through: ‘URGENT: Incident in North Korea.’”

“North Korea?”

“That’s what I thought! As far as I knew, none of the Catholic nations had any current military operations in North Korea. So I called dispatch to make sure it wasn’t a mistake.”

“Was it?”

“As it turned out it wasn’t. The Vatican had recently sent one of its most highly trained priests to work with a U.S. Navy SEAL Team in North Korea, strictly unofficial of course.”

“What were they doing?”

“They were sent to perform an exorcism on Kim Jong-il.”

“Holy crap! Is that what’s wrong with the guy?”

“Once the SEAL Team had infiltrated Kim’s compound it didn’t take long for the priest to conclude that Kim was, in fact, not possessed.”

“Bummer. That would have been an easy fix.”

“As the SEAL Team was withdrawing, one of Kim’s personal guards spotted the priest and opened fire.”

“I knew it was going to be the priest! What did you do? Accidentally send him to Purgatory?”

“Actually, one of the SEALs, Lt. Stevens, who happened to be a Catholic, took the bullet for the priest.”

“And that’s when you were called in?”

“Yes.”

“How did you know where to take him?”

“Remember that app I was telling you about, iReaper pro?”

“Yes.”

“Well, it also has a section for Angels where they can send requests to St. Peter for real time information on where a specific soul should be taken upon death.”

“That’s handy.”

“I sent my request as soon as Stevens passed away and the answer came back almost immediately: ‘PURGATORY.’”

“I’m guessing that was incorrect.”

“The trouble started when we got to Purgatory and the gatekeeper said Stevens wasn’t on the list.”

“That doesn’t sound so bad; I can think of worse lists to be left off of.”

 “It wasn’t until I produced St. Peter’s iReaper response that the gatekeeper begrudgingly let Stevens in.”

“Problem solved!”

“Not even close!”

“What do you mean?”

“My assignment completed, I went back to Venus Nails to finish my manicure; I was barely done and out the door when the message came through: ‘URGENT: Report to Valhalla; Odin and the Pope are waiting.’”

“That sounds bad.”

“Odin isn’t known for hanging out with the Pope or for recalling Valkyries just to shoot the breeze; I was worried.”

“What did they want?”

“Apparently Stevens was supposed to go to Heaven and not Purgatory.”

“But I thought St. Peter told you to take Stevens to Purgatory?”

“He did.”

“So what happened?”

“Originally, Stevens was all set to go to Purgatory, but when he died the priest said a quick prayer that essentially gave Stevens a ‘Get Out Of Purgatory Free Card.’”

“So it was St. Peter who made the mistake?”

“Yes. My sources tell me that St. Peter is always backlogged with prayers; sometimes it even takes days before a prayer gets filed.”

“You shouldn’t be held responsible for St. Peter’s mistake!”

“That’s what I said. But who’s the Pope going to listen to? St. Peter, the keeper of the keys of Heaven or Kára, the Valkyrie on loan from Odin?”

“Couldn’t St. Peter just get Stevens transfered to Heaven?

“You’d think so. But apparently there’s a minimum five year holding period before a transfer is allowed.”

“Well that thoroughly sucks!”

“So here I am looking for a job.”

“Well, it’s very nice to meet you Kára. My name is Albert, by the way.”

“It’s nice to meet you too, Albert.”

“So Kára, what kind of job are you looking for?”

“Anything that doesn’t involve Angels, death, gods, Heaven, the Pope, Purgatory, Valhalla, Vampires, or Witches. And I can’t get along with Sirens no matter how hard I try. Also, I prefer not to work with Demons; they’re always hitting on me.”
« Last Edit: December 21, 2010, 04:34:00 AM by papaholmz »

Thingamawidget

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Re: Writing Prompts!
« Reply #93 on: December 20, 2010, 06:23:44 AM »
FIRE FROM THE GODS

“How many does that make now?”

“Eleven.”

“Damn. Two in one month. How did this one go?”

 “We don’t really know yet. We’ve only just confirmed that they were an FTL civilization. Nailing down the manner of extinction with any degree of precision is going to be a long road. Preliminary reports suggest social upheaval, but that might be a result of whatever it was that actually killed them, not the cause itself.”

“Goodthomas Jonah and his followers are going to have a field day with this.”

“Nothing we can do about that. We’re scientists, not politicians. We don’t hide results we don’t like.”

“We’re sure they were FTL, aren’t we?”

“Yes. There’s no doubt about it. We’ve found congruencies in three planetary systems well outside of their respective radio shells. They must have had FTL.”

“How long ago did it happen? Do we know that yet?”

“The chrono team thinks it was probably between three hundred and five-hundred years ago. They won’t have a full report for a couple of months yet, but they don’t expect the number to change much.”

“And how old? Do we now how old they were when it happened?”

“The chrono team is working on that too. That’s even less certain. But it looks. . . ” “Like its right around fifty-seven years.”

“Well, they’re saying sixty years, plus or minus ten.”

“Let’s not release those numbers until Chrono is willing to release a full report. No need to throw more fuel on the fire when we don’t know if the numbers are correct.”

“They’ll leak out anyway.”

“I know. But I don’t want them quoted as official numbers until they are official. And tell chrono to try to get us that report ASAP.”

“What do you think?”

 “About what?”

“Everything. What Goodthomas and his followers are saying.”

 “Goodthomas is just a crazy. Humanity has had them since long before we left Old Earth. He’s not really any different from all the others.”

“So you don’t believe there is any truth to what he’s saying? That we’ll be next?”

 “I didn’t say that. Goodthomas is crazy, I have no doubt about that. But even if he’s crazy, he might be right.”

“It’s a scary thought, isn’t it?”

 “Yes. I don’t like it, and we don’t have much evidence for it, but its a nasty thought. The more I look at the numbers, the more what he says starts to make sense.”

“But all the FTL engineers and researcher say that there is no possible mechanism. That the engines can’t possibly have any sort of effect on us that could cause this.”

“That might just mean that none of them are looking in the right place.”

“I know. And the numbers don’t look good. One hundred-forty-one extant human or human-descent civilizations—”

“One-forty-three.”

“Really? I hadn’t heard. Who found them?”

“Lemarc and his group. Both in the same system actually, but they don’t have any contact with each other, and Lemarc’s people think that they are biologically distinct, so we’re counting them as two different civilizations. But anyway, go on.”

“Right. One hundred forty three extant human civilizations. Evidence for maybe twenty extinct civilizations. Of those, eleven have been confirmed FTL civs. None of the non- FTL’s lasted for more than two generations past initial settlement. Most didn’t make it one. In the case of the non-FTL civilizations, cause of extinction is pretty consistent. Lack of resources, imported divisions among the original population, and in the case of Cambell’s civ, plain old bad luck. If that asteroid hadn’t hit them, we might have one more extant civilization today.”

