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Jon Joe
Oct 19, 2011

GUESS WHO'S LYING


Grimey Drawer

Put me in it to win it.

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Number 36
Jul 5, 2007

Keep it up, kid! Gimmie a smoochie smooch!


Thanks for the extra feedback Echo, I appreciate it.

EDIT: I don't have much time this week, but whatever. I'm in again.

Gau
Nov 18, 2003

I don't think you understand, Gau.


Flash rule my in.

sebmojo
Oct 23, 2010


Legit Cyberpunk







sebmojo posted:

:siren:MercTran FightBrawl:siren:

I want 2000 good words on these pictures; make sure to include a character that gives up something they care about. I'm giving you two weeks, so make it tight.

Due High Noon PST 31 July.

Mercedes:



Systran.





Systran and Merc, where the hell is my brawl.

Mercedes
Mar 7, 2006

"So you Jesus?"

"And you black?"

"Nigga prove it!"

And so Black Jesus turned water into a bucket of chicken. And He saw that it was good.






sebmojo posted:

Systran and Merc, where the hell is my brawl.

I uh...

I'm not gonna lie to you. Video games. I'll behave and get back to work.

sebmojo
Oct 23, 2010


Legit Cyberpunk







Mercedes posted:

I uh...

I'm not gonna lie to you. Video games. I'll behave and get back to work.

Take 48 hours from now.

docbeard
Jul 18, 2011

Modern worldly poster

Crayonskies posted:

This is probably a terrible idea. But not doing it is probably a worse idea.
So being that it's the lesser of two evils... I'm in.

Flash Rule: "Never knew there were worse things than dying."

Broenheim posted:

Sure, I'm in.

Flash Rule: "When's the last time you saw the sky?"

Drunk Nerds posted:

Drunk Nerds easily claims last place.
In

Flash Rule: "A little moonshine ain't no sin."

Jon Joe posted:

Put me in it to win it.

Flash Rule: "What the boss don't know, the boss won't mind."

Number 36 posted:

EDIT: I don't have much time this week, but whatever. I'm in again.

Flash Rule: "It's like I've slipped between fingers of the century."

Gau posted:

Flash rule my in.

Flash Rule: "Empty as a mirror"

Obliterati
Nov 13, 2012

Pain is inevitable.
Suffering is optional.
Thunderdome is forever.


I, too, am in.

lambeth
Aug 31, 2009


I'm in. Toxxing myself.

Tyrannosaurus
Apr 12, 2006


:siren: THUNDERDOME CII CRITS:siren:
Yo.

If your name is PoshAlligator, Ausmund, waffledoodle, theblunderbuss, lead out in cuffs, Broenheim, Helsing, Noah, Kalyco, Auraboks, LOU BEGAS MUSTACHE, Anomalous Blowout, DuckyB, or Mercedes then you haven’t submitted since bingo night and I’m not sure if you’re still hanging around the dome. I’m tired and I’m grumpy and I’m jetlagged as gently caress so I’m just gonna skip over critting your piece unless you let me know that you still exist and that you would still like one.

Alpacalips Now - Cruelty
Your opening sentence is bad. It is clunky. It feels unpleasant in my mouth when I say it. So that’s bad. It’s not natural. It doesn’t flow well. The ideas behind it are fine, though, you just try to do too much too soon. Let’s look at it.

‘Rae dreamed one night that her wife Marisole had never fallen victim to a respirator unsuitable for invasive atmospheres”

In nineteen words (your first nineteen no less) you tell me two character’ names, those characters relationship, that there was some kind of accident, and you hint at a setting. That’s a lot, don’t you think? Some authors might be able to pull that off and everyone would point and say “That is how you do it. That’s how you open a story.” I doubt you were consciously trying to achieve greatness and think its far more likely you simply had a lot to say and didn’t know how to go about saying it. This is one of those times where its okay to take your time and break things apart for the ease of your reader.

I don’t care for how you wrote out the dream. It doesn’t have a nice ethereal, dreamy quality to it. Its harsh and real. And it doesn’t add anything to the story other than infodropping that Marisol’s vocal chords are hosed up. And you also missed out a subtle yet significant opportunity to ease your reader into your setting when you wrote “a chase through a space station” rather than “a chase through the space station.” Do you see the difference there? Why include an unnecessary imaginary space station when you can use the dream to pass along some important information. As is, the whole thing could be scrapped and I wouldn’t miss it. Flash fiction doesn’t leave a lot of room for nonintegral words and descriptions.

Your dialogue needs work. It falls flat and fails to sound natural. It also tends to suffer from that old problem of “I know what I want to say but not how to say it.” The bit where Mr. Bai is talking about finances is way too heavy handed. And I know what you wanted to do there! But outright saying “But money is not everything” is way super overt. If you were going for mafia subtlety you would have been better served by Mr. Bai quoting a price way out of Rae’s price range and then having him mention a ship that needs work tonight or something.

Rae needs a trachea. Rae works to get a trachea. Rae doesn’t get a trachea. Rae doesn’t learn anything from the experience. I don’t understand the point of the story. You do a decent job of giving me a sci fi setting but this over all reads like a rough draft of something that needs a lot of work.

Chairchucker - Top Dog
You actually used your elements quite well for entering in another hyuck hyuck joke story.

