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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.




In on this.

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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.




I believe it's a well established fact that all decent hard-boiled noir detective fiction is narrated in the first person.

Oh by the way, my 'cultural group' is privileged heterosexual white male able-bodied Australian. Also, this week's prompt is a jerk's prompt for jerks.

618 words, to blazes with your word count.

I Still Get Paid, Right?

The dame came in at about quarter past five in the afternoon. It’s been my experience that dames are often trouble, so I count myself fortunate that I do not suffer from the affliction that seems to plague the majority of my colleagues. I understand the appeal, in a vaguely theoretical sense, and my buddy Phil had often tried to explain to me, in intimate detail, why it was in my best interest to be enjoying the company of as many different dames as I could, as often as possible without them finding out about each other, but it never seemed worth the effort.

Come to think of it, Phil was probably a large contributing factor to my experience that dames were usually trouble.

Nonetheless, into my office she walked. Our office, really. Well, mostly mine. It’s my name on the door.
“You’re Shaw?” she asked.
“That’s me. How can I help you, ma’am?”
“My husband’s missing. I’m told you’re a man who can find things.”
“You’ve heard correctly.” I got out from behind my desk, and recognised the tell-tale gasp of a prospective client who hadn’t quite heard everything about me. “Well, go on then and say it.”
“It’s just… I thought you’d be taller.”
“Indeed. I am just full of surprises. Now, about your husband.”
“Of course. Right. Now I last saw him last night… listen, you’re definitely Shaw?”
“Definitely him. Name on the door.”
“Jeremy Shaw?”
“One and the same. Jeremy Shaw, Private Eye, at your service.”
“OK, it’s just… I mean, I’ve never heard of a midget private eye before.”
Midget? Really? I mean, little person, fine, if you have to draw attention to it at all. Dwarf, even, whatever. But midget? But I digress. “Heard of me, ain’t you?" I said. "Man who can find things. That’s me. I’m the man who can find your husband.”
“Or half man, if you prefer” said Phil.

Now in my defence, I’d first like to point out that it was quite late in the day, and there’d been all the accounts to go through, and I’d had to do that, not Phil, because for all his natural sleuthing skills, he didn’t really have an eye for paperwork. And he had just referred to me, quite casually, in rather hurtful terms. So it was under these circumstances, compounded by the rather frustrating nature of the conversation with the aforementioned dame, that I addressed some rather regrettable words to my good buddy Phil. They do not bear repeating at this time, except to confess that they were uncomplimentary words regarding his ethnicity.

“You’d better watch your mouth, you jive, sight-having turkey!” said Phil. “I’ve killed a man for less!”
I gave him what I hoped was a withering stare then, remembering who I was talking to, stopped trying to use body language and said “Right. Of course you have. I expect you beat him to death with your cane.”
“Killed a man this morning” said Phil. “Just to wa… just to listen to him die. These hands are weapons, you diminutive cracker. I don’t need to see you to give you a drat good kicking.”
“Wait, really? You killed someone?”
“Don't change the subject you jerk, I'm getting ready to bring the pain! But yeah, stashed him in the dumpster out the back.”
I rushed out to the back of the offices, although the dame had an unfair advantage and got there first. Phil continued to offer threats to the empty office. When I caught up to her, I could tell from the way she was crying that we’d solved the mystery of her missing husband.

And that’s all I know, officer, honest.

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.




SurreptitiousMuffin posted:

Because I know I'm gonna get reamed on accuracy points and because we totally need more dramatic readings, I've done Chairchucker's story in my hammiest fake Australian accent.



That's a better Australian accent than mine.

EDIT:

Radioactive Bears posted:

I waited until the last minute to begin writing, and ended up with something too personal to post. I suppose that is what happens when you don't do things early.

I have shamed myself in this dome of thunder.

Do a reading, then!

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.




Awww man, and I've had this avatar so long.

PS: still waiting on the comments on the readings.

Erik Shawn-Bohner posted:


Chairchucker - "I Still Get Paid, Right?"