“And the FTL’s?”

“No known consistency. Confirmed extinction modes include convergence of natural disasters, social upheaval followed up by plague of unknown origin, and civil war. The rest are still uncertain.”

“Not quite true. There is one consistency. All extinctions happened within fifty-seven years of first FTL flight.”

“We don’t know that. Hiroto’s hypothesized as much, and Goodthomas and his crowd are convinced its true, but we can don’t have hard numbers for all of them.”

“Should I run through the list?”

“I’d rather you didn’t. I’ve looked at the numbers.”

“And?”

 “It looks bad. The number suggest that no civilization that used FTL drives survives for even a century. The limit may be 57 years. But we don’t know why. For all we know it’s just coincidence.”

“It doesn’t scare you? It doesn’t scare you that we’ve been using FTL for thirty years now? That we may have less than that left?”

“Of course it scares me! Why do you think I’m in this line of work? Every day I hope to find evidence that it isn’t true, that there is no reason to believe that our civilization will be gone in three decades! I don’t buy it. Goodthomas tries to scare everyone with it, but the theory makes no sense. No one can suggest a cause. There is no link between the FTL drives and any of the extinction modes. No one even has a theory as to how that could work.”

“Yet they’re all dead.”

“Except us.”

“Yes. Except us.”

Literateknits

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Re: Writing Prompts!
« Reply #94 on: December 20, 2010, 06:59:14 AM »
My little effort for Brandon's "dialog" challenge (and my first post). I threw it up on my blog, but I thought I'd post it here as well. I read a few of these and I can't wait to read the rest.

Lavender

By Erin Kelly

“Do you smell like lavender?”

“No. First off, perfume doesn’t work on inpenitrible skin, second using perfume when you might have to sneak into a criminal’s hideout is suicide. It’s worse than forgetting your mask. Everyone knows that.”

“I smell lavender. It’s coming from you.”

“I told you. I don’t--Oh F--- I use lavender detergent on my bed sheets.”

“Starting recently?”

“Always. I did a load yesterday.”

“And then rolled around in them before coming on stakeout?”

“I slept in my uniform last night.”

“On purpose?”

“Watkins does it.”

“Watkins arrested a pumpkin last week.”

“Oh yeah, well he also... made pies out of it.”

“Exactly. Someday soon we’ll be packing him off to an asylum with the rest of the crazies.”

“The pies were delicious.”

“Baking doesn’t require sanity.”

“Do you know why Watkins started sleeping in his uniform?”

“Because he’s a few tacos short of a combo platter."

“Maybe, but he says he sleeps better when he can be the Onyx Falcon for a few more hours before he has to spend the day as Gerald
Watkins.”

“There’s nothing wrong with being who you are.”

“Even when it gets in the way of who you’d rather be?”

“It’s the only way to do this thing.”

“Not if you join O.M.A.”

“O.M.A. can’t do stuff like this.”

“I’ve seen O.M.A. Soldiers on stakeouts and so have you.”

“Not on guys like Tiger Claw.”

“So, O.M.A. has bigger fish to fry.”

“No, O.M.A. has PR to worry about.”

“So they handle higher profile crime, they still get out there and do good works.”

“It’s doing good with an agenda, not because it’s the right thing to do.”

“Good is good.”

“We could take down as many drug dealers in a night as an entire OMA squad, but instead we’re here, where we’re actually needed, tracking down guys like Tiger Claw, guys only we can handle.”

“Does that mean we’re actually going in tonight?”

“There’s always a chance. Listen, if we have to sneak up on anyone you let me go first.”

“Like Hell I will. I’m invulnerable. I go first.”

“Less chance of them smelling you that way.”

“You are probably the only one who could smell me.”

“It’s raining, that makes you smell stronger and we’ve seen two new guys go into Tiger Claw’s hideout tonight. They could be capable of anything.”

“If they even have powers! This is not that type of gang. I don’t think Tiger Claw has anything besides the weird eye and the claws. No heightened senses, unlike someone I could mention.”

“He’s got a mean streak a mile wide and no compunctions about using those claws on this whole neighborhood. That’s enough to take him down before he gets established, so you stay behind me unless someone pulls a gun. Then you get in front and block those bullets.”

“You’re wearing kevlar.”

“Not on my face.”

“Fine.”

...

...

...

“Only you could smell a trace of lavender laundry detergent while sitting in a pile of trash.”

“You’d better hope so.”