Echo Cian - Mayfly
An enjoyable read. You spent a lot of time on the beginning, got a little rushed while writing the middle, and then kind of tacked on the ending, didn’t you? This could definitely have used some tightening up and your writing becomes muddled in places but, like I said, still an enjoyable read. You created an interesting world without bogging me down with a bunch of stupid world-building poo poo.

Also- mayfly, ephemeros, lit. “lasting a day.” Interesting. Intentional? I certainly hope so.

Number 36 - Just Talk
Your opening paragraph has way too many commas. You put them in there because that’s where the breaks would be if it was being read out loud. It’s a little wonky to read, though. Your opening sentence is also obtuse. Very muddy, if that makes sense. But somehow you maintain enough interest for me to get to the payoff of the paragraph without being pissed off about it. So good job I guess. Also- I like what I’m reading so far.

I zipped through the rest of your story. Very engrossing. Very cute. Much like Echo Cian, you managed to give me enough information about the world for me to fill in the blanks and you didn’t bore me with a bunch of useless infodump poo poo.

You utilized your bingo elements well.

Be careful of what you include when you write flash fiction. With a short word count, repetitive mentions highlight importance. In this case: cigarettes, her smile, etc. Were these elements integral to the story you were trying to tell?

HopperUK - Coyote
It is strange to me that you use the folk story trope of proper noun-ing Coyote but don’t do the same for the dog or for man. I can’t figure out why you did this. It creates this weird stylistic schism to your story. Otherwise you do the folk story thing quite well. Well, for the most part. Your ending doesn’t make much sense. You seem to have realized right there at the end that you needed a lesson/teaching of some sort and so you threw out this wolf thing. What? Don’t include a bunch of new poo poo right at the end out of a nowhere.

meeple - The Throne
I thought the need for injections to avoid dreaming was a nice touch. I thought the ending was way heavy handed and disrupted the flow of your writing with an unsatisfactory conclusion. I didn’t understand why she dreamed of a bunch of different kinds of giants but was visited (and judged) by a previously undreamt of Throne.

Why do the ophanim dislike prophets? Why was a crucifix going to protect the main character from angels?

Decently written but I don’t have enough to chew on to properly enjoy it. This feels like a super clever idea that you struggled to reign in.

Entenzahn - Righteous Paths
An ugly ending cost you at least an HM. Which is a real shame because I enjoyed your piece and thought it was a delightful little concept. The antics of the wayward college students amused me and I identified with the angels. Nice characterization. Nice dialogue. And then you get way, way, way too heavy handed about the whole “I’m gonna change my life” thing. And the story just goes downhill from there.

“People change,” she said. “So do I.” - This is groan worthy and doesn’t work. Find another way of expressing the idea.

I don’t know how you incorporating folk stories. I’ll trust in the winding paths of inspiration.

Thalamas - The Timber Hall
Yo. What the gently caress is going on with your formating? Do you know how difficult it is to figure out who is talking and what action is taking place when you just cram everything together with no line breaks? And your story is confusing enough as is. Hell, I didn’t know it was first person until “We clasped.” And then you go and switch first person perspectives? Your poo poo needs to be polished as gently caress to pull something like that off. This isn’t. I can’t figure out why you would even attempt this, to be honest. It doesn’t add anything.

The angels come out of nowhere.

This story is too much of a summary. Its too expansive. Too impersonal. I never related or cared about your characters.

“That day, the doors opened for us.” - this is actually a cool line. A cool ending. But you needed to have built up something about doors never being open for them or them always having to open doors themselves or something. Foreshadow me something, man.

WeLandedOnTheMoon! - The Groom’s Reflection
I’m going to assume you’ve watched the first Pirates of the Caribbean film. It does a good job of letting you know what’s going to happen without being stupid about it. You hear about a curse, oh there’s a curse, see a dude’s skeletal arm, so the curse is real, and then Geoffery Rush is all “You’re in a ghost story” or whatever. There’s a nice even build to it. You get loving bizarre out of nowhere.

Let’s look at your opening section. You do a fine job of setting up the story. In that sense, a good opening. However, the conversation itself doesn’t end up being significant. It doesn’t allude to anything that happens later. If your first sentence was “In the land of Wherever, on the night before a wedding, the bride runs from pub to pub and the groom must track her down and pay for her tab everytime he is too late” we lose precisely zero information. I’m not saying my example sentence is what you should have written. I’m saying there needs to be more purpose to your words. Especially in this kind of story. If you don’t start foreshadowing weird poo poo early then it is jarring when it pops up midway through your story. Don’t try and tell me “Oh Tyrannosaurus that was the point. I wanted to surprise my audience and pull the rug out from under them” no. No. Bad. It didn’t work here.

You make strange repetitive choices that I don’t like.

ex1: “In each pub?” “In every pub.” Is this how you think people would have this conversation in real life? In my opinion, the response would be more of an echo. “In every pub?” “In every pub.” Sounds more natural to my ears.

ex2: “This is why you are my best man, big brother.” Jack said. “Where now?” his brother asked.
Every word is precious. You are establishing their relationship here. This is good. But pick one place to address it and then move on for a bit. Don’t waste words.

Also- I have no idea what happened to Jack.