He said "Dame." What a perfect metaphor for the kyriarchy: a gross little white-man Napoleon barking slurs against a real minority, women, and greedily rubbing his tiny, filth-covered paws while he cracks the whip against the back of the unfortunate "low-class" workers of color while shuffling papers and taking all the credit, unabashedly, for their labors in acquiring him more wealth over the death of others. God, I could only be more mad if this was made into a video game.

Judgment: I hate small hands.


A lot of anti-dwarf bias evident here. I am shocked!

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.




budgieinspector posted:


either asexual or


Yeah this one.

budgieinspector posted:

:sigh: for ignoring the "off-the-beaten-path" prompt.

Hey, there was not one single kangaroo in my story, this was a challenge!

budgieinspector posted:

stuck in the '70s

It was supposed to be set then as well. Or thereabouts.

budgieinspector posted:

FINAL SCORE: durian


Durians are good, right?

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.




toanoradian posted:

I guess the punishment will tech me not to try my luck with the judges' spelling. The next time the judges misspell (assuming such events will ever happen again) I shall assume the personality of a meek friend reading someone's Sailor Moon fanfic.

Am I still allowed to use the word 'comma'?

Just use lots of semi-colons, those little guys rule.

I might as well toss my figurative hat into the ring on this one if applications are still open, I mean how much worse could my punishment be for being awful again?

EDIT: My new avatar is much like my old one...

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.




Yeah OK I guess

Moonmen

One of the frankies had been slacking off. Frankies sure were dumb; they had to know by now that slacking off meant The Sparks. Even through their thick skin, they always felt The Sparks. It was a good thing frankies were too dumb to organise, or they’d figure out they outnumbered their human guards. The foreman smiled as he motioned two of the other guards to come and restrain this frankie. Some of the others had downed tools and were watching them prepare to deliver the punishment. Good. Let them be reminded of the penalty for a lax work ethic.

The slaves should not have been allowed to exist. The research that had led to their ‘birth’ contravened the laws of every remaining territory on earth. Fortunately for Lunarcorp industries, research and development that occurred on the moon did not fall under the jurisdiction of any of these territories. It had taken several years, and thousands of prototype creatures, but the frankies had been worth it. They were tough, and could survive for long periods of time on the moon’s surface without requiring a suit. Their education had consisted of only very basic English and Math; what they needed to follow the orders they were given.

Unfortunately for the few guards, this meant that the slaves could count.
It was too difficult for them to organise a decent signal themselves; they had access to nothing that could be seen and heard all over the quarry. So they’d decided, since the foreman was predictable in his punishments, to him provide them with a signal.

Two guards held the frankie down while the foreman, still smiling a horrible smile, prepared The Sparks. The guards in the tower trained their rifles on this one as well. The foreman struck the frankie once, but once was all he managed.

There’d been three groups of slaves near the tower. The guards had not paid attention to them; they’d been covering the foreman. As The Sparks struck the slave who had been lagging in his work, three slaves were thrown upwards by the groups below. It was like a well drilled cheerleading routine. Well, perhaps a little less graceful and a little more violent. The slaves landed next to the rifle bearing guards and hurled them to the crowd below. The other slaves stomped them into the dirt, then roared and turned towards where the punishment was taking place.

The foreman and the two guards who’d been restraining the punished frankie had heard the dying screams of the guards in their helmets as they’d been crushed into oblivion by heavy feet. The guards instinctively let go, drew their pistols and started firing into their midst. The no longer restrained frankie turned towards his oppressor; the foreman raised The Sparks again, preparing for a longer, more fatal zap, but the frankie moved quicker. He buried his fist into the foreman’s helmet; his forearm got torn to ribbons by the broken sides of the helmet, but his knuckles felt a satisfying crunch and the foreman went limp.

The remaining guards managed to terminate a number of the frankies. While they were at range, they had the advantage. They were not at range for long, however, and they met fates similar to their colleagues.

With half of their number deceased, but with all of the guards accounted for, the former slaves turned their attention to the Lunar Administrative Centre. They were almost certain more of their oppressors would be in there. They’d seen the foreman use a keycard to open the building. After rummaging through his broken remains, and tearing The Sparks into unusable components, they figured out how to open his equipment pouches. A card bearing his face, along with a packed lunch, was among the objects they liberated. After sharing out the peanut butter sandwiches he’d had packed, they formed several lines outside of the airlock door while one of them figured out how to use the card.