redambit

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Re: Writing Prompts!
« Reply #95 on: December 20, 2010, 07:44:10 AM »
Another first poster, and already impressed by other stuff here. Here's my attempt at the dialogue writing prompt:

~~~~
   “OK, I'm awake and I'm here. Happy?”

   “Delighted. Come on, it's over here.”

   “...Huh.”

   “Amazing, right?”

   “Aunt Aileen isn't going to like this. You know how neurotic she is about keeping the front yard clean.”

   “Eri, you're missing the big picture here! This is actual evidence of a spontaneous human combustion!”

   “It's a black silhouette and a pile of ash. It doesn't even look all that convincing.”

   “Doesn't have to look convincing. They can analyze the ash and find human DNA in it, I saw it on TV.”

   “Whatever. Look, is that it? Because I would really like to go back to bed now.”

   “Eri, come on! I need your help!”

   “If you want me to put... this... thing in little baggies so you can try to convince someone to analyze it, or something, I'm letting you know right now that I am not touching it."

   "Well, no, that'd contaminate the evidence, but that's not what I'm getting at. I want you to help me find him."

   "Who?"   

   "The guy!"

   "Let me try this again. Who do you want me to help you find?"

   "The guy who spontaneously combusted!"

   "...Kenneth?"

   “Yeah?”

   “Look down.”

   “OK?”

   “You see that pile of ash?”

   “Yeah.”

   “Guess what? You found him!"

   “You know what I mean. We need to figure out who he was, where he came from, why he showed up at my house and burst into a ball of flame—and, well, I have to admit... I'm starting to wonder about the shoes.”

   “The shoes.”

   “Well, according to other eyewitnesses of SHC—”

   “It has an acronym?”

   “—there's usually a pair of shoes left behind. With some feet still in them.”

   “That's disgusting.”

   “Yeah, I know. But why didn't this guy leave the shoes behind? Makes me kind of wonder if there was something weird about this case, or maybe... do you think someone could be playing a prank on me? Again? Like, with the UFOs last month?”

   “Nice to see something resembling healthy skepticism from you, but it disturbs me more than a little that the only thing that bothers you about this is the shoes.”

   “What do you mean? What else is wrong?”

   “Well, just for starters, there's the fact that spontaneous human combustion isn't real.”

   “What, you don't believe in it? But it happens all the time! I've seen the scientific documentaries, and you're looking at evidence right—”

   “Ken, seriously, that conspiracy-theory garbage you watch does not count as science just because it's on the Discovery Channel.”

   “...Still. If it didn't happen, where would the stories come from?”

   “Oh, please. Look, listen to some real science for once. Spontaneous Combustion does happen. To hay. And it's not even spontaneous. There's a kind of mildew that can grow inside hay bales. It undergoes a chemical reaction that causes it to heat up, and because hay is so flammable it just catches fire when the mildew is hot enough.”

   “So why couldn't a person have some of that mildew?”

   “Um, mildew doesn't grow on people. Not when they're alive, anyway.”

   “Wait. Wait. I get what you're saying.”

   “Great! Finally we make some progress. Your psychologist will be thrilled.”

   “You're saying he was a zombie?”

   “What? No! No, that is not what I'm—”

   “But that makes total sense! That's why the guy didn't say anything when I tried to talk to him. I guess it's a good thing the mildew got him before he had a chance to go after my brains then.”

   “It's like... instead of jumping to conclusions, you skip over the conclusions and onto a different train of thought entirely.”

   “But if there's one zombie, there's probably others. This could be the zombie apocalypse. Even worse, this could be the spontaneously combusting zombie apocalypse.”

   “No. Just... no.”

   “We've got to find out what happened to this guy. But how am I going to find a zombie?”

   “Marco Polo. Play a game of Marco Polo. That is clearly the next step in your highway robbery of logic.”

   “No, that wouldn't work. Zombies can't talk very well. Death relaxes your vocal chords too much.”

   “...the worst part is that I'm not even sure whether or not you're serious anymore.”

   “Well, where would you look for a dead guy?”

   “The obituaries, I guess.”

   “Of course! You're brilliant! OK, so now we just need some newspapers.”

   “Correction, now you just need some newspapers. It is eight in the morning on a Saturday; I am going back to bed whether you like it or not.”

   “But if you leave now we'll loose the trail!”

   “Trail?”

   “Come Watson, the game's afoot!”

   “Watson?”

   “...I'll find a way to get you out of doing dishes after the family reunion next week.”

   “You're supposed to help me with that anyway.”       

   “I'll come over and mow the lawn for you.”

   “Hm.”

   “If you help me out, I won't let my brother's tarantula loose in your room.”

   “What? You... fine, whatever, I'll come. But this had better not take too long.”

   “Oh, relax, it'll be fun... Hey, Eri.”

   “What?”

   “I just realized something.”

   “Yeah?”

   “That guy who spontaneously combusted, he must have been a really Fun Guy, right?”

   “...”

   “You get it? Because mildew is a fungus?”

   “...this is going to be a long day.”
« Last Edit: December 20, 2010, 07:54:51 AM by redambit »

Obsessiforge

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Re: Writing Prompts! (The Will)
« Reply #96 on: December 20, 2010, 09:20:08 AM »
So I've posted it to my blog, and I'm just gonna link it down here for easy access.

http://obsessiforge.blogspot.com/2010/12/will-dialogue-challenge.html

And here's the body of the text.

The Will

“Its quite a banquet out there, Nina”

“Its quite the occasion, Diogenes. A great victory for my tribe. You’ve changed the Bluefeet’s lives, you know.”

“People’s lives are constantly changing...everything we do changes somebody’s life.”

“Please, Diogenes, don’t be so modest. It was a brilliant strategy, well executed and effective in ways we didn’t think possible. The Bluefeet needn’t worry about the Bronzebacks anymore. You can count that a significant change.”

“I wasn’t without my motives.”

“Ah. Of course not. Well, my men recovered it in the aftermath. Here’s your book.”

“The Will of Thedosis.”

“Mmhm. Few know of it now, and even less follow it. The Bronzebacks do."

“Did.”

“Did. Did you think that if what you’re looking for is really in those pages, the book wouldn’t have disappeared?”

“I had considered that, yes.”

“And yet...”

“Nina, why do we think magic is magic?”

“Because...it...lets people do the impossible.”

“But does it? The Mages have existed your entire life, my entire life - we’ve existed in the same world as them for years, centuries...and in all that time, everything they have been able to do has been possible...technically. Because they could do it.”

“Well yes, but its impossible for you and me.”

“Alright...say there’s an archer.”

“There’s an archer.”

“A world class archer, the envy of every would-be marksman in Ter-Thalla.”

“Mmhm?”

“If he were to strike a target at the center, ten times out of ten, could you match his feat?”

