|
you two are so tsundere :3 p2 disclaimer: the next 200 pages contain horrible stories. thunderdome management cannot be held accountable for any occuring brain damages, alcoholism or punched monitors. to safely browse the rest of this thread, please click the question mark left of this post Entenzahn fucked around with this message at 11:46 on Jan 2, 2015 |
#
?
Jan 2, 2015 11:11
|
|
|
|
| # ? Apr 19, 2024 10:26 |
|
|
tbh i know mojo is pulling his punches with the thread sass if he gets too cheeky he know's he'd have to back it up with his feeble fiction words ha ha
|
|
#
?
Jan 2, 2015 11:19
|
|
|
Sitting Here posted:tbh i know mojo is pulling his punches with the thread sass ha, ha, f u 500 words, 5 days, who will judge.
|
|
#
?
Jan 2, 2015 12:19
|
|
|
sebmojo posted:ha, ha, sebmojammin' here brawl An unstoppable force meets an immovable object. Also, pick one: Romance Revenge The cosmic ballet Deadline: Wed, Jan 7th, noon GMT (<- Europe) Wordcount: 501 are you just going to stand there or are you going to toxx yourselves
|
|
#
?
Jan 2, 2015 13:00
|
|
|
|
|
#
?
Jan 2, 2015 13:02
|
|
|
In for this week.
|
|
#
?
Jan 2, 2015 13:55
|
|
|
Why the hell not. I'm in
|
|
#
?
Jan 2, 2015 16:56
|
|
|
sebmojo posted:omg stfu u blithering poltroon Ay. Ayyyyy. I'mma cutchu. I'mma cutchu good, mang. Chu don't know. chu don't fukkin know
|
|
#
?
Jan 2, 2015 18:15
|
|
|
Entenzahn posted:sebmojammin' here brawl I don't want anybody else When I think about you, I  myself
|
|
#
?
Jan 2, 2015 19:46
|
|
|
Screaming Idiot posted:Ay. Ayyyyy. I'mma cutchu. I'mma cutchu good, mang. Chu don't know. *puts my arm companionably around your shoulder* ME: what in tar-loving-nation do you think your doing U: uh just making a kayfabe ma'am ME: *looks at ur kayfabe, it is a sad snowman melting in the sun*  U:  ME: tell u what son. I want you to give me 200 of the poo poo-talkinest, smack-downiest words you ever mustered out of your sorry thought hole. I want you to diss me bro. Or mojo. Or whoever. just make it tough and mean and pull no punches. THAT'S AN ORDER. U: r u being srious ME: *pulls down sunglasses* im always serious. YOU HAVE 48 HOURS.
|
|
#
?
Jan 2, 2015 20:28
|
|
|
sebmojo posted:Delays should be expected Entenzahn posted:Too Much of a Bad Thing  Sebmojo: You are good at hating things. This story really reads like somebody's every fiber hates his life/job/people because he had lovely parents. The first half of the story is better than the second half. However, I did ask you to write a full story, which you did. The "first time ever" for the blinker thing seemed a little contrived. Woulda worked better for me if he hated on using blinkers or something for a little bit before getting hit. Some more disdain for the rules of traffic because they're only for idiots or something would have been great. Descriptions of the crash are generic and last a little long for me, but I don't really like reading that type of stuff, so others might like them. I was a little confused at the ending of how the bus was oriented and what exactly they were doing. Can't decide if the ending with the holding hands is sweet or saccharine. A little too sentimental for my tastes, a little too quick of a turn around. In a longer piece it could work probably, if he got to know her a bit more. Sometimes I got confused when he was being sarcastic, and had to reread the sentence when I realized it wasn't serious. I don't have any advice for how to fix that, but stop doing it? Entenzahn: At first I was totally with you. I loving hate thumping bass, and it is horrible and penetrates everything, even ur butt. But instead of pure hatred you shifted to focusing on a weasley little scaredy-cat and the story became more about his cowardice than the actual hatred. Then when he finally does go up, it read like a "thing that never happened" story, more than realistic. Then it went into straight silliness with the taser and the cult. I rolled my eyes a bit reading this part. The tone is all over the place, and the dialogue is pretty bad/pedestrian. Overall, this is not a very good story. It seems like it doesn't know what it wants to be: a joke or something else. As it is, it's not a very good joke. A bass cult is strange and a little hard to suspend my disbelief for. I don't really know WHY this piece was written, but it didn't really make me go "YEAH! gently caress THE BASS MUSIC AND THOSE DUBSTEP WEIRDOS!" but more of "meh, ok?"  Sebmojo wins
|
|
#
?