The administrative support team and the research team were completely unaware of the events that had unfolded outside. The administrative staff had been filing some paperwork to have the foreman transferred back to earth; his antagonistic approach to motivating the miners, while effective, seemed likely to create a volatile working environment. It was a work hazard, and supplementary training had done little to alter the way he did business.

The research team was actually just one man. The doctor was trying to find a way to make the assets less self aware. It would make the guards’ job easier, not that they deserved it, the stupid grunts. A knock came at his door; it was about time those stupid grunts knocked instead of just barging in. Always nagging him about when he would have perfected the next batch of assets, and could he make them more pliant? When he opened the door, he was greeted by a group of unsmiling assets.

As the doctor was painfully torn apart in his lab, the administrative team were putting the finishing touches on the foreman’s transfer order. It was sent off to Lunarcorp’s earth headquarters, and the staff all congratulated each other and declared it was time for morning tea. They all agreed that, as the most junior member of staff, it fell to Melissa to make everyone else tea and coffee.

Melissa didn’t see why she should make everyone else drinks, but she was new, and didn’t want to make waves; this was an amazing job opportunity. Very few people got the chance to work on the moon. She put her headphones in and turned it up as she got busy with the orders.

The miners’ bloodlust had somewhat dulled; after the last staff member was quickly killed, it dawned on one of them that they needed one human alive to talk to whoever supplied their food.

Melissa, the last human on the moon, returned to find herself promoted to the new position of earth’s first ambassador to the moonmen.

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.




I don't even know who the hell that is but whatever, in. Checking him out on Wikipedia and claiming... Sister Surprise. That's where I randomly scrolled to.

Also for a moment I thought we were talking about Alfred E Newman or whatever that guy is.

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.




I've listened to Sister Surprise now, and I've also Googled the lyrics, and I still have no idea what it's about, so in keeping with that theme I'll make sure I have no idea what my story is about either.

Apparently the album is based on Mad Max 2 or something though so maybe that'll guide me or whatever.

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.




toanoradian posted:

Please insert Monster Blood to your story.

I don't understand this request but I guess I'll interpret it in some way or whatever.

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.




No added Goosebumps synopsis because terrible pseudo-horror for kids is, oddly, not something I ever got into.

973 words, including title. Contains Monster Blood kind of.

Sister Surprise

Gareth didn’t dare to pull over and check the damage until he’d reached the next building. The creatures wouldn’t generally attack actual settlements, but they didn’t seem to have figured out yet that they couldn’t pounce on moving vehicles.
Just a mild dent. A bit of greenish blood, some hairs. Nothing serious.
He appeared to have stopped at a petrol station, of sorts. Well, he was running a little low. He went inside to negotiate.
“Why hello there, dear. Welcome to Madame Natalie’s Bed, Breakfast and Brothel. I’m afraid we haven’t had any petrol for a couple of months, but we provide for everything else a man could need.” The speaker was a rather attractive older woman.
“Ah. I was really just here for the petrol.”
“Sorry, it’s rather hard to come by, these days. We’ve got somewhat secure parking though, solid locked doors, and warm girls.”
Well, it was rather late, thought Gareth. And he was hungry. And tired. And lonely. “How much is everything?” he asked.
“Rooms are thirty per night. Breakfast depends on what you’re having; there are menus in the rooms. As for everything else, we leave that to the customers to negotiate with the girls. Just remember that Lionel over here is always around making sure the girls are safe.”
Gareth hadn’t seen him before; he wasn’t sure how he could’ve missed him, he looked big enough to tackle one of the creatures with his bare hands. Lionel just nodded at Gareth and resumed being inconspicuous.
“Don’t worry about that” said Gareth “I’m ever so respectful.” He counted out three tens and handed them to her.
Madame Natalia held out two keys. “Room seventeen is empty” she said “or room twelve is occupied. Your choice.” Gareth barely hesitated before taking the key to room twelve from her.
The ‘secure parking’ was not. Not really. There was a dog chained up nearby. It didn’t look up as Gareth parked the car. Well, it was mostly just creatures out here, not many raiders. They didn’t know how to hotwire a car, and they tended to keep their distance.