“No...”

“Then how are the Mages any different?”

“Well its not a skill with them, its just...an ability. Its something that just happens.”

“What about a blind man then? Take a man, born without sight, who has developed extraordinary hearing to compensate. Could you hear everything he hears?”

“Probably not...”

“It doesn’t matter that some have it and some don’t. Magic exists, and its existence lets us accept it. Its...commonplace, in a way. What’s so magical about that?”


“What’s your point, Diogenes?”

“We think magic is magical because there was a time before it. It was bestowed on humanity, and at that point, it was an impossibility.”

“No, I mean what does that have to do with the book?”

“If there was a time before magic, the people of that time would have longed for it. Imagined the impossible and made it their dearest wish. Everybody’s done that at some point.”

“And now we have magic. Well, not we, but somebody...”

“So there’s got to be something else fantastic and impossible to wish for. That’s what I seek.”

“So you’ve decided to look in a dead book?”

“There’s a reason it fell out of favor.”

“Being?”

“Well I don’t know. But there was a reason. Political, philosophical, maybe it just went out of style. In any case, there’s something in these pages about what I’m looking for. Isn’t that so?”

“Yes, but like I said, its a dead book for a dead faith. You think you’ll find a way to bring your wife back in there?”

“Not...well...”

“What?”

“...The detective. Do you know his purpose?”

“The one out there? With the crowbar?”

“I really don’t understand the fascination with the crowbar...”

“He’s investigating...a series of murders, I think.”

“And the razing of Azugrad city.”

“But that was the Bronzebacks. They set Azugrad ablaze...he thinks that’s related?”

“It is related.”

“But he doesn’t think so.”

“No. He doesn’t know.”

“Then how do you know?”

“Because the Bronzebacks didn’t burn down Azugrad.”

“And the killer did?”

“Yes.”

“And how do you know that?”

“Because the detective is looking for me.”

“...Stay back.”

“Nina, listen.”

“The Bronzebacks never went near Azugrad, did they?”

“Does that change anything? They still terrorized your people!”

“Do you even know how many people-”

“Twelve. Eleven in Saphiir, one in Azugrad.”

“One? The city burned all night!”

“I killed one person. It was one too many.”

“What about the other eleven?”

“Eleven too many.”

“I...Thedosis, this is...”

“Would you let me explain?”

“No! Diogenes, what...no.”

“Nina, listen!”

“The soldiers, the ones the Mages sent from the Capitol, they never had a reason to fight the Bronzebacks, did they? They were looking for you all along!”

“And those soldiers, once again, saved your tribe from-”

“You just lured them in and tricked them into dying for our cause?”

“It isn’t that simple.”

“And they don’t know.”

“Our deal was simple. I helped you defeat those brutes and I got the book.”

“Because you wanted to bring your wife back.”

“Yes, but what I’m trying to explain to you is that it wasn’t ever just my wife!”

“What?”

“Look, after I lost her I couldn’t stay...I couldn’t keep fighting in that awful war. So I left, to sort everything out in my mind...and after two years of searching, the only thing I thought would ease this wrenching feeling in me was...well, revenge.”

“So you started killing people.”

“The ones I knew were responsible for the war. Davin, for the weaponry that made it possible for the people to fight back against the Mages...the generals and commanders, on both sides...”

“And that made you feel better? So that justifies everything?

“No! Well...it did, but only for a little while. And every time, I’d feel this relief. Just...utter relief. Sometimes only for moments, but in that moment it was worth it.”

“Worth it.”

“It didn’t last.”

“Oh no?”

“No, it was always replaced with this ugly mixture of guilt and...crushing anxiety.”

“Anxiety?”

“Well that’s the only word I can think of to describe it.”

“No, it makes sense. I’d be anxious too if I’d just killed that many people!”

“Nina, try to stop passing judgment for just a minute and try to understand what I’m trying to say.”

“What are you trying to say?”

*“That this book is my way out! Out of the cycle...because the guilt keeps building and building, and the only way it goes away is when I...”

“Oh my god...you...”

“But then you told me about this book! About what it could, maybe, do...for years people believed that this man, or God, what you will...Thedosis. People believed he brought down his magic from the outside and gave it to us.”

“Wait, just...”

“Listen. He made the impossible possible.”

“This isn’t a guarantee! I don’t know what’s in that book, Gene.”

“Could you not call me that?”

“What?”

“She called me that...”

“So there’s no letting go for you is there?”

“I told you, its not just her. You told me this Thedosis brought us magic. And that he supposedly wrote this Will to help us lead our lives.”

“Supposedly.”

“Its better than nothing. Every time I slit one of their throats, this guilt kept building. Its always right here.”

“And what if you can’t bring them all back then? What if there’s some limitation, or its all fake to begin with?”

“Then that’s the reality I’ll be saddled with. That’s what I’ll have to accept, and I’ll either find another way to settle my soul or go insane. Until then, any possibility gives me something to focus on. To ward away the guilt.”

“And what of the soldiers you manipulated? You did that after I told you about the Will. You can’t take back their deaths, even if you could bring them back. Not completely.”

“I couldn’t. But at least they wouldn’t have to suffer for my wrongdoing. I’d still be guilty, yes...but I can’t even ask forgiveness from a corpse.”

“No, I can’t believe...Look, if I had never even mentioned the myths behind this book would you feel any obligation to find a way to absolve yourself? No, you’d continue on this path, killing people until there was nobody left to justify murdering! What would ease your anxiety then?”

“I don’t know.”

“You’d just go on killing anyone? Reason or no?”

“Maybe. Probably.”

“Then why shouldn’t I walk right back out there and tell them all what you’ve just told me?”

“Because then there would never be a chance to bring any of them back! This book would be lost again, I’m sure of it.”

“You’re doing this for you.”

“Yes. Everything we do is selfish.”

“Do you honestly think you deserve a chance at redemption?”

“Only because everybody is supposed to deserve one.”

“So you deserve to ‘settle your soul’ with this impossible quest, or, failing that, delusion?”

“Everything we do is selfish...but everything we do also changes somebody’s life. Sometimes what we might need most can be what someone else needs even more.”

“And if you fail?”

“Then the hope is gone. That doesn’t mean I’d forget why I tried.”

“You’re trying to save your soul.”

“Yes.”

“And if that’s impossible?”

“It is impossible. But who’s known for making the impossible possible?”

“Thedosis...”

“Thedosis.”

“...Open the book.”

rkgal

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Re: Writing Prompts!
« Reply #97 on: December 20, 2010, 10:46:38 AM »