Jan 2, 2015 21:31
|
|
|
Nothing to lose but weakness. Prompt: I GROW A loving SPINE Words: 200 I'm Screaming Idiot. I chose this username myself, because if people are going to insult me, I'm going to loving own it. Am I clever, talented, or even particularly intelligent? I wish I was, but I'm not. But I got one thing none of you -- not a goddamn one of you -- have: desperation. Weird thing to be proud of, isn't it? gently caress you. Desperation is my drive to improve, to churn out words worth reading. For you, writing's a hobby. For me, writing's all I have -- all I need. I see people bitch and moan about inspiration. They can swallow a bag of dicks, inspiration isn't something that just happens; you have to make it happen. You have to grab it by the throat, hold it against the wall, stare it in the eye, force it to bend to your will. Don't be inspiration's bitch. MAKE INSPIRATION YOUR BITCH. Life sucks. People suck. Our goals as writers is to use that to our advantage, to tell pretty lies and ugly truths all at once. gently caress your petty vendettas -- I want to get good.
|
|
#
?
Jan 3, 2015 00:35
|
|
|
|
|
#
?
Jan 3, 2015 00:44
|
|
|
Screaming Idiot posted:Nothing to lose but weakness. 
|
|
#
?
Jan 3, 2015 01:01
|
|
|
Screaming Idiot posted:Nothing to lose but weakness. oh my child. you unfathomably pedestrian scrub. you think you're desperate? you ever been staring down the barrel of a sunday night while naked and spattered with liquor and TV dinner slop, no ideas in your head except a burgeoning sense that you derive all personal meaning from a loving internet thread, and yet you've somehow hosed that up too? Do you debase yourself with drugs and sordid acquaintances just so you can suck pitifully at some fragment of ragged emotion from that spent cigarette butt you call your soul? Look at you. Bright-eyed, bushy-tailed. You're a soft-handed, smooth-skinned baby in this game of abject desperation to be heard. Your words are the tinkling of a toast at a party that no one attended. You are the mole busy in his hole while loving civilization burgeons and withers above you with protracted, agonized screams. You know nothing of the depravity of true desperation. Welcome to loving thunderdome, now go get some blood on your sneakers.
|
|
#
?
Jan 3, 2015 01:07
|
|
|
In Which I Do What Screaming Idiot Should Have Done 238 words Mojo and SH are the worst threadparents ever. They gave babby a gun and like any curious toddler, babby turned it on himself. Props to Screaming Idiot for living up to his username and fulfilling the Dome’s “thread newbie does something loving stupid before the first entry deadline even passes” clause. It is five o’ clock on New Year’s Eve. Sitting Here is just putting the finishing touches on her most enduring contribution to every Dome thread: the OP. Cackling with glee, she imagines the year’s worth of tyranny and subjugation she will put the Dome’s residents through (RIP Cache Cab). Days from now, she will peer into her folder full of pretty stories without endings, pick one at random, and hit submit. At least your OP had an ending, SH, so good job I guess. Meanwhile, in Australia, New Zealand, or some other island full of rejects, scumbags, felons, and sheep fuckers, Mojo is preparing to become the very first cyborg. His doctor finally grew tired of his increasingly hysterical demands for a cybernetic penis pump, so now his little weenie will be permanently fixed and he’ll no longer have to rely on crushing skulls in the Dome for a sense of manliness and validation. Also, I went over on the word count. If you have a problem with it, go gently caress yourself with a rusty trombone.
|
|
#
?
Jan 3, 2015 02:35
|
|
|
Your Sledgehammer posted:In Which I Do What Screaming Idiot Should Have Done getting warmer but you couldn't cook a hot dog over these burns right now
|
|
#
?
