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Jay O
Oct 9, 2012

being a zombie's not so bad
once you get used to it

In. Beware, I live. I hunger.

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Jay O
Oct 9, 2012

being a zombie's not so bad
once you get used to it

Welp, I came down with a fever yesterday morning that only worsened into full-blown coughing, sweating bed-riddence. Gotta tap out, unfortunately. :saddowns: drat that tempting monster prompt. Some other week maybe.

Jay O
Oct 9, 2012

being a zombie's not so bad
once you get used to it



Yes. In.

Jay O
Oct 9, 2012

being a zombie's not so bad
once you get used to it

Welcome to TD, you of the clearly least sensitive butthole on the planet.

Jay O
Oct 9, 2012

being a zombie's not so bad
once you get used to it

Your spells can travel forward or backward in time. Lucky you! You, however, cannot.

Recompense
1,298 words

It was half past the appointed hour when Iris walked into Gerard Rochefort's sitting room. "At least yesterday she arrived on time," he thought, as he forced a smile and reached out for her hand. She gave him only a curt nod, then went straight to the open seat across from his and settled in. She folded her hands across one knee and gestured to Rochefort without returning his smile.

"I apologize for my lateness. Business, then?"

Of course. The wizard's tardiness was the only thing that separated this meeting from his previous one with her. This so-called "Enchantress of Time" apparently had none to spare for small talk, and looked as unimpressed to be here now as she did yesterday. Well, now it was his turn to be dissatisfied.

Rochefort re-took his seat, cleared his throat and continued. "Right. Business. I paid you in full for your services yesterday, and seeing as you have yet to deliver on our agreement, I am compelled to demand recompense. Whatever results your spell may have had are irrelevant to my commissioned request--"

Iris interrupted him with a raised hand and a tiny bark. Rochefort clenched one fist at his side in frustration while continuing to strain his smile.

"Monsieur Rochefort, I made it explicit that you would not be receiving what you asked for specifically."

"Yes. However, you also said that I would be satisfied with the results. I am not satisfied."

"Yet. You aren't satisfied yet. There's a difference. You commissioned me to make a "grand and positive" alteration to your past, and I've delivered on this request."

Rochefort sighed and tapped his fist rhythmically against his thigh.

"Your frustration is not unique, Monsieur Rochefort, and I require follow-up meetings for this reason," Iris said. "They always begin with dissatisfaction, but rarely end that way. My former clients may not have bothered to tell you this out of some personal sense of embarrassment with their own experience. Now, please elaborate on your dissatisfaction. When you are finished, I will undo this dissatisfaction with my own words, just as I have already undone the past you submitted to me yesterday."

"That's just the thing, Madame Iris. Nothing has changed since yesterday. I understand that my request for..."

Rochefort's voice suddenly shrank to the back of his throat, and Iris waited for him to regain his composure.

"...for my father's recovery from tuberculosis prior to his death five years ago..."

He cleared his throat and continued.

"I understand that this request could not be filled. You were very clear on that point. However, you were intensely discourteous to me when I attempted to relate my motives for the wish, and even the circumstances behind his death in any capacity. You said you wanted to hear as little as possible about my problems, and since you demanded payment in full a week before our meeting, there was little I could do but trust your methods."

"Fewer details yield better results," she replied, "but I would be happy to hear those motives today, now that I have delivered on your request."

"You haven't delivered on anything! This morning, my father was still five years dead, and nothing that matters in the slightest has changed. If you're so intrigued to hear the details now, I wanted to bring my father back so that I might have the chance to repair our relationship. When I woke this morning, I could still remember the pain of his passing. I still remember the disappointment in his eyes that came with every bedside visit, and I still remember the mere tenth of his estate I was left to survive on when the disease finally took his life. If you'd bothered to hear my feelings out before you'd cast your spell, at least some part of this tragedy could have been averted, but for all I can tell you've altered something so insignificant and unrelated to my father's death that I might as well have cast my francs into a wishing well! I am not satisfied, and I demand recompense!"

Iris' expression didn't waver even slightly. Rochefort wondered if he had gone too far. Even if he hadn't experienced it firsthand yet, he'd heard enough stories not to doubt her frightening power.

Then, for the first time since they had met, Iris smiled.

"If I had bothered to hear your feelings out before I'd cast my spell, I might not have been able to cast it at all," she said. "It may not be to your satisfaction, Monsieur Rochefort, but you are a wealthy man. Are you not educated?"