Nethilia - Softly and Tenderly
There’s some cool stuff in here. The angel’s powers are well written. There are some neat lines like “Let’s get you home to your parents.” You also get overly preachy. In the churchm Yeshua (look I can play with names too!) doesn’t come off as drunk. I can hear the writer’s voice here rather than the character’s.

Why does he keep returning to earth? Is there no booze in heaven?

Blade_of_tysalle - To Steal from Olympus
You were trapped by your word count. Your ideas are solid. Your structure works out. But this needs to be expanded to, like, 4x the length. As it is, it is more of a summary or an outline than a true story. I would like to read this again were it reworked and rewritten with no word count.

Obliterati - Dark Was the Night, Cold Was the Ground
Its not always easy for me to tell who is speaking. This is bad. I never got a great feel for the setting. I have a vague idea but your descriptions are lacking. Don’t go overboard but do give me something to sink my teeth into. Something I can relate to.

Your main character is proactive to the conflict which is good but when it gets out into space I’m not super sure what the conflict is. The other judges liked this piece a lot more than I did. Clearly.

Grizzled Patriarch
This was, in my opinion, a contender for the win. Great economy of words. Probably the best of everyone this week in terms of word usage. Nothing was superfluous. Bits like “Norman tried to remember the last time he’d seen her like that.” and “Christ, Norm. You could pretend to try, at least” is wonderful insight into their relationship. Good, subtle, unsettling foreshadowing. You held the reader’s hand and led them through a story. Everything fell in line. Nothing was surprising but nothing was unsatisfying either because it was all so well set up. Very well done.

Dr. Kloctopussy - Bitter Yellow Flowers
A lovely, dark tale that took too long to develop. Your skill as a writer kept this from being bad. The structure was nice. The dialogue was good. But I wasn’t intrigued by it. I forced myself through the story and enjoyed the end but it needs something more. Something to grab me.




Mic drop. I'm done.

Banjo Bones
Mar 28, 2003




Thank you for the critique.

theblunderbuss
Jul 4, 2010

I find dead men rout
more easily.


Tyrannosaurus posted:

If your name is PoshAlligator, Ausmund, waffledoodle, theblunderbuss, lead out in cuffs, Broenheim, Helsing, Noah, Kalyco, Auraboks, LOU BEGAS MUSTACHE, Anomalous Blowout, DuckyB, or Mercedes then you haven’t submitted since bingo night and I’m not sure if you’re still hanging around the dome. I’m tired and I’m grumpy and I’m jetlagged as gently caress so I’m just gonna skip over critting your piece unless you let me know that you still exist and that you would still like one.

I am still doming and I'd be interested in a crit, if or whenever you have the time to do it.

Fumblemouse
Mar 21, 2013


STANDARD
DEVIANT


Grimey Drawer

crits from Thunderdome 104

Meeple

Lots of throne references. If this is thunderdome fanfiction I will kill you with a only a tin of jellymeat and twenty cats.

Oh gently caress, it is. You hear that, Meeple? That is the sound of can openers.

I have never really understood why people do this kind of thing. I appreciate that there’s a lot of effort here, but is the end result really worth it? Am I just too cynical to see that this creates some lovely form of esprit de corps and isn’t just a huge wank? Perhaps. But this just appears to me, mean-spirited old bastard that I am, as self-congratulatory piffle.

3/10

Duke of the bump

There’s quite a bit of good in here - the characters are identifiable, and believable, the proceedings clearly described and the ending gives it a bit of a tang that the rest of it was lacking. On the other hand, you start sentences with He so often it becomes annoying, and the opening is perhaps the least exciting paragraph since the NYT opened with No News Today!

I seem to recall this is your first time in the dome - so a couple of things that make flash fiction flashy. One, you absolutely have to grab people right from the beginning - there has to be something for the reader to taste so that they keep on eating, and here, unfortuantely, you have potato peelings.

What would have been lost if you started with the skillet flying across the room? Even if you chop of the first six paragraphs to the end of “I’m not hungry” you start with tension barely being suppressed and conflict - which is the essence of story. Always start with the interesting thing - almost everything that happens before that point is implied by what happens after.

5/10

Nethilia


I really liked this one, at least in the writing. It was a good memoire, but it wasn’t much of a story, unfortunately. Girl likes pencils, girl gets pencils of dodgy provenance - ultimately all this story is doing is telling us stuff which makes it come of as sweet, but flat. I know your prompt was from real life, but it still needs a narrative arc to really catch fire.

Another way to look at it is to look for connections between what you’re actually writing about, and what you’re trying to say. In what way do the descriptions you give of the artistic process, of the colours, techniques and their choosing, relate to what the father does by obtaining them. Does he view the girl as his own project? By theft, has he chosen darker colours than she would have liked. What are the consequences of that choice? By tying these sorts of thing together, you create value in the art supply references you provide, giving them greater meaning than their mere descriptive power.

This is something you can usually do even after you’e finished writing something - look for the connections in your work and then make them more apparent, as if you intended them to be ther all along (even if you had no idea until you noticed it after the event)! I usually am surfing too close to the deadline to do this in TD, but if you can, it’s usually an improvement.

7/10

WLOTM

I cannot for the life of me understand your opening simile. How do nipples on hanging boobs go flat because of weight above them? That makes no sense at all

Similarly - I have no idea about your last line. What was eating her? Did you miss a word, was it eating at her? What does that mean in this context?