Jan 3, 2015 02:48
|
|
|
Kayfabe's dumb.
|
|
#
?
Jan 3, 2015 02:56
|
|
|
Starting off the New Year by resolving not to write like poo poo. So, I'll post some overly mannered, self-deprecating audio that reminds me of what writing like poo poo is like. Jitzu_the_Monk: Calvin's Business  Jitzu_the_Monk: Pride and the Quest to Subdue the Gahmgat 
|
|
#
?
Jan 3, 2015 02:57
|
|
|
You're All Worthless Cunts. Prompt: gently caress you. Words: 199 I tried to be reasonable, but 'reasonable' doesn't register to you smegma-chugging Neanderthals. Fine. You're jerking off to whatever no-name magazine nobody gives a gently caress about, others are improving themselves of love for the craft. You miserable jackasses spew bullshit between bouts of pretentious cocksucking, I hone my talent into something of worth. When I sit at home in my tub, half-finished bottle of wine in one hand, razor knife in the other, the only thought that keeps me from finishing one and using the other is the possibility I might get good. You guys ever go through that? gently caress no, most of you assholes sit in warm houses, food in your fridge, hope for tomorrow. You can afford to wring your hands about rivalries and brawls -- petty poo poo. gently caress you, I'm above that. There's nothing you worthless cunts can say to me I haven't said a million times in my head, no threats worse than those I've made to myself daily, no punishments worse than what I inflict upon myself every hour. My life is loving miserable, and I exist purely out of spite. Bring on the blood. not rly ilu guys 
|
|
#
?
Jan 3, 2015 03:21
|
|
|
these some really effeminate and limp-wristed burns here, bro. we're asking for insults not your lovely life story fyi
|
|
#
?
Jan 3, 2015 03:23
|
|
|
just so's we're all clear desperation is when you're killing people in order to buy your daughter enough heroin to stave off the final stages of withdrawal, not when it's tricky putting some words in an order
|
|
#
?
Jan 3, 2015 03:24
|
|
|
Screaming Idiot posted:You're All Worthless Cunts. Hrm this is all a bit better even if it's still self depreca quote:not rly ilu guys FFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFF
|
|
#
?
Jan 3, 2015 03:32
|
|
|
Screaming Idiot posted:I'm a Special Little Snowflake, Please Look at Me 
|
|
#
?
Jan 3, 2015 03:34
|
|
|
|
|
#
?
Jan 3, 2015 03:38
|
|
|
You have lifetimes to roast each other over the fires of your disdain, but only two hours remain to get in on the first prompt of the year.
Kaishai fucked around with this message at 11:17 on Jan 3, 2015 |
|
#
?
Jan 3, 2015 04:02
|
|
|
bye
anime was right fucked around with this message at 06:48 on Oct 27, 2015 |
|
#
?
Jan 3, 2015 04:30
|
|
|
I hope to see some good stories this year. Being optimistic is fun and healthy!Screaming Idiot posted:not rly ilu guys 
|
|
#
?
Jan 3, 2015 04:33
|
|
|
I've had little internet access and even less free time for the past few months, but dagnabit, in.
|
|
#
?
Jan 3, 2015 04:55
|
|
|
In.
|
|
#
?
Jan 3, 2015 05:57
|
|
|
Sign-ups for Week CXXVI are CLOSED. Go forth and write; failure is no way to start off a new year.
Kaishai fucked around with this message at 06:24 on Jan 3, 2015 |
|
#
?