"I like to think myself an educated man. Yes."

"Yet you, and so many before you, have never heard of temporal paradox. Why do you think it was that I could not fulfill the request to restore your father's life?"

"I supposed you were not permitted to meddle in affairs of life and death."

Iris laughed. "Oh, I can! Restoring a dead fate to a living one is quite simple, in fact. However, once you requested it of me, I could not. I can never fulfill the specific request you bring to me, because once I have fulfilled it, I will have altered your past so that you can no longer ask it of me."

"I'm afraid I don't understand."

"Do you at least understand that when your past is altered, you will not remember the past it supplanted?"

"Yes. You were very firm in explaining that yesterday. It's just that I felt--"

"You felt that your father passed away with a poor opinion of you, and that is probably still true. If it were not so, you would have no reason to request my services, as I've explained before. I had no power to change that. However, that is only your yesterday now. It was not your yesterday before. I remember both, so for simplicity's sake, I will call this yesterday that you cannot remember "my yesterday." Is this acceptable?"

Rochefort nodded without completely understanding why.

"In your yesterday, your father was five years dead due to tuberculosis, and you spent his twilight hours at his bedside every day, desperate for approval you could never earn. You gave me a generous but not injurious sum to change this fate in some small part. This is as you remember it?"

Rochefort nodded once again, with understanding as hollow as the happiness in his smile. Iris continued.

"In my yesterday, your father was six years dead, his life extinguished in an instant by a horse-drawn coach in an accident, and you met me in a tavern with every scrap of your meager savings to avert this. I assumed it was to wheedle your way into your father's will, and I see now I was just correct enough to avert a paradox. I was late for our meeting today because I had trouble finding the "pittance" of a manor your father had left you in this new reality. I had never been here before."

Suddenly, Rochefort understood. His once-clenched fist came undone as he began to tremble all over.

"Now then, you asked for recompense. If you wish, I can return my commissioned payment, along with my version of yesterday's events, to your life."

Rochefort took a deep breath and tried to calm his racing heart.

"N-no," he stammered, "I am satisfied."

At this, Iris reached out for his hand with a laugh.

"If there's anything you would like in the future, please request my services again."

Rochefort took the wizard's hand and pumped it vigorously as she continued to explain.

"The past can be tricky. But if it is a change for the future you desire, and your price is right, I can give you exactly what you want."

Jay O
Oct 9, 2012

being a zombie's not so bad
once you get used to it

Maugrim posted:

Crits: I do copy-editing for a living. I will point out your grammar errors and tense issues and explain in detail why they're wrong. I'll also crit style and story a bit but grammar is my thing. If that sounds helpful to anyone, I'll crit the first three takers. (also grateful for return crits)

Cool! I also do this for a living! :hfive:

But I am more likely to crit story and characters and stuff because that's what I care about. (It is also the other thing I do for living, write reviews of media that is.) I'm just getting back into the dome and I need the mental exercise, so I'll do three line-by-lines for the first three people that ask for one from me, and three wee concise-crits for the first three people who ask for one of those, making six in total, as per Sitting Here's :siren: assignment :siren:

EDIT:

Dr. Kloctopussy posted:

Anyone (who participated this week) who does 10+ non-poo poo critiques will get a gift certificate for a custom avatar. For this illustrious award, you will need to do more than the minimal 3-5 sentences, but SittingHere's guide (above and quoted below) is a good guide. Crits don't need to be a line crit, but more than a few bullshit sentences. It's arbitrary. Deal.

Well, dandy! In light of this, I'll extend it to three line-by-lines and seven concise-yet-efforted-crits. If I don't get that many by Wednesday night (a distinct possibility), I'll pick out entries at random to fill the difference. Sounds like fun!

Jay O fucked around with this message at 08:43 on Apr 27, 2015

Jay O
Oct 9, 2012

being a zombie's not so bad
once you get used to it

Djeser posted:

groth would like concise crit of story of HONORABLE BARBARIAN WIZARD

*grunt, nod*

Once again, I'm gonna focus predominantly on story/character for my crits, and just touch on style and grammar with a q-tip, because there are scads of domers better equipped at critique on those levels than me and idk my taste level there. I'll talk more style and grammar for a line-by-line though, of course.