The stuff in the middle is OK, but again, there’s no real arc here. She sees the photos, decides not to mention it, and then leaves. Meh. She “is not a confrontational person” essentially condemns your story to be flat and uninteresting.

6/10

Number 36

Now this is more what I’m talking about. Clean execution, clear, even in the action sections, and bang on the prompt. Nice work.

I particularly like the way the short, declarative sentences suit the protagonist and the type of the story - each one landing like a boxer’s punch. One of my HMs

8/10

Docbeard

I’m enjoying this one - for some reason the reveal at the end of the first section made me think of TV sci-fi (not a ad thing) - it’s that kind of teaser structure, and here, leading in to the flashback, it works.

I also like that the flashback didn’t reveal everything, that you kept some powder dry for later. You’ve got some good worldbuilding and a sufficiently alien alien and enough of a hook to keep the reader interested. Jolly good show. A couple of times you repeated words and maybe you’re using dialogue a bit too much to get information across, but I didn’t notice it when I read it, so no crits from me on that score..

9/10

Dr. Kloctopussy

I have mixed feelings for this one, but it’s a little hard to put my finger on exactly why. I have no idea why near-c speed would be thought of as a good solution for murderers - surely it would be prohibitively expensive - it would be space travel after all. There’s too much use of screaming for dramatic effect - it gets old after a while, and the screams at the end have already worn out their welcome. Screaming, like crying, gets used at the end of stories so often that it gets a tad wearisome.

On the other hand, a clear story, and a decent arc. I think there’s a lot of good elements here, but they’re not quite gelling for me.

7/10

Obliterati

The setting read as believable to me (a complete non-expert on the subject) but I’m not one hundred percent on how it ended. The old lady forgets stuff, and refuses to rely on artificial aids to help her, so she repeatedly tries to find out how her husband dies? And for some reason her children indulge her? Why not just take her to the grave in the first place? I feel like I missed something somewhere - it’s not quite computing.

6/10

Grizzled Patriarch

There’s something missing here. While there’s possibly more technical description of bridge fixing apparatus than I might otherwise have wanted, there’s no actual story. Chap sees a bunch of jumpers jumping and is horrified doesn’t really make for a narrative - the protagonist is entirely reactive. The evocation of the creepy jumpers is well done, though, and could provide the basis of something weird and compelling, but this, unfortunately, wasn’t it.

5/10


Crabrock


The first time through I got the girl - I am so THE MAN. Automatic HM at least for appealing to my considerable vanity. Now to follow the other threads.

Hmm - there were other roads to success. Ah well, guess I’m not that much of an instinctual love machine after all. Still - I liked this and enjoyed reading it. Filled with quirky details and well observed/remembered/embarrassing elements of young teenage life. My biggest problem was that the branches didn’t really go anywhere different, they were variations on a theme and not greatly varied, rather than separate branches, which is missing some of the potential of a CYOA.

update: as I review this before posting, I’m less convinced that this is right. I get that this was a threading of specific events to see how decisions changed a given timeline. I think the variations approach is completely valid and quite interesting, and my reaction probably says more about my expectations going in.

At least one ending was completely unbelievable, which spoilt the effect a little, but made me laugh, so who cares? HM from me.

I think it may be worth noting here why I preferred DocBeards to this one for the win. DocBeard’s was, in retrospect, overly talky in a way that yours wasn’t, and yours had a palpable sense of fun that DocBeard’s lacked. I was tossing between the two for some time. You also had a truckload more words to play with which gave you a distinct advantage. However, Docbeards, somehow, stuck with me longer - I can still recall the details of the story while yours didn’t have that stickability - it’s hard to pinpoint why which I know is annoying in a crit. Perhaps its the way choosing one non-violent option led to tearing out some-one’s flesh - if the decisions are to make some sort of sense, they have to be consistent. There’s a reference to making Chauncifer cry that never seemed to actually happen. These are minor but, urrgh. It was tough, OK.

8.5/10

Sitting here


Nice in a bit of a bland sense. I mean, there’s nothing terribly wrong here - it’s just a little twee and predictable, right down to the remnant of the dream saying it was actually not a dream at all.

I’m not entirely sure why the magical world of talking animals exists - is it just to give feels to abused children? It seemed a little manipulative on your part.

Still, good for what it was, but smacked a bit of coasting for you, Blood Queen

7/10

Duke of the Bump
Mar 10, 2007

Herzog Null

quote:

Duke of the bump

There's quite a bit of good in here - the characters are identifiable, and believable, the proceedings clearly described and the ending gives it a bit of a tang that the rest of it was lacking. On the other hand, you start sentences with He so often it becomes annoying, and the opening is perhaps the least exciting paragraph since the NYT opened with No News Today!

I seem to recall this is your first time in the dome - so a couple of things that make flash fiction flashy. One, you absolutely have to grab people right from the beginning - there has to be something for the reader to taste so that they keep on eating, and here, unfortuantely, you have potato peelings.

What would have been lost if you started with the skillet flying across the room? Even if you chop of the first six paragraphs to the end of "I'm not hungry" you start with tension barely being suppressed and conflict - which is the essence of story. Always start with the interesting thing - almost everything that happens before that point is implied by what happens after.

I just wanted to make it super clear that he was agonizing over the potatoes :kiddo: I guess there were smarter ways I could have done that.