Jan 3, 2015 06:13
|
|
|
A new year. A new thread. Time to look back on what's gone before and reflect on what we've learned about writing, about art...and about ourselves But what's this? All the previous ThunderDome threads are possibly over a HUNDRED pages long and you have gout in your clicking finger! How will you ever find that time that some judge said something that you vaguely recall being pertinent to your writing but it's now lost in the booze-and-barbiturate fog of your enfeebled mind? SO MUCH SADNESS! How will your writing ever stop SUCKING GIGANTIC DONKEY COCKS now?  Why, with Fumblemouse's incredibly not-patented, not-actually-much-of-his-own-work fork-fix of somebody else's no-longer-functional SA Thread Archive Chrome Extension, that's how!  Simply follow this link to GitHub, download the zip file, unzip to a folder that you won't accidentally delete in a refractory wash of guilt and shame, and install in your up-to-date Chrome browser*. Now when you visit an SA thread like 2012, 2013, OR EVEN 2014 (or, in fact, any SA thread with a threadID) you can click on the little SA icon in your address bar, select Archive - the only actual option - and then WAIT, WAIT, WAIT your way to archiving Heaven. If the whole process doesn't crush the CPU of your tinny little netbook (cover signed by Neil Gaiman in fading black sharpie) you can then Right Click and Save As the result - chose from CRAPPY HTML ONLY or COMPLETE HTML AND OTHER 100s OF MEGABYTES of GIF-laden memories. Save or not, you can [CTRL]+[F] your way through a SINGLE document bigger than ALL THE DONKEY COCKS YOUR WRITING EVER SUCKED to find EVERY REFERENCE TO YOUR USERNAME EVER that year. Some of those may be crits. Copy them somewhere else so you can immediately uninstall** this POTENTIALLY DANGEROUS software from someone who username LITERALLY references loving up on a computer. ET VOILA, MA PETITE AUBERGINES D'AMOUR. It will be a Happy New Year after all.  *If you have problems installing or running Fumblemouse's incredibly not-patented, not-actually-much-of-his-own-work fork-fix of somebody else's no-longer-functional SA Thread Archive Chrome Extension, blame Sebmojo, he was the one who asked me to fix this extension in the first place and half the code is based on some of his old firmware I had lying around, so it's probably his fault if your PC chokes on its own cyber-vomit. Following that, consult your local person who is good at computers, Uncle Google, or just someone who cares. Or me, I suppose, if, like, the life of your seventeen children is dependent on this hack working. **Uninstalling the extension will probably break some CSS and stuff somewhere in the saved page, but I don't care. That's why you copied all the good stuff elsewhere, remember?
|
|
#
?
Jan 3, 2015 07:57
|
|
|
Fumblemouse posted:SUCKING GIGANTIC DONKEY COCKS dope
|
|
#
?
Jan 3, 2015 09:23
|
|
|
Fumblemouse posted:bigger than ALL THE DONKEY COCKS YOUR WRITING EVER SUCKED only cause i can't post my fanfic and erotica itt (Seriously though this is awesome.)
|
|
#
?
Jan 3, 2015 09:32
|
|
|
Just here to remind everyone that it doesn't matter who you are or what you've been. Even if you have been here from Week 1: you fail, you better yourself the next time you enter.
|
|
#
?
Jan 3, 2015 11:10
|
|
|
Like Old Times Prompt: Old acquaintances Words: 1300 Markie ran down the sidewalk, naked, blood flowing from a bullet wound on his side, cigarette dangling from his lip. One hand held a cheap pistol, the other held a phone. "Where the gently caress are you? Do you have the poo poo or not?" Duane's voice sounded tinny over the phone. "It's in my pocket." Markie looked over his shoulder to see if his pursuers followed. They hadn't. Markie wasn't lying -- it was in his jeans back at the flophouse. "Duane, think you can send a van down? Got some guys on my rear end and I'm bleedin' pretty fuckin' bad here." "Bleeding...? Jesus Markie, you didn't-" "I fuckin' did! Get me a van! I'm near 32nd, just past Geno's Pizzeria! Tell whoever you send to come loaded just in case!" Markie was thankful he took the good stuff -- his side barely hurt, though the blood loss made him woozy. Christ, what'd Andy think if he saw me? Markie paused to catch his breath and take a puff of his cigarette, looking over his aviator shades. Fuckin' unbelievable. My own fuckin' girlfriend sells me out to Eddy. Fuckin' Judas-oval office got what she deserved. Duane sighed over the phone. "I'll send Chuck-" Markie yelled into