Djeser - Sif the Strong

It seems like a little thing, but the first paragraph/first two sentences could easily be cut for a much stronger hook into the story, and that changes the energy of the whole thing right up front, in a good way. In fact, that lead-in seems to be telling a different story at first. It seems like there's a peaceful debate or argument going on between barbarian friends (with Sif as the subject) before it U-turns violently into the attack, which means it doesn't really matter what they were doing beforehand. You want to start with your best foot forward and discard anything that doesn't matter, at least with flash fiction in this vein. You reinforce Sif's feelings of weakness and inadequacy in other places in the story (and could stand to do it more, but I'll get into that below), so that aspect isn't needed in the opening lines either. Crop 'em and it's already a big improvement.

Anyway, the heart of your story here is good material. Sif's perceived inadequacy gives way to a hidden power. She feels weak, but she's really a powerful warrior (of a different kind). This is a good skeleton, you've just got the bones in the wrong places. Since the thing that matters most here is Sif's view of her own self-worth and how it changes, you don't want to blow your load too quickly on that and then focus too much on extraneous details. Sif's turn from weakling to ubermensch happens in the first third of the story, and it's too soon to really have any impact. No sooner have we learned how she feels about herself than her problem is solved! She doesn't fully realize this, but nothing she does during the dragon fight affects her emotional journey, so it's basically the case: the audience already knows how this story is going to end from the moment she merges with the dragon, but hasn't had time to invest enough emotion to feel catharsis from it, so you've shown your hand way too soon. The dragon fight is cool, and the imagery of her as its beating heart is cool, but it belongs in a different story, because its elaboration requires too much detail to pack into this one. Long story short: decompress and hone in on Sif's feelings of helplessness, particularly the scene where she's being cornered by her potential kidnappers. That's where you'll build tension most effectively, and the dragon-summoning that follows it is the gently caress Yeah of your reward if you've grabbed the audience's hearts with this more intimate focus. Yes, it means less detailed dragon action, but you can only fit so much into a flash story.

Stylistically, this story has a lot of rabbit trails, particularly in the final third. All that stuff about Sif's new Hagrid isn't necessary at all, and could be cut in service of greater focus on Sif's father's newfound respect for his daughter. The good news is that there's no comprehension problems, even when the prose gets wonky. Due to the curt sentences and focus on immediate emotions and reactions, the action is very easy to follow, and the story reads fine. You just need time and practice to refine your voice and cut the chaff.

On a grammar level, there are some run-on sentence parties goin' down, and mismatched tenses like "grabbed the man around his chest and raising him into the air," (past tense incongruous with present progressive) but you'll have to ask someone else to grammar-crit you, because writing about grammar kinda puts me to sleep. :eng99:

----------------

Six concise-crits left up for grabs, three line-by-lines, first come first serve.

Jay O
Oct 9, 2012

being a zombie's not so bad
once you get used to it

Okay, I have one concise crit left to offer, and two line-by-lines. I will do all these tomorrow after I get some goddamn sleep it is four o' butt in the morning now.

Jay O
Oct 9, 2012

being a zombie's not so bad
once you get used to it

Ironic Twist posted:

I will provide graph crits in the style of week 115 to the first ten people that ask (someone else can share an example of said crits via a link). First come first served.

I don't know what it is yet, but sure! Graph me a crit, please!

Jay O
Oct 9, 2012

being a zombie's not so bad
once you get used to it

Broenheim posted:

Example of a twist graph crit for those curious:

Yeah I was curious after requesting them so I found the post from week 115. Very cool stuff if you want to look at it.

Jay O
Oct 9, 2012

being a zombie's not so bad
once you get used to it

CONCISE CRIT TIME! Here are the quick (story-focused) crits I promised last night.


Morning Bell - The Eye Thief

The biggest thing that keeps this from being a strong story is that there's a little too much going on to give the audience time to attach to any one core element. That said, it's an enjoyable read! It flows quite smoothly from one setting and setpiece to another while maintaining a good sense of clarity and immersion. It goes down easy and reads well, and minor grammar hiccups aside (which are in pretty much everything), your prose is strong. The main problem is just too many ideas and details and images are present without any cohesive core. It mostly plays as a series of things that happen with some cool, gross imagery mixed in, and then it's over. There's a potential nugget of symbolism in trading one functioning eye for another, (tying it to the loss of his girlfriend in Cassie vs. the loss of his friend in Kieron could be really potent,) but it's not fully realized here yet. There's a lot of lore and imagery here but not much substance. Fantasy, particularly short-form fantasy, is often at its strongest when it becomes a metaphor for the human experience, or a specific kind of human experience, using universal symbols and fantastical things that don't exist to stand in for concrete details that people may have a more difficult time relating to. So you want to look for things to cut vs. things to accentuate to get your chosen aspect of human experience across.