Hello, all.  I'm another first-time poster.  This is my attempt at Brandon's dialogue prompt.  Feel free to critique and make fun of it-- I know I am!
___________________________________________________________________________________

“So, you must be the new girl.”

“Yeah.  I’m Kaccia.”

“I’m Scott. So how are you?”

“Honestly?  I feel as if I just dropped into an x-men comic book.  This school, this place.  Places like this just don’t exist in the real world.”

“You mean people like us.  Special people.”

“Well, yeah.  I mean, in your wildest dreams did you ever think anything like this was even possible?”

“Sure.  Why not?  Comic book writers had to get their ideas from somewhere.”

“I still can’t believe I’m a super hero.”

“You’re not, not really.  You just have… enhanced abilities.”

“Yeah, I know.  Dr. Grismohr explained it already.  I still don’t get all the genetic stuff he was trying to explain.”

“Yeah.  Well, obviously that’s not your area of enhancement.” 

“I guess not.  Hey—did you just make fun of me?”

“Of course I did.  What kind of gentleman would I be if I didn’t tease the pretty, new girl?”

“Not a very good one, I suppose… “

“Tell me, Kaccia, what’s your nick-name?”

“Oh, I don’t have one.  It’s just Kaccia.”

“No, no.  Not for your first name.  Your real nick-name.”

“I’m not following.”

“Surely they must have called you something in relation to your ability.”

“Oh.  I don’t have one.”

“A name virgin, eh?  I guess I’ll have to give you a nick-name.”

“Do you have a nick-name?”

“Sure do.  It’s Phosphor—because I glow in the dark. But we’ll get back to me later; I wanna know about you. What is it exactly that you do?  I tried to ask Lawrence about it, but he wouldn’t tell me.”

“Nothing. “

“Common!  Tell me.”

“No.  It’s embarrassing.”

“I’ll find out sooner or later.  You might as well tell me now and get it over with.”

“I… do you promise not to laugh?”

“I swear.”

“I can find where squirrels find their nuts.”

“What?”

“I can find where squirrels find their nuts.  See, squirrels really aren’t that smart.  They hide nuts in preparation for the winter, and then they forget where they hide them.  Most the time if they find a nut, it’s because it was buried shallowly and they could smell it from the surface.  I can find them no matter how deep they are.  And I can tell what kind they are too.”

“You’re joking.”

“Um… no.  Not really.  That’s what I do.”

“That’s the most ridiculous ability I’ve ever heard of!”

“I know.”

“Oh, no, no.  Don’t worry.  I’m sure we’ll put that to good use here.”

“Really?”

“Eh.  Maybe.  But for now, you need a nick name.  How about Nut-Case?”

“Maybe…but that makes me sound like I’m crazy!  I’m not crazy; in fact, they just let me out of a home because I was definitely not crazy.”

“Alright then.  What about Nut-Job?”

“Nut-Job?  No way.  That sounds too dirty.”

“I know; that’s why I like it.  Okay, how about the Nut-Cracker?”

“No.  Then people will think that I have something to do with Christmas, and I really don’t even like that holiday.  What about… Nutty-Buddy?”

“Pftck!  Hahahahaha!”

“Okay, so no.  You got anything else?”

“Squirrel Girl?”

“No.  There’s a Marvel super hero named Squirrel Girl.  She’s really obscure and totally uncool.  I’d die of mortification if anyone were to relate me to her.”

“You’re joking!  Really?  Squirrel Girl is a real comic character?  How do you know that?”

“I’ve read fantasy books and comics as long as I can remember.  X-men and Red Sonja were by far my favorites.  All those years spent wishing I had powers, and now I do…  I’m just a geek, I guess.”

“Yeah, you are.  That’s all the suggestions I’ve got.  Nut-Case is the only one you didn’t flat-out say no to.”

“Okay.  I guess I’m stuck with Nut-Case.”

“You know, I kinda like it.  It makes you sound …dangerous.  It’s like I’d be taking a risk just to talk to you, and that is very, very sexy.”

“Yeah.  Cause finding nuts makes me sexy.”

“Of course that part doesn’t.  But it’s all in how you go about presenting yourself.”

“And you would know?”

“Of course.  I’m an old pro at this stuff.”

“Oh, I forgot.  You’re the super-hero meets James Bond man.”

“Pretty much.   At least, I could be if I wanted to.  I am a government agent, after all.  You will be too… if you want to be.”

“Is that really what I’m here for? “

“No.  You’re here to learn about your abilities.  Most of the time there are things that people can do that they don’t realize they can do, even if they know they are special.”

“So I might be able to do more than find nuts and identify them?”

“You might.  Then again you might not.  Either way, the training is really good for making people into spy-material.”

“Because it lets them know what their strengths and limitations are, right?”

“Partially.  Actually, the majority of the agents that are trained here have pretty sucky powers… kinda like yours.  But the training makes you more aware of your surroundings, and it helps your brain focus on minute details that normal people would miss.”

“Does that mean that this school is really just some sort of big government spy-training program?”

“Not at all.  In fact, most people that train do not become agents.  Most people come, leave and then go on to lead semi-normal lives.”

“I feel like I’m missing something.  There has to be another point to this school than just training potential agents and letting most of them go free.  Why would the government go to such an extreme to fund this?”

“One word: monitoring.  Even though yours, and mine for that matter, is kind of a pansy ability, there are people out there with enhanced abilities who would pose a potential threat to society.  The government seeks those people out and they dispose of them if they turn out to be a problem.  Because, unlike your precious x-men, the general populous doesn’t know about us.”

Lya

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Re: Writing Prompts!
« Reply #98 on: December 20, 2010, 11:21:42 PM »
These are really fun to read. :)

Mine's a bit short, but oh well.

***



"Dad? I'm scared."

"It's okay. We'll be fine. Just keep holding my hand."

"We should just set up camp like last night."

"Do you really want to spend another night in bedrolls, have biscuits for breakfast again, when there's a proper inn an hour away?"

"I still don't like the dark."

"The dark can't hurt you."

"I think... I think I see one! Behind that tree. In the shadow."

"Hold up the lantern. See? Just a twisty-like branch."

"But what if it hid."

"Doram, look at me. You're wearin' your charm, right? Then none of those unholy Fey can get you."

"But Liya told me an Ice Dryad can kill you with one touch. One touch!"

"Ice—Ice Dryads? That's what you're worried about?"

"Uh-huh."

"Son, it's high summer. No Icies in summer, not in these parts."

"Never?"

"Never."

"For sure?"

"Certain as larks in the morning."

"But then... why are we wearing charms?"

"Ha! I always said you're a clever boy."

"Dad, why?"

"No Icies don't mean no Fey, but the Pantheon protects their devout."

"Protects from what?"

"It's just a few rumors. Just in case."

"Which Fey though?"

"We won't see any, don't worry over it."

"But which one?"

"You have to promise me you won't get scared again."

"I'll be a brave little boy."

"Good. It's just Goblings anyhow."

"Liya said Goblings have yellow cat eyes and they can kill by looking at you!"