Thanks so much for the feedback! Having a place where I can get a little peer pressure to contribute and hear honest ridicule criticism about my stuff is motivating me to write again, and it feels good :)

Jon Joe
Oct 19, 2011

GUESS WHO'S LYING


Grimey Drawer

Do I just post my story whenever it's done? Man it's been forever since I last thunderdomed.

crabrock
Aug 2, 2002


yes, but posting this early in the week is not usually a good sign. (lots of losers come from the people who post their story super early). Sit on it and edit it on Saturday or something. The longer you can sit on it and then look at it with fresh eyes, the better story you'll have.

docbeard
Jul 18, 2011

Modern worldly poster

Obliterati posted:

I, too, am in.

Flash Rule: "There are echoes in the garden."

lambeth posted:

I'm in. Toxxing myself.

Flash Rule: "Restless nights and one-night cheap hotels"

Jon Joe posted:

Do I just post my story whenever it's done? Man it's been forever since I last thunderdomed.

When the great blood moon rises over the leavings of your shattered words, and the Devil's chorus rings in your ears and in your soul, you will know that the time has come.

Or, you know, anytime before the deadline, whatever.

crabrock posted:

yes, but posting this early in the week is not usually a good sign. (lots of losers come from the people who post their story super early). Sit on it and edit it on Saturday or something. The longer you can sit on it and then look at it with fresh eyes, the better story you'll have.

Also this.

crabrock
Aug 2, 2002


Also a fun fact: a story submitted first has never won, and only HMed a handful of times.

Mercedes
Mar 7, 2006

"So you Jesus?"

"And you black?"

"Nigga prove it!"

And so Black Jesus turned water into a bucket of chicken. And He saw that it was good.






I'm still here TRex

Tyrannosaurus
Apr 12, 2006


theblunderbuss - Questions and Answers
You’re on to something clever with the “that’s the way questions work” “that’s what you say to guests” bits. It is a nice mechanic that you maybe just barely failed to pull off. And that’s because it doesn’t always make sense.

While hello is something that you say to visitors the way that you set this sentence up it reads like the faerie is visiting for the first time. Maybe using guests instead of visitors would work better? Because it gets a little jarring when the conversation derails what the reader thinks has been set up.

*then I will go away, and never ask you to let me in again. That is how questions work."*
See, I don’t think that’s how questions work. So instead of rolling with you while you tell your tale I’m left scratching my head by what you mean. And then why did the girl let her in? Because the faerie was gonna leave? Gotta give me a little more reasoning than that.

*"I have not yet asked my question. You cannot answer it until I have. That is how questions work."*
This works. This is cool.

Polish.


Mercedes - I’ll See You Soon
I’m not sure how to judge this. It was well written but it wasn’t interesting. It was gruesome but it wasn’t poignant. You have a strong start but it nothing becomes meaningful. You wrote the action well. The dialogue was strong. But what is the point? I don’t get enough of the characters to connect to them and without some kind of empathy the story is just… It’s nothing. Just blah blah revenge who cares? Starting off with the action is good (and the ghost poo poo was cool) but I need to empathize. I need to feel the hurt of the betrayal not the pain of the knife.

Phobia
Apr 25, 2011

I'm a suave detective with a heart of gold in hot pursuit of the malevolent, manipulative
MIAMI MUTILATOR
and the deranged degenerates who only want their
15 MINUTES OF FAME.


OCK.


I'm so getting this brawl done by tonight. Dunno about DuckyB but I will write my rear end off.

(USER WAS BANNED FOR THIS POST)

Tyrannosaurus
Apr 12, 2006


I'm in.

sebmojo
Oct 23, 2010


Legit Cyberpunk







Merc and Systran you have ~8 hours to get your brawl in.

Noah
May 31, 2011

Come at me baby bitch


I'll take a crit from the bingo week.

Mercedes
Mar 7, 2006

"So you Jesus?"

"And you black?"

"Nigga prove it!"

And so Black Jesus turned water into a bucket of chicken. And He saw that it was good.






sebmojo posted:

Merc and Systran you have ~8 hours to get your brawl in.

I'm still working on mine, but I'm pretty certain systran aboneded his brawl.

I was thinking, since Phobia might be without a brawl partner, we pit our brawl stories against each other instead.

Entenzahn
Nov 15, 2012

What will you say when
your child asks:
why did you fail Thunderdome?


FYI 23.59 CEST was about six hours ago.

DuckyB and Phobia, you will hand in a 100 word essay on "Why deadlines are important" along with your brawl entries. You will also, hopefully, at some point hand in your brawl entries.

sebmojo
Oct 23, 2010


Legit Cyberpunk







Mercedes posted:

I'm still working on mine, but I'm pretty certain systran aboneded his brawl.

I was thinking, since Phobia might be without a brawl partner, we pit our brawl stories against each other instead.

Done. Systran gets a loss unless he gets a story in in an hour or two. Phobia, I'll judge yours against Merc's as well as or instead of DuckyB's. Me and Ent' will work out any weirdnesses resulting.

docbeard
Jul 18, 2011

Modern worldly poster

Good gracious, is that the time?

So, uh, would someone like to judge this week?

Benefits of judging include: FILE NOT FOUND

Mercedes
Mar 7, 2006

"So you Jesus?"