The easiest thing to get rid of is The Eyeless Pupils. It's a cool concept, but it takes time away from the main character and his bond with Kieron. This bond also becomes more resonant to the audience if the protag's isolation is accentuated more. Kieron's loss is more powerful if we see him as the only friend our hero has in the world, and the absence of other allies or even humans becomes creepier alongside the imagery of a city full of watchful eyes, like an ocular ghost town. In place of worldbuilding details and proper names, flesh out the personalities and relationships between the three named characters, even if you don't do it through internal monologue. The ruins themselves could be insights into Cassandra's personality, while the hero's affectionate/disgusted reaction to Kieron could also be played up for more audience attachment. On the surface, this story feels a little too big in concept to fit in a flash fiction format, but if you cut it down to a core of three characters, emphasize their relationships with one another, and tie more meaning to the hero's loss of one eye versus the loss of his other, I think it would be stellar!

----------------

Broenheim - A Brat's Request

This one needs to go back to the drawing-board. It's a "for want of a nail" story without any stakes, and that setup needs stakes to have any impact. In this story, our hero consults a (cute?) fire imp to keep his beloved peasant village from freezing to death, she asks for something else first, the dragon who has that thing wants another thing, then it all comes back to the beginning and the crisis is averted. The village is in danger of freezing, but our hero honestly doesn't seem all that concerned about it, and the interplay between him and the fire-being is too in-between disaffected flirtation and petulant pleading to work either comedically or dramatically. It's just sort of odd at best and eye-rolling at worst. There's no ticking clock either, it seems like our hero has all the time in the world to go on an inconsequential fetch quest to get the fire-imp to stop being an rear end in a top hat, and it ends on a "maybe love will blossom?" note the readers have no reason to care about. It's a series of slightly annoying things that happen, not told very well. You need to figure out what your story is really about outside of the blow-by-blow, and maybe scrap and restart on this one.

Also, do you watch a lot of anime because this story's dialogue was anime as hell, (and unfortunately not in a good way.)

Prose-wise, there are a lot of erratic stops and starts in here, and combined with a smattering of grammar mistakes (mostly incorrect verb tenses which can cause real clarity problems), it makes for a real rocky read. At first, I thought the protag was journeying from mountain to mountain, but then it seemed like he was summoning various NPCs from a magic circle back and forth. There was no setting being laid and no character being established so it was hard to invest enough to determine one way or the other. This problem is minimized with the story being mostly dialogue, but with that said, the dialogue is not very good. Everyone's character voice sounds the same, and that character voice is "child trying to sound like an adult." I can't get much of a handle on the character's personalities from how they express themselves, so I have to rely on what they say about themselves, which is mostly dispensing quest demands seemingly not rooted in character. I don't know what's a joke and what isn't, but neither am I invested in the drama of whether not the village lives or dies. The tone is just a big undefined question mark. I'm afraid it needs lots of work, and the story might just be a non-starter.

----------------

Tyrannosaurus - Nothing More. Nothing Less.

Awesome. This was basic-rear end character interplay with basic-rear end naturalistic dialogue in a strong cohesive package with no chaff, and I really liked it a lot. About the worst thing I can say about it story-wise is that it's "just" cute. You're working with imagery that assumes resurrecting the dead is a mistake and this could end badly, but when you go left of expectations on that, it still feels like the right choice for the story, even if it's all fuzz and no fangs. I liked the gradual realization for the reader that Ivar isn't longing for glory, but just a fate where he can be with Hrefna in this life and the next. I don't know if I would foreshadow that harder or not, since it's a heartwarming reveal, but lacing it more overtly into the story could also give it more oomph. There's also potential for stronger warm-fuzzies by changing Ivar's reaction to hesitance to kill Hrefna and resurrect her, with an emphasis on the perfection of First Heaven and how great it would be to there and how selfish it would be of him to want to deny her that. He could be discouraged at first and then encouraged again by her affirmation that she wouldn't want to be there if he couldn't be there too, which increases the "d'aww" exponentially. But honestly, I don't have much constructive criticism for this one, I just think it's a really solid, adorable story and you did an excellent job with it.