"Liya's a silly little girl. Goblings kill with knives, not looks. And they can't even see in the dark too well neither."

"Oh... big knives?"

"Plain old knives."

"What about knives that grow out of their hands?"

"You like scaring yourself or something? Plain old knives."

"Oh. You know what I think? I think Goblings—dad what's that?"

"Probly just another—lift the lantern, now—twisty... wait. Is it... moving?"

"Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!"

"Hush up, get back here! If it's really a Gobling, we have to be real quiet now."

"I want to go home."

"I said be quiet! And cover that lantern."

"...what about whispering?"

"Only if you have to. Follow me now."

"It's so dark."

"Once we're out from under the trees..."

"Dad! Where'd you go? Hold my hand! Dad? Daddy?!"

sceneTK421

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Re: Writing Exercise: Dialogue
« Reply #99 on: December 20, 2010, 11:29:46 PM »
Hello all. I wish I could say this was my first post, but y'all probably saw my embarrassing first post. Anyway, this was a fun exercise. Very similar to screenwriting. I bleeped the bad words, cause I think I read that this is a family forum  ;D

Here is my contribution:


“What is that?”

“What?”

“That.”

“Oh... that's nothing.”

That is nothing?”

“Yeah.”

“Are you stupid?”

“No.”

“Then you know its a Siftyr.”

“Oh, that.”

“Yes, that!”

“I thought you meant the toaster.”

“It is kind of a weird toaster... No, the Siftyr.”

“Well, if you know what it is, why are you asking me 'what is that'?”

“Sorry, I didn't mean 'what is that'. What I meant was: Why, under the Breath of Thought, would you, or anyone with half a head, have that just lying there? Next to your chair. With a sandwich on top of it.”

“I found it.”

“You found it? Where?”

“In the fridge.”

“No. The Reaver. The Siftyr. Where did you get it?”

“Goodwill.”

“Oh right, I forgot about the 'Mindbendingly Rare & Evil Contraptions Section' in the back next to the brik-a-brak. Well, grab your sandwich, I'm going to destroy it. The Siftyr I mean, not the sandwich.”

“Wait.”

“Do you know what it does?

“It looks kinda like a space thing, a Buck Rogers future-that-never-was device of some sort, but it has these wires and the jars and its got that metal plate that says 'Siftyr' on it...? So, no.”

“That, my dear damned friend, is a Soul Harvestor. It sucks souls out of bodies. And stuffs them into little jars. Then it sucks all the water out of your body and scatters you to nothing. Well, close to nothing anyway... And you see the sweat on the thing? That's people residue. That's reminents of soul juice. And its seeping into your sandwich.”

“So, what do I do?”

“Well first move the sandwich, and then if you want to suck yer own soul out, make it all neat and travel-sized, press that little blue button with the ghost thing on it. I will be running and screaming.”

“I don't think that's what I want.”

“Well then move. I have to smash it.”

“You're f***ing with me, right?”

“No.”

“You are. You're just f***ing with me.”

“I promise I am not f***ing with you. Now move.”

“Stop. I don't want it smashed.”

“Move.”

“No. I like it.”

“Its evil. It takes souls at the touch of a button.”

“I don't believe you. I think its pretty.”

“It rips the living essence from you, and then turns you to dust.”

“I'm going to turn it on.”

What?!

“I'm going to turn it on.”

“Oh, there I go saying 'what' again when what I meant was: Please, under the Breath of Thought, don't turn the thing on. It will do very bad things to us. It is not meant for this world. It should be broken past any hope of repair. Let me break it.”

“One.”

“Don't do it. It will Reave you. You cannot begin to think this is a good idea. Come on. Don't do it. There is no point.”

“Two.”

“Why would you gamble, not only the life and body you know and the experiences that live in your future, but also that bit of you that is everlasting? Your eternal bit. The thing you share with the universe. Your soul. Throwing such a gift on the chopman's block, just to see if you can pull it back in time, or to see if just maybe he's got a foam axe. Disgusting. If you press that button and I happen to be wrong, remind me to never take you to Vegas.”

“Three.”

“...”

“...”

“Nothing?”

“Nothing.”

“.............weird....”

“Ooooooohh...”

“...Ahhhhh.”

“AAAAaaaaaarrrrrghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh...”

“Ahh ahhh ahh ahhh ooooaa aghh aghh aaaghh...”

“Whaaaaaaaaaaattttttttthhhhhhhhuuuuuuuuuuhhhhh...”

“Hhhhhhhhhhoooooolllly Sh*****************tt!!!!!”

“--oh f***-- --oh f***-- --oh f***-- ”

“Aahhhhhhrrrrr..”

“...”

“What a waste of a sandwich.”

MortalDays

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Re: Writing Prompts!
« Reply #100 on: December 21, 2010, 02:13:44 AM »
Enclosed please find one (1) dialogue exercise. Almost but not quite 700 words.

DEMON’S BURN
“There. The peaks we’ve been looking for.”
“At last.”
“We should camp here. It’s late, and you must be tired.”
“I’ve kept up with you so far, my Prince. Your arm is troubling you, not my stamina.”
“Forgive me, Iridia. You’re right, of course. Every time my horse takes a step, it’s like being stabbed in the thumb and feeling it through to the elbow.”
“Then sit over there and rest. I’ll gather the firewood. I think it’ll be cooler tonight than last night.”
“I won’t argue, not this time. Will you want to change the poultice?”
“It would do no good. It isn’t really helping you now. Your wound is beyond my magicks, but not Magda’s, I hope. My Prince—”
“Iridia. I’d rather you used my name. You weren’t so formal when we were children.”
“Retic. You weren’t a prince then. Excuse me.”
“That’s a fine blaze you’ve built there. The food, on the other hand …”
“Hah! I can’t work miracles with travel rations. Fresh meat would be good, but I’m not the hunter my husband was.”
“My arm wouldn’t let me draw a bow if I had one. If there were more light, I could perhaps set a snare. Well, jerky it will have to be.”
“You were handy with a sling, once. You killed Yeoman Rancing’s prize rabbit. How old were we? Ten?”
“How do you … stars! You were there! I’d forgotten — I only remembered him screaming at me and Mikael wetting his pants. How was I to know? He shouldn’t have let the thing get out of its pen.”
“The color should have told you. How many black-and-white rabbits had you ever seen out in the fields?”
“I was only a kid. Father paid him back, anyhow.”
“Rancing died a few months ago. Brain fever; very sudden. I spoke to him a few weeks earlier and he told me, ‘If Retic ever comes back here, tell him I’m still waiting for my apology.’”
“Seriously? After twenty years? It’s true I never apologized. He frightened the wits out of me and I avoided him ever after. Then Father was recalled to court, and … well. Such is the past.”
“Those were good times.”
“Indeed. We’ll want an early start tomorrow. I will, uh, suggest we combine our bedrolls. We’ve gained so much altitude the night will be chilly, and when two lie down together, they can keep warm. I read that somewhere.”
“I’ve taken a long time to answer, I know. It wouldn’t be entirely proper.”
“Nor improper. You have only your father waiting for you at home, I have only my mother and sisters. What did you say? Or were you just whispering to yourself?”