"And you black?"

"Nigga prove it!"

And so Black Jesus turned water into a bucket of chicken. And He saw that it was good.






I'll judge. Haven't done it in awhile and I need to hate myself eventually

Lead out in cuffs
Sep 18, 2012

"That's right. We've evolved."

"I can see that. Cool mutations."



Tyrannosaurus posted:

If your name is PoshAlligator, Ausmund, waffledoodle, theblunderbuss, lead out in cuffs, Broenheim, Helsing, Noah, Kalyco, Auraboks, LOU BEGAS MUSTACHE, Anomalous Blowout, DuckyB, or Mercedes then you haven’t submitted since bingo night and I’m not sure if you’re still hanging around the dome. I’m tired and I’m grumpy and I’m jetlagged as gently caress so I’m just gonna skip over critting your piece unless you let me know that you still exist and that you would still like one.

I'm still here, but I wrote a bad story while I was in a bad place, and Sebmojo's crits were enough to tell me that. Feel free not to crit it unless you're a masochist.


That said, my thesis being handed in a week ago, and with a story partly written, I am in.

Anathema Device
Dec 22, 2009

by Ion Helmet


What the hell. I'm in. And since I can't remember if I submitted last time I signed up, I guess that's with a :toxx:?

docbeard
Jul 18, 2011

Modern worldly poster


Flash Rule: "I want a nice soft place to land."

Lead out in cuffs posted:

That said, my thesis being handed in a week ago, and with a story partly written, I am in.

Flash Rule: "She's out of sight, and he's out of his mind."

Anathema Device posted:

What the hell. I'm in. And since I can't remember if I submitted last time I signed up, I guess that's with a :toxx:?

Flash Rule: "You and your pity don't fit in my bed."


Mercedes posted:

I'll judge. Haven't done it in awhile and I need to hate myself eventually

Flash Rule: ALL GUITAR CRITS

(Not really, welcome aboard!)

Jon Joe
Oct 19, 2011

GUESS WHO'S LYING


Grimey Drawer

docbeard posted:

Flash Rule: "You and your pity don't fit in my bed."

Not a submission:

"You and your pity don't fit in my bed." I snarled to the naked supermodel, my buttery jowls jiggling with each word.

Chairchucker
Nov 14, 2006

The man was stunningly well dressed. He had a smart looking jacket, and a really neat looking cape, the lining of which was shimmering and sparkling in more than Oriental splendour, which is a great deal of splendour indeed, just ask Kipling.



Jon Joe posted:

Not a submission:

"You and your pity don't fit in my bed." I snarled to the naked supermodel, my buttery jowls jiggling with each word.

Critting this:

Need a comma, not a period, inside that quotation mark.

docbeard
Jul 18, 2011

Modern worldly poster

:siren: Slightly less than two hours remain to enter. :siren:

docbeard
Jul 18, 2011

Modern worldly poster

:siren: One hour remains to sign up. :siren:

docbeard
Jul 18, 2011

Modern worldly poster

:siren: Submissions are closed. :siren:

God Over Djinn
Jan 17, 2005

onwards and upwards


Erogenous Beef posted:

A Mockery of Nostalgia: a brawl for djinn & 'saurus

I'm going to have to resign from this, sorry.

Drunk Nerds
Jan 25, 2011

Just close your eyes

Fun Shoe

Broken Women
(1,108 words)

“It's 2014,” said Doctor Davis

Jessica thought for a moment, “twenty-one years.” She looked around the mine shaft, “so this is the future.”

“Sort of,” replied the doctor.

“Sort of?”

“Well...”

“We've been bombed back to the Stone Age!” chuckled Sheriff Grayson.

"Shhhh..." chided Davis, "she's not ready,” he turned back to Jessica, “We were lucky enough that this town... up above... is in the middle of the desert.”

“Just haul her up, time's a wastin',” snapped the Sheriff.

Davis shot Grayson a hard look, “we don't know what her deal is. She could be a serial murderer, a crazed convict.”

Jessica recoiled, “I'm not either.”

“But, you got to have somethin' wrong,” snapped the sheriff, “Nobody chooses to get frozen by the gub'ment because they liked their life.”

“Is... Is there a cure for thyroid cancer, yet?” Jessica inquired.

Davis shook his head, the sparkle in her eye vanished.

“Refreeze me,” she demanded, “I only have a year to live.”

"I can't," Davis took her hand, “let's get you some fresh air”

The doctor led her up a long sloping passage, the fat sheriff waddling behind. The trio arrived at a wooden door. “Guard your eyes,” said Davis. He swung open the door to reveal bright sunlight.

“This is Glitter Gulch!” Davis exclaimed.

"What's left of it," Grayson muttered.

As Jessica’s eyes adjusted to the daylight she noticed a group of men gathered around the door. In the back, a lone woman gasped.

“Who... who are you?” Jessica addressed the group.

The Sheriff brayed with laughter. “we're a mining town. Eleven men, one woman: Carolyn...” he put a meaty hand on Jessica's shoulder, "well, two now.”

A gangly young man stepped forward, “On behalf of the citizens of Glitter Gulch, I'd like to welcome you,” he stuck out his hand, “my name is Deputy Chuck.”

Jessica reached out to shake Chuck's hand. Her knees buckled and she fell to the ground.