----------------

The other three will be coming up shortly, along with one line-by-line! If you would like either a concise-crit or a line-by-line, I have room for two more. Just specify what kind you want.

Also my story has no crits yet and it feels lonely and unloved :saddowns:

Jay O fucked around with this message at 01:59 on Apr 28, 2015

Jay O
Oct 9, 2012

being a zombie's not so bad
once you get used to it


thx bro :downs:

Jay O
Oct 9, 2012

being a zombie's not so bad
once you get used to it

In. (the end, it doesn't even matter.)

Jay O
Oct 9, 2012

being a zombie's not so bad
once you get used to it

Untitled Opening
486 words

When Ezekiel awoke, he found himself looking up at an ocean where the sky should be. Its furious waves beat at clustered stalactites far above his head, scattering a foamy, salty spray into the air. It seemed to hang in the space between ocean and Zeke for a long time before finally raining down on his bruised and swollen face. It stung. He coughed and spat a few times as the salt burned deep into all the tiny cuts across his face and neck. The throbbing pain in his skull and the painful effort it took to breathe consumed his focus for a few minutes. He was baffled by the skyward expanse of seawater until he saw a crumpled body among the "stalactites," with a mess like a smashed currant where its head should be, and a length of rope with frayed ends wrapped around its feet.

I must be hanging upside-down, he thought. He turned his head down to the sky above him. Frayed rope, knotted so tightly around his ankles he couldn't feel his feet anymore, seemed to extend forever to some unknown point on the cliff face. The land was as far above his feet as the ocean was beneath his head. Zeke's heart began to rattle as he realized that the shredded body on the rocks below was a herald of his own future. He relaxed his neck, and his brain spun around in his skull again as his eyes settled back on the body. With its head split open like that, Zeke couldn't even recognize the poor bastard, but he was dressed like a fellow sailor from the Blackadder. Then he noticed two more bodies a few yards past, one on top of the other. That one on top was Lathan. He couldn't see the one on the bottom, or see if it still had a face to even recognize. Both were dead, both almost certainly Blackadder crew.

The sight of his crewmate's dead face, twisted in terror, made Zeke tremble. This only further swayed the rope suspending him between life and death, so he turned his face back down to the sky and tried to concentrate on breathing. How had they ended up here? The last thing Zeke remembered was...

At that moment, a familiar face peered over the cliffside, followed by a hand grasping at Ezekiel's rope.

"Brody!" Zeke cried, "Brody!" It was a relief just to see a living crewmate, even if he and the cabin boy hadn't always been on the best terms.

Brody froze at the recognition. His hand tightened on the taut rope, and he dragged himself forward on his belly to get a better look at Zeke's face.

"Zeke," he responded. "I didn't think you'd be conscious."

His voice wavered with emotion, but there was no kindness in it.

Ezekiel realized there was something in Brody's other hand: a cutlass.

This was no rescue.

Jay O
Oct 9, 2012

being a zombie's not so bad
once you get used to it

It was at this very moment that Jay O realized, somehow, her eyes had breezed right over the actual prompt part of the week not related to the halfsies or wordcount part.

The "lighthearted fun stories only" part. Somehow, hadn't even noticed. Until literally an hour before the deadline.

WHOOPS. Sorry, Schneider Heim. :saddowns:

Jay O
Oct 9, 2012

being a zombie's not so bad
once you get used to it

Ironic Twist posted:

POST IT ANYWAY

crabrock posted:

500 words in an hour is loving simple, especially fun ones.

Oh no, you don't understand. I was apologizing to Schneider Heim for getting my first 500 words. (Which were kinda dour.)

Newtestleper's is the story I'm finishing and I'm sure it will warrant an entirely different kind of apology. :v:

Jay O
Oct 9, 2012

being a zombie's not so bad
once you get used to it

Gifted and Talented
879 words

I knew it wouldn’t be long before the baby learned to work the locks on the doors. I could hear her in the bathroom, the expensive sound of breaking and spilling, occasionally punctuated by soft coos and giggles. She’d been up for six days straight, growing smarter and stronger the whole time, or maybe we’d got dumber and weaker. I hated to think what she was up to, locked in there with the high pressure showerhead, the anti-dandruff shampoo, the loofah. Locked in with the brown plastic bottles of pills, with Sarah’s pink plastic razors.

“She’s advanced for her age,” said Sarah, a tear down the side of her good work blouse exposing an alphagetti-stained bra strap, “most kids can’t use a door handle till they’re at least eighteen months.”