The room seemed empty when Gareth entered. Perhaps he’d not paid attention when Madame Natalia had described the rooms. Oh well, it was probably for the best; he didn’t have all that much money anyway. He dropped his bags onto the floor and looked around for a menu.
“Why hello there” said a feminine voice from behind him. He turned around to see a young lady in the doorway, dressed in a formless black and white… well he assumed it was a dress, but most dresses didn’t have hoods, did they? “I expect you’re here to fornicate with some helpless young girl, aren’t you?” she said. Ah! It was a habit! Well, he wasn’t all that into roleplaying, but he could adapt.
“Yes, please” he said. “Listen, not to break character or whatever, but I’d prefer we settle terms beforehand, if that’s all right.”
“Do you know what the Good Book says about fornicating?” she asked.
“I don’t suppose it gives some good tips on positions, does it?” he asked. “Listen, I’m not paying extra for this, am I? I don’t necessarily object to the ‘naughty nun’ thing, but if it costs more I’d just as soon not worry about it.”
“It says not to” she informed him. “Flee sexual immorality are the exact words, I believe.”
“Ah, listen,” he told her “I think I’m just not into this kind of thing, OK? Altogether too much talking, so I might just pass this time if that’s OK.” He yawned theatrically. “And it’s rather late, so I think I’ll just turn in.”
“As you wish” she said. She curtseyed and excused herself from the room, closing the door behind her.

He slept better than he had in days. Say what you want about brothels, he thought, but their beds can’t be beat for comfort.
“How was it?” asked Madame Natalia when he came to the front to return the key and order breakfast.
“Best sleep I’ve had in days,” he said “although that’s all I ended up doing. I don’t think I was into what she was selling. I will have some breakfast though before I leave.”
She shrugged. “The customer is king. We have one other patron this morning; are you happy to share a table? It makes cleaning up easier.”
“Sure” he said. She showed him into the dining room; it was empty, although one of the tables had been set up and had a small duffle bag sitting on one of the chairs. He ordered bacon and eggs and sat down.
He didn’t hear her enter, but saw her walk past from behind him, a flash of black and then as he focussed, that same black and white habit. “I don’t think I introduced myself earlier” she said with a smile and an extended hand. “I’m Gladys.”
“Still in your work clothes?” he asked as he shook her hand.
“Oh, I don’t work here” said Gladys. “I’m glad you took my advice to heart last night, by the way. Don’t worry, I told the girl that you were sleeping.”
Gareth frowned his way through breakfast in silence, occasionally punctuated by Gladys’ exclamations of how delicious it was. As he got up to leave, Gladys asked “Say, is that your vehicle out the back? Could I trouble you for a lift to wherever you’re headed?” Stunned, he didn’t answer immediately, and she hastily went on “I’ll be no trouble at all, honest, I’ll even pay you, and your eternal rewards will be richer still.”
“OK, sure” he said, not entirely sure why he had agreed. They both paid and made their way back to his car. It was still intact; the two of them drove off down the road.

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.




Welp, at least I get a new avatar I guess.

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.




Martello posted:



Sister Surprise

by Chairchucker


Your lack of understanding of pretty much anything ever in all time and all the world counts against you right off the bat. Just so you know.


Comprehensive list of things from this thread with which I was not familiar:

The music of Gary Numan.
The books of R.L. Stine.

Martello posted:

Another story where I have no loving clue what's going on. It's another post-apocalyptic setting, I believe, which automatically makes me like it better, but you're not making good use of it. The "creatures" are a very weak plot device at best, a meaningless distraction at worse.

Yeah, probably should've just ignored the mention of Monster Blood. I just kind of shoehorned that in afterwards. :/

Martello posted:

What's up with this Gladys broad and her nun habit? I don't get it.

Your lack of understanding of pretty much anything ever in all time and all the world counts against you right off the bat. Just so you know.