the phone. "Not loving Chuck! There's a reason we call him 'Chucklefuck Chuck' and it ain't 'cuz he's funny! Send Ortiz, Duane! Send loving Ortiz!" Wish you could send Andy. "Alright, keep your pants on!" Markie heard Duane turn away from the phone to talk to someone nearby. "They're on the way. Look for Ortiz's van. I'm out." Duane hung up, and Markie ducked into an alley to crouch behind a garbage can to hide from Eddy's thugs and any prying eyes. He was thankful the streets were deserted -- a man wearing nothing but a pair of aviator shades and a bullet wound wasn't the weirdest thing to walk the streets at night, but it was up there. "Julie," Markie muttered, flipping through her pictures on his phone. "Why'd you have to do that to me? You know Eddy. Selling me out wasn't gonna make him forget the money you owed. Was it worth it, Jules? Was it worth a fuckin' hole in the head?" Andy, what do I do now? Christ. Duane's gonna be pissed that I ran out without the poo poo. Maybe Eddy's boys got it? Jesus, I hope not. Markie sat, arms draped over his knees, barely feeling his nuts resting on the cold, wet pavement or the wound in his side. He shivered though, feeling the chill in the air for the first time since he was flushed out. He ran a hand over the wound and winced, though less at the pain and more at the sensation of the open wound against his fingers. Just grazed, thank god. Had enough fuckin' bullets pulled outta me. Markie leaned around the garbage can and sighed as he saw Duane's van pull up. His phone vibrated. Ortiz's voice came from the phone. "You see us? We followed the blood on the sidewalk." "Yeah, I see you. You got some first aid poo poo with you? My side's startin' to hurt. Also," Markie winced, "you got some extra clothes? I'm, ah, underdressed for the weather." He got out from behind the garbage can and raised his arms, revealing his nudity to the large Guatemalan behind the wheel of the van. "Markie, what-oh, madre de dios!" Ortiz threw his phone aside and opened the window to his van. "Get in here!" Markie opened the door to the windowless van and jumped in, shutting the door behind him. He breathed a sigh of relief at the warmth, but groaned at Ortiz's glare. "Put it out." Ortiz gestured to the "No Smoking" sticker on the windshield. Markie knew better than to argue with the terse bodybuilder, so he wet a finger, pinched out the cherry, put it behind his ear. "Can't wait to hear the explanation for this," grinned an emaciated man with a patchy mustache and broken, dirty teeth. "So how'd you gently caress up this time?" "Shut the gently caress up, Chucklefuck." Markie grabbed an old blanket from the behind the seat and wrapped up. "You got anything on you for pain?" Chuck looked to Ortiz, who nodded, then grabbed an unmarked bottle from the glove box. He handed two pills to Markie. "I'd give you more, but Duane wants you straight. He wants to know what happened." Chuck gave a sympathetic shrug, then another rotten-toothed grin. "Same here, actually." "Not much to it." Markie dry-swallowed the pills. "You know I owe money to Eddy, yeah? My idiot girlfriend ratted me out." Chuck smirked. "Yeah? Then what?" "Julie and I was loving when Eddy's boys kicked in the door. She barely had time to get her mouth off my cock when they plugged her between the eyes. Another got my side-" "Better not get blood on my seat," Ortiz interrupted. "-and I grabbed my phone and my gun and skipped out." Markie closed his eyes and lay his head back on the seat. "God, I'm tired." "That's blood loss for you." Chuck made a sound like a snorting weasel. "Shame about Julie; bitch had nice tits. Now she's suckin' cock in hell." Ortiz's massive, scarred fist crashed against the side of Chuck's face. "She's dead, Chucklefuck. Have respect." He turned to Markie and shook his head. "You got the poo poo? You told Duane you had it." "No, I said it was in my pocket. Which is in my room." Markie closed his eyes and shivered in the blanket. "Jesus, I'm freezing. Can you drive me back to my place so I can get it?" "Not a good idea." Ortiz started the van, and they took off. "Let's get you to Duane. We'll get you some clothes and look at your side, then he needs to talk to you." Markie yawned. "Wonderful. I'm gonna sleep on the way there." The drive was short, and Markie was rudely awakened by a smack to the head. He wrenched open an eye to see a pair of Duane's men grab him by the arms and yank him into a run-down trailer. The men threw him