“She needs rest,” said Davis.

“I'll take her,” Grayson said.

“You only have one bed in that shack of yours,” Davis replied, “help me carry her to my place and she'll spend the night on the couch.”

* * *

The next morning saw a weary Jessica sitting in the town hall with Carolyn, mending a huge pile of clothes.

After sitting in silence for what felt like hours, Carolyn muttered, “I'll trade ya,”

“I... I'm sorry?” Jessica's voice cracked.

“I'll take your cancer, and you can have my problem... I'm barren.”

Their rapport was cut short by a pair of gunshots. Rushing outside, they saw a muscular young man holding a pistol over a lifeless, bloody body. Soon, the entire town had gathered.

“I had ta do it!” the man with the pistol slurred, “he was sayin' he was gonna get with the new girl, and I wanted her!”

“You're drunk, Booker” Grayson said, taking the man's gun and slapping a pair of handcuffs on his wrists.

“A little moonshine ain't no sin!” Booker retorted, utterly missing the irony.

Carolyn screamed at a tall man nearby, “This is what your still does to this town, Nick!”

The sheriff grabbed Jessica, “Can't have you runnin' loose. Look what it does to the menfolk.” Before anyone could object, he led Jessica and Booker away.

* * *

After locking Booker in a cell, Grayson strode to the jail's front door, and fastened the deadbolt.

Jessica asked nervously, “Am I goin' in a cell?”

“Naw, honey,” said the Sheriff, taking off his belt. ”you ain't going nowhere."

Jessica tried to run away, but stumbled. The Sheriff pinned her down.

Their struggle was cut short by the cold click of a revolver.

“Y-You just stop right there… Just back up!” Deputy Chuck stuttered. He tried to steady the shaking pistol by grabbing it with both hands, but this did little.

"I forgot you had keys," Grayson lunged for Chuck's revolver. The Deputy fired. The force blew the pistol from his hands, the shot hit Grayson square in the thigh.

Jessica picked up the pistol, “Don't move. I'm going back there and none of you hicks are gonna follow me.” Jessica darted outside and ran towards the mine.

* * *

Jessica stabbed at buttons on the control panel with her fingers. She banged it hard with her fists, the noise echoed through the cavern.

Hearing footsteps, she wheeled around, “I told you not to follow me!"

Davis put his hands in the air, “did you get it to work?”

“No.”

“Me neither, I can still unfreeze people, but that's it.”

“More women?”

Davis nodded, "there are dozens, maybe a hundred. The machine lets me do one every twenty four hours. Look Jessica-"

“Shut up!” she cried! “Just shut the gently caress up, now! They say I'm broken doc? They're right! There's no chemo here, there's no drugs! I'm gonna die in pain! I was doing a whole goddamn lot better before you unfroze me!"

“I'm sorry, Jessica…,” Davis began.

“Oh, yeah, you're sorry alright… You think you can fix me? You can't fix poo poo,” Jessica clinched her teeth, and pointed the gun at her own neck.

The doctor buried his head in his hands.

A woman's voice boomed through the mineshaft, “you apologize!”

Startled, Jessica pointed her gun into the void.

Stepping into Jessica’s vision, Carolyn leveled a steel-eyed gaze at her, “Apologize to the doctor! You think someone was gonna solve cancer in the next 500 years? We can't even get our clothes clean! If it wasn't for the doctor, you woulda stayed frozen until whatever powers this poo poo machine wore down. You should be on your knees thanking this man, but instead you're whinin' like a tin whistle. You have a year to live? Boo hoo hoo. Do you know how many billions of people would've given anything for another year when the bombs went off? You think Artie wouldn't want another year, rather than bleeding out on the street up there? You don't know how good you got it.“

Jessica cast her gaze downward, a tear welled up in her eye. "I'm sorry."

The gun fell from Jessica's grasp. Carolyn stepped forward, picked it up, and embraced Jessica. After a minute, Carolyn stepped back, "It's okay, you'll stay with me. We'll figure this all out together. Let's get you home."

As she led Jessica from the mine, the deputy reached for the gun. Carolyn pulled it away form his outstretched arm, "I think we'll hang on to this for now."

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AaronMFK
Jul 21, 2013


Southmost Zoological Gardens: Week One
(1,109 words)

The waning crescent moon shone yellow over the Southmost Zoological Gardens. Into the silence came a chittering howl.

“That’s the were-chimp,” Paul said to Abhay. They were laying down in the barrack they shared.

“What?” Abhay said.

“The chimp that walks like a man.” Paul’s bunk creaking as he sat up. “More like a man, I mean. He stalks men and takes from them the things that make them different from chimpanzees. They call this the banana moon.”

“I need sleep,” Abhay said. “First show tomorrow.”

Nearby, a chimpanzee hunched atop a fence and watched a man smuggle a lizard into his pants.

* * *

“Wake up!” Christine yelled. As owner of Southmost, yelling was part of her benefits package.

Paul groaned and rolled onto his side, exposing his back and white briefs to the woman who signed his checks.

Abhay rubbed his eyes. “What is it?” he asked through a sticky mouth.

“The chimp is gone,” Christine said. “Maybe a lizard too. The cops want everyone in the lobby.” She stayed until both men were on their feet.