Martello posted:

This could maybe be good but it isn't right now. It just cuts off, there's no ending. Not in a good way.

Also, I don't see the Monster Blood except that the "creatures" have green blood or summat. And where's the "trapped" part? Not seeing it.

Overall: Bridgefield Peperoni

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.




In on this, gonna set some kind of record for number of times lost in the Thunderdome.

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.




Erik Shawn-Bohner posted:


3) This German film is iconic and a staple of horror film culture, yet it was actually an unauthorized adaptation of Bram Stoker's Dracula. Let's hear about it.

Nosferatu! I think! They also changed the protagonist and made him hideous, and changed his weaknesses so that instead of just being weaker in sunlight it killed him. (All hearsay because I've never seen the thing.)

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.




I've registered but I'm not on the list, is this punishment for talking smack about Goosebumps?

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.




Y Kant Ozma Post posted:

I made the mistake of crowing about my love of horror so now I feel compelled to do something that's not totally lovely.


I've pretty much done the opposite so I guess the pressure is off.

Either that or I'll lose points for it. All the points. Either way.

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.




Yeah OK. (Edited because the spacing looked a lot nicer in Word.)

Exactly 1000 words including title

More Small Than Medium
I’ll never forget the day I met Sarah. It was about two in the morning on Saturday and I had just been thrown from the top level of a multilevel carpark. I had heard it said that when you’re dying, your life flashes before your eyes. Well, I had my eyes open the whole way down, and all I saw was concrete.

When I became aware of myself again, there she was, going through my pockets. Well, not my pockets anymore, but my crumpled and broken body’s. She stood up. “Rufus Jones, I presume?”
“What? I mean yeah, but how did you..?”
She held up my bloodstained wallet. “Had some ID on you. Now I expect you have some kind of unfinished business that is keeping you around here; that’s usually how it works. I’m Sarah, by the way.”
Yeah. Yeah I did. I just nodded and said “Grab my shoes as well, I reckon they’ll come in handy.”
“Glad to see you’re taking the scavenging of your corpse relatively well” she said as she took my shoes off. “Some folk get upset by that for some reason.” My shoes along with my wallet and watch, which was stopped at a couple minutes before two, went into her handbag.”
I shrugged. “No time to get upset by little things like that,” I said “this unfinished business you spoke of has a time limit.” Actually, I was more impressed than upset. I didn’t even seem to have a sense of smell anymore, and just looking at my corpse was enough to make me glad I also didn’t have a stomach anymore. “OK, we’d better scram” I said. “Tyrone’s not gonna want to leave witnesses. If you’ve got my keys there we can take my bike.”

“Yeah, that’s one option” she said. My bike was easy to find; there were not many bikes parked along the street at two in the morning. She didn’t hop on, though; she opened the fuel tank and stuffed in one end of what I recognised as part of my shirt. Taking a lighter from her handbag, she lit my shirt and said “OK, now we run.”

So we ran, but I also told her “OK, now that’s a little upsetting. There was no need to destroy my bike.”
She shrugged. “Those things are dangerous. Now, you said something about a time limit.”
“I have to make a drop. Glad I didn’t trust Tyrone to take the package.”
“So I guess we need to pick up whatever the package is, first?”
“No, you’ve got it already. We gotta go to the corner of Drake and South, although it would be easier to get there quickly if we had a bike or something.”
She ignored my pointed comment. “Don’t worry, I know these streets pretty well, we’ll be there in no time.” I didn’t recognise most of the streets or alleys we ran down, and I thought I knew this part of the city well. I don’t know how she was able to run the whole way; if I’d still had lungs or whatever I’m sure they would’ve been spent, but she just kept going until we got there.

“So. This package. What is it?”
“Take out the inner soles on my shoes” I said. “Need to drop the envelopes you’ll find into the mailbox here.” That done, I said “We’ve probably just got a few minutes before they show up; we’d better make ourselves scarce.”
She shook her head. “Not on your life. Sorry, figure of speech. But this is too intriguing; I’m hanging around to see what happens.” An alleyway opposite the mailbox had a conveniently placed dumpster, and into this she dropped. Seeing my face she said “Don’t worry, you don’t need to climb in here, they won’t see you anyway – trust me on this one. What was in the envelopes, anyway?”
“Money. We just paid a ransom.”
“Didn’t feel thick enough to be much of a ransom.”