It was an understatement. To reach the handle the wee bugger had jumped from the landing balustrade, caught the chrome handle with her wiry little hands, and hung there while the door swung open with the force of her momentum. The backflip was impressive, but unnecessary, so I didn’t count it as part of the manoeuvre.

She’s cute, though, despite the malevolence. Like that time with the cat. The way she smiled and showed her seven tiny teeth as she spun it round by the tail. How she poked out her tongue in concentration as she let go. The cackles she made as it sailed, spreadeagled, through the kitchen window like a mewling tortoiseshell discus. It lives with the neighbours now.

Sarah ran her hand through her hair, and winced when it caught in a tangle set hard with dried vomit and talc. “Maybe we should look into one of those sleep consultants?” She said, “Jen’s little boy was up twice a night until they got that woman in to help out.”

I managed a scant nod. Do sleep consultants carry pepper spray?

The baby wasn’t coming out, so I went to the garage for a screwdriver. When I got back it was quiet, and Sarah was folded up on the floor with her ear pressed to the door.

“Maybe she’s asleep?” she mouthed, a mixture of terror and hope behind her heavy eyelids. I set to work taking apart the handle, while Sarah’s head slid down the rimu veneer until it rested, awkwardly sandwiched between her shoulder and the door.

Sarah was snoring by the time I popped the last screw from the lock. The weight of her head pushed the door open, and a sad, hollow noise came from her skull when it bounced on the tile-patterned lino of the bathroom floor. She didn’t wake.

The cold night air stung my eyeballs before I noticed the broken window.

"Hell's bells," I grumbled, "You opened the door just fine. Windows have handles too, you know."

The baby hung in the open air, squeezing its fat little foot with one hand while kicking at flakes of lightly falling snow with the other. Levitation typically only started after the terrible two's were over. Great. I guess Sarah's little crotch-dumpling was gifted and talented. No window in the bathroom now, and at least six days before the next support payment from Sarah's irresponsible client. This was going to be the coldest week in January, in the only room of the house where girls needed to lose their panties, without getting a stack of Benji's for the trouble.

I shuffled across the greasy tile, peppered with the baby's ruined playthings. Here a shampoo bottle turned inside out with space distortion, there a crystalline sculpture made from phase-shifted shaving cream. Was that mobile made of tampons hanging from the shower rod? Oh no, it was levitating as well. I had considered buying him a real one, until that incident with the cat. I liked that cat. Neighbors didn't deserve him. Vapid troglodytes were probably dog people.

"Brothel to the stars," I muttered, "It sounded so promising when we opened our doors, but..."

That's the problem with running a successful business in this particular cranny of commerce. Birth control technology can never keep up with good word-of-mouth.

I stuck my arm out the window and grabbed the baby by the foot. Just like the problem children before him, he lifted me right off the ground in return, with a squeal of disapproval.

"Sorry, booger. Being an early bloomer does you no favors on this one. You're much lighter than the floating three-year olds we've got wandering around here."

I dragged him back into the house like a gurgly, stinky carnival balloon and tapped his unconscious mother on the noggin. Sarah grunted and rolled over, before sitting up with shock at the sight of her impetuous infant squirming around in the air.

"He scares me to pieces sometimes, but...he's really something special, ain't he?" she laughed.

I rolled my eyes.

"I don't care what planet they say they're from, Sarah. The clients always wear a condom. At least one condom."

Sarah nodded and held out her hands for the little troublemaker, who reached his hands back down with a seven-toothed smile. I sighed and forced a smile of my own.

"Property damage aside, I guess he is pretty cute. I just miss that cat sometimes, you know? Maybe he'd get along better with a dog."

Jay O
Oct 9, 2012

being a zombie's not so bad
once you get used to it

newtestleper posted:

You should just edit it into your story. I'm judging this week and I say it's alright.

I accidentally changed your baby's gender, is it okay to restore its infant vagina?

Jay O
Oct 9, 2012

being a zombie's not so bad
once you get used to it

crabrock posted:

don't loving edit your stories you idiots.

Two-gendered baby it is.

Jay O
Oct 9, 2012

being a zombie's not so bad
once you get used to it

newtestleper posted:

Of course, everyone should edit everything all the time! Take it from someone who totally isn't lying about being a judge!

How dare you expect me to re-read the prompt, I barely read it properly the first time.