to the floor. Duane turned away from his dinner and scowled at Markie. "So you really did it. You hosed me again." Markie got to his knees, holding his side. The bleeding stopped, but the pills did little to stop the pain. "Wasn't my fault-" "Ortiz told me on the way up here. I told you to come straight to me you stupid gently caress! Not to stop at your place for a blowjob!" Duane stabbed his fork into his potatoes and spat. "Guess what, fucknut? I had a couple other guys look over your room, and they told me the loving cops are there! Do I need to tell you what this means?" Markie swallowed and paled. He shook his head. Duane's fury melted away as quickly as it'd come, leaving a fatherly expression. "But hey, it's okay. Sure, you lost me some expensive product..." There was the sound of a toilet flushing, and out of the bathroom walked a familiar face. "Andy, my boy," Duane said, gesturing to Markie. "I believe I have Eddy's package for you. Unwrapped, I'm afraid." Andy grinned as he pointed a gun to Markie's head and winked. "Heya, partner. Shame things turned out like this, but I warned you way back when I left for Eddy." "You see, Markie," Duane said as Andy hauled Markie to his feet, "Eddy's willing to cover the cost of my lost product... and then some. And he even sent Andy to collect you." "Let's go for a ride, partner." Andy smiled, gun unwavering. "Like old times."
|
|
#
?
Jan 4, 2015 09:29
|
|
|
The will (1207 words) "You're awful!" Davinia smacked Edmund's hand lightly and leaned towards him. "I adore it," she whispered. He caught her hand and raised it to his lips. "And I you." Sam walked to the windows and looked out on the garden to avoid witnessing yet another impropriety. It was hot outside, and the gardener's broad shoulders glistened with sweat as he knelt over the roses. Harvey had a tattoo on his right bicep, and Sam watched in fascination as it rippled with the effort of removing an entrenched weed. Sam shivered. Appalling how Davinia insisted on turning the airconditioning so high. He spun around to address his mother. "When is Ludwig arriving?" he asked. "I have better things to do than wait around." Davinia's eyes snapped towards Sam, all hint of the seductress gone. "What, is it time for prayers already? You spend far too much time on your knees, darling." Sam forced a smile. "I pray for you, Mother. It must be so difficult for you and Uncle Edward." Edmund sighed theatrically and adjusted his tie to a more rakish angle. "Please, we shouldn't fight. Family disputes are so common. For Beth if nothing else." "So you're doing Mother on Beth's behalf, Uncle?" Sam said, clenching his fists. Edmund and Davinia froze. Finally, Sam thought. I've done it. He has to take me seriously now. Davinia burst into tears just as the French doors to the lobby swung open and Ludwig entered the room. He surveyed the room grandly before smiling widely. "Excellent! A star has left us and I find a room of tearful mourners. What a wonderful day for such sad business." Ludwig wore only the brightest colours, and today had clad himself in an orange suit with a checked red shirt. He lived entirely in the gap between propriety and shamelessness, and never did a man who should be unhappy smile so often. He clapped his hands and fluttered them at Sam and his family. "Come now, you all know me! Let's not stand on ceremony. Please Samuel, take a seat with your dear mother. Hurry now! Beth had so much in life and I must keep to my schedule." "We'll talk about this later, Sam." Edmund said, gesturing to him to sit between he and Davinia. Ludwig carried on speaking as if Edmund hadn't said anything and, buried under his alternately charming and badgering words, Beth's husband, sister and nephew found themselves seated in line with Ludwig's desire. "Wonderful. But wait, where is Harvey?" Ludwig said. Edmund, Davinia and Sam looked at each other suspiciously. "Is that a joke, dear?" Davinia asked. "Of course not! Beth was extremely fond of young Harvey. Why, he will receive the bulk of her estate." Ludwig beamed at the trio. "The bulk of her estate," Sam said flatly. "She's giving the bulk of her estate to her gardener." He walked to the window, opened it, and shouted, "Get in here Harvey!" before closing it and returning to his seat. "But of course. Surely Beth mentioned this to you all." Edmund leaned over to the side table and poured himself a glass of wine from the decanter. "No. No she did not." Despite Ludwig's best efforts, the room