I didn’t answer, because James had just arrived, with Tyrone behind him. “I don’t know why we’re bothering” said Tyrone. “I didn’t hear a thing from Rufus, he’s obviously scarpered with the ransom. Let’s just kill the boy and mount his body on a telegraph pole.”
James shook his head. “There’s not quite as much money in child killing, Tyrone. Rufus has never let us down before, let’s just check the mailbox.” Tyrone shook his head as James checked the mail.
Tyrone stared in disbelief as James came up with the two envelopes. “Impossible! There’s no way he could’ve made the drop!”
“Something you want to tell me, Tyrone?” asked James. His hand was at his pistol, but Tyrone didn’t seem to notice the warning signs.
“I killed that fool! He couldn’t have made the drop!”
The pistol was out, and too late Tyrone realised his error. “Hate to say this, Tyrone, but I’m afraid our business association must come to an end now. I wondered why you specifically wanted to kidnap your ex’s son.”
Tyrone opened his mouth to talk, but James filled it with a bullet, then turned and left.

After a few minutes to make sure the coast was clear, Sarah climbed out and jogged over to the fresh corpse. I followed, and when I got there she was kneeling at his corpse – she didn’t seem to be going through his pockets, though. I couldn’t see what she’d been doing, but she explained as I arrived. “I’m just binding him to me so I’m the only one who can see or hear him. You’ll find you’re free to go, by the way.”
“What?” It was true. I was fading.
As my spirit faded, his appeared. She stood up and said “Tyrone Parkes, I presume?”
“What?” he asked, then saw the wallet in her hand. “Yes! You’ve gotta help me avenge my murder!”
I’ll never forget the last words I heard her say, either. “I don’t gotta do a drat thing.”

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.




Stuporstar posted:


Chairchucker - More Small Than Medium
DQed for formatting. Every paragraph should be double-spaced. Every one. The woman who talks to ghosts is an awesome character though.


I'm a maverick! A loose cannon! I space my paragraphs however I want! I bow to no man!

Oh well, at least my disqualification somehow didn't make me the loser. I wonder what non-story related transgression I can get penalised for this week!


I am going to lose all my points this week, I can feel it. I'm in by the way, but drat, poetry?

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.




At first I wasn't sure if I could manage Iambic Pentameter but then I remembered the dude rapping Shakespeare in 10 Things I Hate About You and I'm pretty sure I'm all over it now. I just have to listen to some rap throughout the week and I'll be set.

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.




The first to enter the Thunderdome this week! The first to take a bold step! The first to throw down the gauntlet!

The first to die!

His Papal Majesty

The pope sat, regal, in his Popemobile,
He clutched his Popestaff, pulled his Popehat on.
His Popechauffeur began to pull away,
They drove out now to join the Popeparade.
The pope’s employees knew their time was now;
They must work hard, such was the pope’s decree.
They scurried forth between the Popetrees tall,
The Popewall gave them shade as they all toiled.
Out through the gate now came the Popemobile,
Down from Pope Road, turning onto Pope Lane.
Pope Avenue was next, ‘round the Popepond,
To where all the pope’s people stood and waved.
They slowed down as they passed through the Popecrowd,
His Popehand strong, he gave them a Popewave.
A Popecheer went up as they went on through,
Pope pope hurray, and long may he Popereign.
Too soon the Popeparade drew to a close,
The Popemobile rolled back from whence it came.
The Pope climbed from his Popeseat, all Poped out,
Into Popebed, where Popesleep would await.

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.





Also there was one terrible pun I missed, but I checked and someone had me covered:



Obviously, the sung version of my poem would feature in this movie.

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.




This is clearly a pro-pope audience. Perhaps I should stick to pope fiction from now on.

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.




Huzzah! Less terrible than previous weeks!

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.




In I guess although writing a chick called Darcy is gonna be weird because I only know one Darcy and he's a dude, also sorry for making you want death I guess Fanky Malloons.