Abhay was in his khakis before Paul had even started his toilet. “Were-chimp!” Paul yelled from the bathroom, door open and water running.

“Hurry up” Abhay said. “You’re my alibi.”

* * *

As the cops left, Christine held up her hand. “All the new hires stay.” She straightened her skirt. “You’re here because of a grant from the Brownsville Association of Business Enrichment. Your continued employment depends on increased revenues by the end of the year.” She looked into the eyes of the seven young people. “I’m not saying you stole the animals, although the Baby Tortoise disappearance does coincide with your training starting last week. However, those revenues your continued employment relies on will be hard to come by if we run out of animals.” Dark hair fell into her eyes. Her heavy breathing was the only sound. “Well,” she finally said, brushing her hair back, “let’s start the day. You have your schedules.”

* * *

Southmost was falling apart, and Abhay had taken the job because he felt could make a difference. Christine inherited the zoo from her father, but she called it a curse. She only cared about what money it could make her, and it’d never made much money.

Abhay was to institute a raptor program--to train the hawks, owls, and the lonely, diseased condor and expound on their wonderments.

He was helping a cloudy-eyed bird onto his gloved hand. “I’m a condor too,” he whispered, holding out a piece of gristly meat. Condoreeza Rice’s head bobbed on its flaking neck. “Ready, Condoreeza?” He heard the door behind him, the entrance to Raptor Theater, creak open. He waited while lines of visitors unfurled in his imagination: children, parents, current and future scientists, attractive but lonely women…

He gave them time to sit, and he whispered, “Time to fly.” He turned with a flourish; Paul was sitting in the front row, and the only other observer was a redheaded woman whose face was hidden behind a sketchbook.

Paul whistled. The sketchbook trembled under the woman’s passionate gestures. The scene Abhay had imagined shattered into shards of fear and doubt that lodged in his gut.

Only a hazy montage of that first show stuck in his head:
- Condoreeza, coming in for a landing, mistook a wooden post for Abhay and stayed perched there.
- The barn owl ralphed up a pellet in the middle of Abhay’s speech about raptors’ grace and silence.
- The hawk screeched a mating call for five full minutes.

“Thank you,” Abhay said after coaxing Condoreeza down from the post. The woman with the sketchbook stood and left.

As Abhay cleaned up, Paul said, “Good job.” He narrowed his eyes. “That notebook woman--she’s here all the time, always drawing. I think she’s casing the joint.”

“What?” Abhay said.

“I’m trying to find the thief.”

“No,” Abhay said, “You’re in charge of branding. You’re not a detective.”

Paul sighed. “I can’t rebrand a zoo without animals.”

Abhay scowled. “We aren’t going to run out. No one’s going to steal the giraffe.”

“Or the were-chimp,” Paul said. “He’d eat their face.”

* * *

Paul loved animals but hated science. He filled notebooks with animal drawings inspired by boxes of fact cards. He dropped out of two colleges but finished a museum studies program at the age of 30.

When he was 12, he made a short film called Ballerina Bigfoot. Fancying himself a cryptozoologist, he believed that real discoveries could only be made by those uncorrupted by mainstream capitalist science propaganda.

* * *

At 5:00 AM, the chimpanzee howled, letting everyone know he hadn’t been stolen. Paul shook Abhay awake. “Time to hunt the were-chimp.”

“It’s not--” Abhay sighed. “Fine.” The idea had a kind of dim morning merit.

As they wandered the concrete paths under the darkness of the new moon, Paul pointed. Silhouetted against the graying eastern horizon, Chompers the Chimp was hunched atop the lapidoptery building. With a chitter, he disappeared down the other side.

“After it!” Paul said, but Abhay grabbed his arm. A person in baggy clothes was slinking between the big cat enclosures.

“The thief,” Abhay whispered.

“The chimp,” Paul said.

Abhay sighed and sprinted toward Baggy Clothes. “Stop!” he yelled.

The person reached into a pocket. Abhay came to a sudden stop. “Don’t shoot,” he said.

The person (a man, Abhay was sure) gripped the neck of a cotton-top tamarin, dangling it over yawning lions. “I’ll drop it,” he said.

“Let’s not get crazy,” Abhay said, holding up his hands.

A lion stretched and bared its teeth.

“I’ll do it,” the man said. The tamarin chirped.

The chirp was answered by a shriek, and the man fell under a hairy blur, bludgeoned by 150 pounds of chimp. The tamarin skittered off.

“Chompers!” Abhay yelled.

Paul was behind him now. “The were-chimp can’t be stopped until it’s appeased,” he intoned.

Chompers stopped suddenly. “Ook?” he said, and he loped away.

“He hides from the sun,” Paul said.

“Shut up.” Abhay held his phone to his ear. “We found the thief,” he said. “Right, Southmost. Thanks.” He hung up. “Cops’ll be here soon.”

“The crimes of man can’t resist the fury of nature,” Paul said. He gazed off, trying to make his face look stony and mysterious. He caught sight of the girl with the sketchbook, sitting and drawing. “What’s she doing?”

Whether or not she heard, she looked into their eyes, calmly stood, and walked behind a building. “What are you doing!” Paul yelled. “I don’t trust her,” he added.

“You’re obsessed,” Abhay said. “You have a crush on her.”

“I’m gay,” Paul said as the sun rose.

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