“It’s a practical suggestion, but I whispered of my loneliness, and wondered if that would drive my answer.”
“My own drove the question, in part. Please, take your time.”
“Finally I can answer. Let’s keep warm.”
“Are you comfortable?”
“Yes. And warm.”
“I know my arm smells, but …”
“Shh, my Prince. It’s all right.”
“Wake up, princeling.”
“Eh? What? Who are you?”
“Magda, the one you came seeking.”
“Iridia? Iridia! Witch! What have you done to her?”
“I’ve rid you of a cloying, stupid cow. I listened to your heartfelt confessions last night. Revolting.”
“She called you friend.”
“I need no friends. Stand when you address me, princeling.”
“Damn your eyes! I will die without your help, and I would rather that than do the bidding of a murderess.”
“You will not die. Not for some days, anyway, as the acid courses through your blood and burns you to your bones, and the pain will be so great you will do naught but scream and scream and scream. Is that how you want to die, princeling, over a few mere words?”
“You will pay, witch. With every last drop of your blood, if you have any.”
“Oh, I am sure. Now show me your wound. Hm. Very grave. But not grave enough.”
“What? The demon—”
“Was supposed to slay you, fool! Put your sword down. It will not—”
“Kill you as it killed your minion?”


sceneTK421

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Re: Writing Prompts!
« Reply #101 on: December 21, 2010, 03:20:47 AM »
This just came out. Sorry for posting two. But this one is dang short.
I don't know if I broke a rule, but I prepare to be reprimanded.  :-\



“Dear God. Well, as you must know I have some stuff going on--”

“What kinda stuff?”

“I do believe I said, 'Dear God'.”

“And what am I?

“Not.”

“But I am an Angel.”

“And?”

“You don't believe me?”

“Oh, I believe you sure. I don't think you made those wings. I don't think that you are some creep that dresses up in a spectacular angel costume and sneaks into girls' bedrooms at night.”

“So fill me in. Let me get a word to Big Pop.”

“Well, when I pray isn't that talking directly to Him?”

“Uh, yeah, technically.”

“So, why would I talk to you to talk to Him, when I can just talk to Him?.”

“Maybe I can help with something.”

“Nah, I don't think so.”

“Why?”

“You don't get it.”

“How do you know? You didn't even tell me what's going on.”

“You're an angel right?”

“Yup.”

“So you don't know what its like to be human. I'm sure you could give some bang-up angel advice with all the know how and ins and outs and such, but these issues I have are human issues, deep and mortal. Bloody even. It would be like a monkey asking for beaver advice.”

“Hmmm”

“And there, not even a hint of a smile. You didn't even think of a vagina did you?”

“What?”

“Beavers, sometimes we call vaginas, beavers.”

“I know that.”

“But your mind didn't automatically go there. Mine did. I thought of a monkey and a vagina talking. Or maybe a monkey asking advice on vaginas.”

“Hmm. I see what you mean.”

“Yeah.”

“But that doesn't mean I can't help. I can provide a perspective you would never be able to see from. Just like that monkey. He could provide some excellent perspective to that little vagina.”

“Haaahahaahhahahahahaaaahhhahaaa... 'little'?”

“I was thinking comparatively to the monkey... Did you know that a lot of people would do some interesting things just to talk to an angel?”

“Yeah, well I don't have to do anything and I can talk to God.”

“But not in person.”

“...touché.”

“OK then, lay it on me. What stuff do you have going on?”

“I had my period yesterday really bad and--”

“Oh no, God is calling  me back. Wow, this rarely happens. Sorry. I'll see you later.”

BlueRuin

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Re: Writing Prompts!
« Reply #102 on: December 21, 2010, 04:12:30 AM »
Writing Prompt: Dialogue

That was a fun exercise. Here's my attempt.

================================================

"One thousand forty-one, one thousand forty-two, one thousand forty-three-"

"It breathed. Its chest just moved; I saw it."

"Dammit, Roy, you made me lose count. Now we have to start all over again. Hand me another syringe."

"It's breathing. It's not dead. We gotta get out of here…n-n-not safe."

"Every damn time we come out here you-"

"The claw just twitched! Please Joss; I'm telling you it's-"

"It's postmortem reflex. Happens sometimes. Watch the thermometer, kid; body temp is 119 degrees and dropping steadily. There's no way it's living with a body temp that low."

"No. It's alive. We just stunned it. It's gonna jump up, tear us to smithereens, it's gonna…eat us."

"For the last time, there's nothing left - just a burned out husk. The pupils are non-responsive. Look."

"ARGH! Don't touch its eyes! What the hell's wrong with you?"

"That' s it. I'm done. You hear that Captain? I'm finished. Get him another line of work."

"You can't do that; I've got a family. Harvesting pays the best and you know it."

"Then stop freaking out over every twitch. You're driving me crazy."

"But it moved, Joss. I'm not making it up. That. Thing. Moved."

"Look, I don't want to be out here any more than you do, but we have to get this done. It's important."

"Let's go find another one. There's always another one. Please, Joss…"

"I just need 120 seconds, Roy. We'll draw the spinal fluid then we'll get back where it's safe, and we won't have to come back for two months. Can you do that?  Can you give me 120 seconds? Now, hand me the syringe, and we'll get back to work."

"J-Joss?"

"I said hand me the damn syringe."

"JOSS!"
« Last Edit: December 21, 2010, 04:36:33 AM by BlueRuin »

Ambri

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Re: Writing Prompts!
« Reply #103 on: December 21, 2010, 07:11:55 AM »
The Dialog Exercise

My first post here.  Hope I'm doing this right. 

"Good Points"



"Hades. They really worked you over, didn't they?"

"Dam star-cursed sons of--"

"Whoa, careful. Here, let me help you.  Easy now.  Sit."

"Ouch. Fraggin' . . ."

"Nothing looks broken, at least."

"Yeah, no thanks to those damned cully.  They're all the same, whichever side you're on."

"So it seems."

"Thanks.  What're you in here for, miss . . .?"

"Mai.  Call me Mai."

"Just Mai?"

"Mai Kalir-en janaika Reenah te Delo eka Khai Desh-jalaam, if you prefer."

"Ah.  'Just Mai,' it is, then.  I'm Rob.  Robert Kowalski.  You don't look like a soldier."

"Don't I?  I was, once.  When I had something to fight for."

"Like?"

"A home.  A people.  It does not matter; it was a long time ago."

"A long time ago?  That's not possible; you're just a kid."

"Truly, I was never 'just a kid.'  Not like your people."

"My people?  You're not of the GDA?"

"Not until recently. We were members of your alliance for so little time that it hardly matters.  It is not important.  How did you come to be here?"

"I-I, Hades, I don't really know anymore.  I think I was sent to . . . infiltrate something, I think.  And I got caught.  Or betrayed. Those thrice-cursed interogators spent the last few weeks taking my psyche apart and putting it together again.  All that’s left is bits and pieces.  Like broken glasstene.  The pieces are jagged;  they stab at me when I try to put them back together in the right order.  Or maybe it's like that egg, the one they couldn't put back together again."