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.




Fanky Malloons posted:

I was mostly kidding, the other judges have just set a precedent where it's fun to pick on you. I very much enjoyed the term 'Popeparade'.

Only mostly, you say? Perhaps there is yet time to drive you to want to cut yourself.

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.





Rethinking my character designs.

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.




Hmmm, guess I better hurry up and crap something out. Quality might suffer because I didn't realise how much less time I had than usual, but I don't feel like turning in nothing so I'll hammer out something in the next hour or so.

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.




Yeah OK here it is.

Be Quiet

Darcy was finding it hard to focus. He was asking her a question, but she was elsewhere. Somewhere outside, far away but getting nearer. He slammed his hands on the table in front of her and she refocussed. “Tell me,” he asked her again “where are they? We know your camp must be somewhere nearby.”
“Second star to the right and straight on ‘til morning” she told him. The reference was probably wasted on him. Did Russians watch movies? At present she was not feeling charitable enough to assume this particular gentleman did any of the activities she associated with being human. She expected he gained sustenance through photosynthesis and ate his young.

Perhaps he did not get that she’d just given him directions to Neverland, but the backhand across the face he gave her seemed to indicate that he was, nonetheless, dissatisfied with the information he’d received. Again, she tried to tune out the room she was in and focus on outside.

Lucy felt the slap almost like it had hit her own face. Much more intense. She must be getting closer. Either that or Darcy was being hit harder. She shook her head; assume it was because she was getting closer. She wondered who’d taken Darcy; the Russians claimed they were only there in an advisory role, but she’d heard different claims from the South Vietnamese soldiers. She moved quietly from tree to tree; she’d be no good to Darcy if she were caught as well. Ahead, she started to make out oddly symmetrical shapes; certainly not any kind of trees. She crept, even more stealthily now, towards these shapes.

Darcy gasped. Lucy was almost here! Her captor shook her again to get her attention. “Now, I’m a very reasonable man” he told her. No, thought Darcy no you are not. “I’m a reasonable man, but I feel like you’re taking advantage of me. Of my gentle nature. You’re taking me for a fool, and it upsets me. Now, I’m going to give you one last chance.”

Darcy lifted her eyes from the table she’d been staring at to meet his. She spat blood and bits of tooth onto his uniform. “Go to hell, commie scum.” She smiled, and kept on smiling as he punched her in the stomach.

Darcy had always been outspoken. Always the loud one. Their father had said it would get her into trouble one day, although this was probably not what he’d had in mind. Even when the two of them had been an act, she’d been the one front and centre, singing and tapdancing. Lucy was the quiet one. The quiet one at the piano. The quiet one at the bar afterwards, while Darcy laughed and drank and decided who should take her home. The quiet one who now crept up behind one of the guards, silencing him with a hand on his mouth and a knife through his throat. Darcy shivered; she never got used to feeling Lucy kill someone else, although it distracted her from the fact that she was being kicked in the ribs.

She tried her best to deflect or dodge the blows, but with her hands tied behind her back and the blood she’d already lost, she was fighting a losing battle. With the blood in her eyes she could no longer see the man who was yelling at and kicking her, she just felt the repeated blows and heard his cursing, occasionally punctuated by the shiver as Lucy sliced another guard’s throat out. She wasn’t sure which sensation was worse.

Another kick landed and she decided it was the kicking that was worse. The next kick, however, did not come. Or rather, she could hear it, but she could no longer feel it. Was she dead? She’d always wondered what it would feel like to be dead; maybe this was it.

Through the blood she was now able to see the source of her relief; Lucy was holding her former captor by the back of the head. She slammed his face repeatedly into the wall until his body stopped twitching, then, with one more slam for good measure, let his limp body fall to the ground. Still the quiet one, she had not spoken throughout this execution; her victim had not had the same composure, however. If there’d been any guards that were not yet alert to their presence, they’d be alert now.