was silent while they waited for Harvey. An eternity later - and two glasses of wine for Edmund - Harvey appeared, thankfully in a shirt. "Evening," He said. "Excellent," said Ludwig. "Now we can begin. Beth has willed a 68 per cent stake in her companies to Harvey, comprising..." Sam watched Harvey carefully, but the man gave no hint of his thoughts, content to just sit stony-faced as Ludwig gave him the world. He had better hair than Sam too, and evidently a better thyroid too, with his muscles and everything. Bastard. Eventually the torture was over, and the will was done. Sam had received the beachhouse and a tiny annual pension, restricting him to no more than six months abroad every year. Wracked by disappointment, Sam wasted no time catching up with Edmund's drinking. Neither Ludwig nor Harvey stayed after the will was done; Harvey left with a brief speech about how much he'd enjoyed working with the family. Edmund told him the family would be considering its options. Ludwig just laughed and said he knew exactly what to do, and after his usual florid goodbyes, they left. Edmund stood up and locked the door. "We need to deal with this deplorable situation," he announced. "I spent decades with that old bitch, and she goes and gives it all away to some peasant. We need to take him out of the picture." Sam was surprised. He'd never expected Edmund to be so honest. Davinia nodded. "I rather think we should kill him." She blushed, but this was more familiar territory for Sam - Davinia was the meanest person he knew. "I don't think that will work," Sam said. "Won't that leave the money with his family?" Edmund shook his head. "I don't care. He has to pay." Sam liked the idea of making Harvey pay. Maybe Harvey could be forced to work for him? The beachhouse had lawns. "I don't want to do time. Let me talk to him." Davinia laughed. "Darling, you look like a pudding. You're hardly going to be able to seduce him. Allow me." Seduce him? Sam felt the colour rise in his cheeks. Davinia had never tried to get to know him, but to be that wrong! He was embarrassed for her. Edmund was saying something. "... perhaps we can take it from him with some terrible advice? You know, like in House of Cards." Davinia nodded. "Yes, I like that. I'm sure he would welcome a friend at this time. Sam, you can help us, but don't even think about making a pass at him." There was a strange smell in the air, something Sam associated with kitchens. But it had been many years since he'd been in a kitchen, so he paid it no mind. Doubtless one of Beth's servants would deal with it. She still had servants, right? "What is that smell?" Davinia asked. "Such a curious scent. Oddly pungent." Edmund pulled out his pipe and began the elaborate process of filling it. He was painstakingly slow. "It's probably the chef. I suppose he's making us lunch. Why, I remember it when I used to visit cook in the old days. Show's the oven's ready to be turned on or something. I'm surprised Beth tolerated the smell getting through the house like this. Seems frightfully permissive of her." That didn't sound quite right to Sam, but he was too excited about their plans to ruin Harvey to worry about it. So instead he listened eagerly to Davinia and Edmund as they started to lay out a plan to destroy the gardener that grew ever more elaborate in scope and intent. While they spoke, the strange smell grew stronger and stronger, and Sam started to get lightheaded. "Perhaps I should open a window?" he murmured to the others. Edmund took out his matches. "Oh, if you must, go ahead." And then he struck his match, and things ended rather poorly for Beth's surviving family, but not without cause.
|
|
#
?
Jan 4, 2015 11:47
|
|
|
Can anybody write critiques on stories? I've received a lot of great feedback on my stuff, and I feel bad not contributing. I've read so many good stories in Thunderdome that could have been great were it not for some minor issues.
|
|
#
?
Jan 4, 2015 16:54
|
|
|
Yeah, go ahead.
|
|
#
?
Jan 4, 2015 17:03
|
|
|
|
| # ? Apr 19, 2024 10:26 |
|
|
Screaming Idiot posted:Can anybody write critiques on stories? I've received a lot of great feedback on my stuff, and I feel bad not contributing. I've read so many good stories in Thunderdome that could have been great were it not for some minor issues. Yes extra crits are great (I'm going to do some myself this week). We just ask that you wait until after judgement is rendered before posting them.
|
|
#
?
Jan 4, 2015 17:08
|
|