"You seem to possess a finely honed version of what they call 'gallows humor.'"

"It's either laugh, or go crazy.  You never did tell me why you're in here."

"You won't believe me."

"Try me."

"Very well.  I'm a witch."

"Right.  You gonna offer me a poisoned Caldaran apple, or something?"

"No one believes me, at first.  It seems your people are as ignorant of the magic of my people as mine were of your modern technology."

"If you're magic, why are you in here?"

"Had no where else to go."

"Anywhere's better than this."

"You haven't seen some parts of the city, have you?"

"Touche." 

"Where are you from?"

"Why?"

"I am curious about other worlds.  I have seen very little of the galaxy."

"I'm from Ky--wait.  This is a trap.  You're trying to trick me into telling you.  I won't! Fraggin' cully.  No, I said!  Get out of my fraggin' mind, you--"

"Robert!  Stop, you'll hurt yourself.  Hold still."

"Let me go! I've already told you.  I don't know anything."

"There now.  Easy.  I'm just going to help the pain a little. . . That's right.  There we go.  Ancestors' blood, what have they done to you?"

"Mai--?"

"Yes, I'm here.  It's all right.  I wish I could do more.  You need a sha-saidah.  A healer.  My innersight is not strong enough to see how to fix all the damage.  I am sorry."

"Dead gods.  You really are a witch, aren't you?  Or an Esper."

"Yes."

"Witches, healers . . . like somethin' outta an old spacer's tale.  What happened to your people?"

"We got caught up in your war. Destroyed."

"I'm sorry."

"It does not matter."

"Of course it does.  I--"

"What is that?"

"Siren.  Alarm of some kind."

"But what does it mean?"

"Hades if I know.  'Defenses compromised.  Kill all prisoners,' maybe."

"That is not funny."

"Laugh at death, remember?"

"I can't.  If I start, I won't ever stop.  I'll laugh and laugh till my voice gives out and all light of reason leaves my eyes."

"Well.  Maybe it's a good siren."

"When was the last time you heard a 'good' siren?"

"Good point.  I just hate good points, don't you?"
 

doseyclwn

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Re: Writing Prompts!
« Reply #104 on: December 21, 2010, 08:17:22 AM »
   “She can hear us!”
   “No she can’t!”
   “Yes she can, look at her. She’s looking right at me.”
   “No she's not. She just sees a dumb animal.”
   “Shut up.”
   “So sad! Why are they always so sad when they hear us! Most of them think they’re crazy!”
   “Most of them are. You know that.”
   “I like this one.”
   “I don’t. She has a darkness about her.”
   “You would too if you had something terrible like that happen to you.”
   “What happened? Can you tell?”
   “No. I just know something bad happened.”
   “What are we going to do about it?”
   “Do? Nothing!”
   “We never do anything!”
   “I wish we could do something. I wish she wasn’t so sad.”
   “Do you think she sees us?”
   “No, no, she’s too busy...Doing whatever that is she's doing. I’ve never understood why the big ones would do that. Water is fine like it is!”
   “But they all do that, or most of them anyway.”
   “Some of them just fall asleep after drinking the dark rotten-smelling water.”
   “That's not rotten-smelling or dark. I think it is something else.”
   “I hope she doesn’t eat us. Does she have anything to eat? I haven't seen it yet.”
   “I haven't seen it either.”
   “Maybe she does want to eat us. She's got to be hungry.”
   “She is! I can tell! Let's go!”
   “I do wish you’d stay. I’m not going to eat you, and I’d be appreciative of the company.”
   “Were you talking to us?”
   “Yes, I was,” said Naoren, forcing a thin smile that probably wasn't too convincing. “I’d offer you a bit of tea, but it’s probably too hot for you.”
   “Tea! That’s what it is. Smells good, though it does look a bit hot.”
   “Of course its hot, ninny-brain. It’s been in the fire for awhile.”
   “Shut up. I was just being nice.”
   “I don't have much food, or I’d offer you something to eat
   “Don’t be silly. We probably wouldn’t eat it anyway.”
   “Do you have names?  I’m not sure what to call you.”
   “Why would we need those?”
“Yeah, why do you need to ‘call’ us anything?”
   “Well, what do you call yourselves?”
   “Why do we need to call each other anything?”
“I simply talk to the one I need to talk to. If I need to talk to another one, I go talk to that other one.”
   “Sometimes,  the big ones can be so funny!”
   “Yes, and confusing, too!”
   “You don’t mind if we stay here for a bit, do you?”
   “Yes, you are quite warm.”
   “Yes, we’d like to stay if that’s alright with you.”
   “Oh, goodness yes! I haven’t had any company for quite some time.”
   “It would be our pleasure.”
   “Yes, quite!”
   “Tell me, have you talked with any other ‘big ones’, ones like me?”
   “We see them from time to time.”
“Maybe not lots, but we do see them.”
   “Do any of them ever talk back to you?”
   “Sometimes.”
   “Most of the time, they don’t pay any attention to us.”
   “Yes, most of the time, even when we know they can here us.”
   “Yes, we know.”
   “We most certainly do.”
   “Sometimes, they drink this funny yellow liquid that makes the laugh and not make sense.”
   “Yes, even moreso than normal big ones.”
   “Yes, quite!”
   “That would be ale, I suppose. It does make us talk funny after a fashion.”
   “Did you want to ask us something else, she?”
   “Yes, did you?”
   “You can, you know.”
   “We know you want to, it’s okay.”
   “Yes, you can. It won't upset us.”
   “No, no it won't. Not like you think it will.”
   “Go ahead and ask us.”
   “We don't mind.”
   “Really, we don’t!”
   “Pleeeeeeeeeeeeease?!?!?”
   “I was wondering if you saw a man, all in black, and a young boy pass through here.”
   “What, did you see something? Did you see them? What did you see?”
   “We don’t want to tell you.”
   “No we don't.”
   “We really don’t.”
   “Please don't make us.”
   “Why don’t you want to tell me? It can't make things any worse for me. Please, just tell me.”
   “We saw them.”
   “The ones you’re looking for.”
   “The big ones.”
   “The one in black and the smaller one.”
   “They were here.”
   “I’m sorry to react so, it’s just that I didn’t expect to hear of them so soon. Was the boy well?”
   “Boy?”
   “What's a boy?”
   “He would have been the smaller one. He is lost. Well, not lost, not really. He was stolen by the big one and I'm trying to get him back.”
   “Is the little one your cub?”
   “Is he?”
   “Yes, in a way I guess he is. Tell me, was he okay?”
   “Yes, he was fine.”
   “He was okay.”
   “Well, I’m not sure.”
   “Come to think of it, neither am I.”
   “He wasn't happy.”
   “I think he wanted you.”
   “He kept asking for you.
   “The other one was sad, too.”
   “He wasn't happy.”
   “He felt bad.”
   “We could tell.”
   “Yes, we could tell.”
   “Good. I hope he rots in the deepest of the five hells. There is a special place for him there.”
   “I think he would agree with you.”
   “Yes, we would.”
   “We didn’t like him at all.”
   “No, not at all.”
   “But we must be going now.”
   “We’re not really supposed to talk to you.”
   “We wouldn’t want to get in trouble.”
   “No, we wouldn’t.”
   “Will I see you again.”
   “Perhaps we will.”
   “I hope you find your cub.”
   “Come back if you do.”
   “Yes, please come back.”