Yes it is common sense that someone who participated this week wouldn't be judging, shut up, I'm stoned right now. :350:

Jay O
Oct 9, 2012

being a zombie's not so bad
once you get used to it

Sitting Here posted:

I will give ~evil flashrules~ to those who request them, btw

Flash me with malicious intent.

Jay O
Oct 9, 2012

being a zombie's not so bad
once you get used to it

Djeser posted:

this week the villain is me cause i'm out

same, weekend 2 packed, did not anticipate

Jay O
Oct 9, 2012

being a zombie's not so bad
once you get used to it

ravenkult posted:

I can do 600 words. I'm in.

Same! I am grateful for the opportunity to expunge my shame.

Jay O
Oct 9, 2012

being a zombie's not so bad
once you get used to it

FAILURE! BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWL!

Tipped Scales
600 words

"One thousand, two thousand, three thousand..."

I nestled down into my favorite pile of jewels to rest my eyes, while the lanky human raked his fingers through the day's haul. I hated him getting his smell all over the fresh gold like that, but it made him happy to touch it. If he was happy, he wouldn't swing that staff at me anymore. The thin, curved thing made such a horrendous noise when he swung it around, sending violent shivers rippling under my scales and filling my head with hornets until I passed out. Every time I regained consciousness, the stinky human creature would be sliding his way off my neck, so I knew some time must have passed that I could not remember. I should rip him apart for even touching me, much less hypnotizing and riding me. But...

But there was always more gold in my cave when I woke. More gold was good. That made this human both good and bad at once, and I didn't know how to feel about that. So I decided to do nothing for the time being. Before I knew it, seven whole days had passed in this manner, with the pain of the staff overcoming my mind in the morning, a forgotten afternoon, and an evening filled with the scent of fresh gold. This human must know where his fellow humans kept their treasure. I did always have trouble finding it on my own. So this arrangement wasn't so bad.

"This is amazing. Simply incredible. Today, my life begins anew!"

If only my imposed partner could enjoy our spoils with more dignity. How could such a small animal make so much noise? Maybe smaller animals made more noise by their very nature. His horse was quieter than he, and I was quieter than the horse. Speaking of which, I could hear him shoveling something into the nag's saddlebags. My eyes shot open, catching a glimmer of gilded metal as it sank into the animal's pack. The human was already racing back to today's haul, arms outstretched to gather up more of my treasure.

I lifted my head and let out a low rumble. He froze between his horse and my gold.

"Come on, friend. We've been amassing these spoils for a week now. I think one night of carnal pleasures is more than reasonable for all my help. I have to spend a little sometime, right?"

No. More gold is good. Less gold is unacceptable.

He took one timid step closer to the treasure. Embers began to crackle in my chest.

"Don't worry yourself. I can't possibly spend it all."

My eyes twitched back to the horse. There was something familiar bulging at the bottom of one gold-laden saddlebag. It was thin, curved, and emitted a faint hum that sent unmistakable shivers rippling under my scales. My eyes had scarcely returned to the human when he broke into a scramble, now headed straight for his beast of burden.

Fool.

I set the horse ablaze. It screamed and bolted from the cave, hemorrhaging gold with every buck and convulsion on its way out. The human sank to his knees and dug his fingers into his skull comically as the beast disappeared into the forest.

I believe I have lost gold because of you.

He whirled to face me, water pouring out of his grotesque human face.

"I-it can't have gone far. It's already d-dead, I'm sure. I can get it all back for you--"

Yes, it was a bad partnership after all. The human even tasted as bad as he smelled.

Jay O
Oct 9, 2012

being a zombie's not so bad
once you get used to it

Sitting Here posted:

uurrmrmmmmmmm I'm going to have the failbrawl judgment, failbrawl crits, and last week's crits up by Monday. Sorry for the delay, but I predictably procrastinated the writing I toxxed myself to do over in the Long Walk thread. So I kind of need to do that or I'll get banned. Sorry, goons

:negative:

Does that mean you don't want this?

Jay O
Oct 9, 2012

being a zombie's not so bad
once you get used to it

Sitting Here posted:

:siren: failbrawl results and crits, finally :siren:

It's fitting that the failbrawl has a failjudge. Oh well.

The winner, and recipient of the line crit, is Jay O.

Hooray! My first time winning anything of any kind in the Dome! (Including any sort of HM) :derp: I hope I can continue to fail upwards.

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Jay O
Oct 9, 2012

being a zombie's not so bad
once you get used to it

In! But with feeling.

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