“Should’ve left me here” said Darcy, through bruised lips. “Now they’ll capture us both; everyone must’ve heard that.”
Lucy picked her up, and Darcy hung onto her neck. “No,” said Lucy “I don’t think they will have.” She carried Darcy out of her cell, and towards the perimeter of the fence; every guard Darcy saw on their way out was staring into nothing through dead eyes while blood seeped from their throat.

“Besides,” said Lucy as they reached the outer fence and started back towards their camp “you know I can’t let you die without me.”

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.




Imgur or whatever wasn't working so here you go. Woopwoop etc.

Only registered members can see post attachments!

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.




Dr. Kloctopussy posted:

I'm going to go ahead and admit that even though I know my submission is complete poo poo, I hold a deep, secret hope that Mr. Gonzalez will read my terrible story and say "THIS IS GENIUS! WE MUST GIVE HER MILLIONS OF DOLLARS RIGHT NOW!!!"

More like 5 cents a word maximum.

Also the submission guide on the site doesn't seem to care all that much about formatting.

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.




Pffft, formatting standards are for losers. Submitted as typed here in the thread.

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.




budgieinspector posted:


Chairchucker -- "Be Quiet"
On the plus side, you put the twins in the midst of a historical event which occurred in their lifetimes, and kept the action up. On the minus side, it's never made clear what they're doing in Vietnam.

Killing commies, obviously! There was gonna be some ridiculous exposition about them posing as dudes to join the military, (their guy names were gonna be Luke and either Drake or Derek) but then Wikipedia told me that there were a bunch of ladies serving overseas in combatish roles at the time anyway. Also I was dumb and started my story at like 11 pm the night before it was due.

budgieinspector posted:

Also, run a spell-check before submitting your stuff.


Bah, hyphens schmyphens.

toanoradian posted:


edit: dammit, Hitler dies at 46.

OR DOES HE?

Not in this week.

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.




I've got Wednesday off so what the hell, in.

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.




Car

Cameron shook his head sadly. “You know, it didn’t have to be this way. We welcomed you. You could’ve been part of the family.” Justin didn’t answer. Justin had a rag stuffed in his mouth. “Oh, of course” said Cameron. He removed the rag.

“What the hell?” Justin’s voice was slightly cracked. “What is wrong with you people?”

Cameron shook his head. “You know what you did. We made you one of our own, and this is how you repaid us? You knew the rules.”

“You’re out of your mind!” Justin struggled, but the bonds were tight. Cameron knew his knots.

Cameron opened the front door of one of the two cars. Justin’s car. Pulled the tab that opened the gas tank. “You know, some of the other lads said I was crazy to take you in. Said you was young and impetuous. Said you wouldn’t be able to handle the structure and rigours of this life. I didn’t listen to ‘em. I was sure you were a good kid, down beneath your fancy city clothes. I went out on a limb for you Justin, because I thought, I was sure, that you’d be worth it.”

“What’re you planning to do with me?” asked Justin. “People will notice if I’m missing for too long.”

“Perhaps” said Cameron “although I doubt they’d come looking for you here. Don’t worry though, you won’t be harmed, although Lord knows you deserve it after you broke our hearts.” He stuffed the rag into the gas tank. “You wouldn’t happen to have a lighter there, would you Justin?” No answer came. “Of course you do, you’re always smoking those disgusting things. We didn’t blame you for that, though. We know those awful things are habit forming. We can forgive a lot here, but not what you did.” He went through Justin’s pockets and came up with a zippo lighter. “No, we won’t do anything to you, but I’m afraid you’ll be walking or hitching back.”

Cameron lit the end of the rag, then dragged Justin to a safe distance. “See, I told you,” he said “I told you, that on this farm, we drive Holdens.”

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.




I hope you appreciate that I took, like, 20 minutes out of my X-Com playing time to spit that piece out. I'm not sure exactly how many aliens I could've killed in that time, but I bet it comes out to roughly 'a bunch'.

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.




Have multiple losers. My dream is to one day have this thread filled with losertars.

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.




In and getting ready to stomp some puppies.

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.




Sitting Here posted:

Your story should make us hate the character, not you, the author.

Unless he's the character.

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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.




Oh yeah this was due like a day and a half ago, weeeellllp. Guess I'll churn out something in the next hour or so.