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okay i'll orbit
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Nov 30, 2021 02:29
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Orb me!
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Nov 30, 2021 02:30
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if your orb is failing to inspire you ask me for details i know a lot about orbs
crabrock fucked around with this message at 02:36 on Nov 30, 2021 |
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Nov 30, 2021 02:31
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derp posted:okay i'll orbit ok this is a bit uncomfortable but this orb is very nsfw and oh gosh why do wizards do this? :nsfw: https://i.imgur.com/CXdDabK.jpg :nsfw: Carl Killer Miller posted:Orb me!  this is your standard, run-of-the-mill orb, but the wizard who owns it is weird and a normal orb with a weird wizard ends up being a pretty fuckin weird orb
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Nov 30, 2021 02:56
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Nov 30, 2021 03:17
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In
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Nov 30, 2021 04:07
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In.
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Nov 30, 2021 04:14
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Orb me, baby!
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Nov 30, 2021 04:42
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id like one of your finest orbs, good sir
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Nov 30, 2021 04:57
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gently caress it, orb time
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Nov 30, 2021 05:01
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crabrock posted:sign up to receive AN ORB of mystical power or ability. you will write about this orb IN THE LITERAL SENSE. this orb exists in your story and it is a focal point of your story not just sitting on a shelf somewhere. this is a daily-use, utilitarian orb. orbs are like a smart phone for a wizard so yeah they be using that poo poo all the time. some of these orbs are janky ok, don't expect them all to be winners. orb me!!!!!!!!
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Nov 30, 2021 05:08
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Flesnolk posted:
 oh this orb is filled with very nice thoughts and happiness i wonder what kind of spells it can do?  well that doesn't seem good! maybe we just kind of don't pay attention to this orb and hope it goes away? i dunno  an orb you can live in floating above the forest floor? well now i've seen everything! My Shark Waifuu posted:Orb me, baby!  ew gently caress there's totally some sort of gross orb in there. don't take it out! it looks nasty! flerp posted:id like one of your finest orbs, good sir  this is a classic orb that some scientists found or invented, i'm not sure. i hope they figured out how to activate it for good and not evil! Antivehicular posted:gently caress it, orb time  this is a very old orb fossil. how the gently caress does orb fossilize? does it still work? does it know any dinosaurs? ChickenOfTomorrow posted:orb me!!!!!!!!  god dammit, not this poo poo still! i'm getting real sick of this sickness orb and all of its spells like "coughing" and "can't see my friends."
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Nov 30, 2021 06:49
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In. Give me orb or give me death.
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Nov 30, 2021 07:12
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orb
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Nov 30, 2021 08:20
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In
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Nov 30, 2021 09:52
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 well that is pretty weird but i guess maybe it's good for casting traveling spells or maybe the wizard just has a sponsorship, i dunno Captain_Indigo posted:In. Give me orb or give me death.  how about both. this orb's got a bunch of dead trees in it. pretty hosed up cause there's climate change and stuff, those spells aren't needed right now  wtf somebody domesticated all these orbs and has them on some sort orb farm in a forced orb breeding program.
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Nov 30, 2021 11:47
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 inorb me
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Nov 30, 2021 14:49
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In
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Nov 30, 2021 15:06
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In Orb please.
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Nov 30, 2021 17:00
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QuoProQuid posted:
 it is corb  nope. gently caress that, i'm out. i'm done. scrap it, this one's trash. Idle Amalgam posted:In Orb please.  
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Nov 30, 2021 18:24
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In.
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Nov 30, 2021 19:17
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Flesnolk posted:
No. You may not post in this thread unless it's a redemption for a previous failure. If you post anything other than a redemption it's a ban. You are free to post a redemption AND an entry, since you've already signed up, but your next post in this thread must include a redemption. If you have questions contact me directly. I'll be back to actually read the thread and do judge stuff after i pump out the last bit of my NaNo 
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Nov 30, 2021 22:19
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crimea posted:In. good news, the boys down in orb R&D just sent me the specs for the cutting edge orb, hope you like it 
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Dec 1, 2021 03:17
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In.
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Dec 1, 2021 04:12
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Taletel posted:In.  how embarrassing, this lady done got her head stuck in the orb. i hope that doesn't interfere with the spells!
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Dec 1, 2021 05:02
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Get me IN on some sweet Orb Pondering, CrustaceanStone
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Dec 1, 2021 05:20
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J.A.B.C. posted:Get me IN on some sweet Orb Pondering, CrustaceanStone  oh gently caress it's a plasma orb, probably the most dangerous weapon known to wizards. only the strongest wizard would dare have one of these in his bedroom
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Dec 1, 2021 07:21
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Crits for Week #486 Chili - Out of many, one: Yyyyeahhhh I’m not critting this piece. It’s deeply personal, meaningful, with an honestly beautiful ending. I enjoyed reading it and I’m sure Lupin will, too. SurreptitiousMuffin - Augur in Red: This is beautifully written, and one of the many almost-HMs in a week where there was really nothing between half the field. The second person works well. The cyclical story works well. I can’t really fault anything in this story besides wishing, perhaps unreasonably, that there was something more to it than the mood and beauty of it all. There’s a clear dynamic between the characters, and there’s a steady progression through the story as the protagonist comes to embody the same traits they’ve been running from, but the ending seems to land with inevitability rather than any real impact. I would have liked to see a hint of motivation beyond “this will not do”. Amars - Farm Road 50: Welcome to the Thunderdome! First: there have been worse first stories, and far worse stories to take the loss before this, so I hope you’re not too discouraged. This loss is more a testament to how strong the rest of this week was. Your prose is solid enough, and I can see you’ve put in the effort, so I hope you stick around and learn the ways of the dome. Okay, nice words over, this is still Thunderdome, and the dome craves blood: Starting a story with two paragraphs of exposition isn’t great, especially when none of it comes back to pay off in any way. You might think you need all this for us to get up to speed, and there’s a definite balance between telling the readers too much and having us not know what’s going on, but if we just focus on the story at hand — teenagers (?) faking a video, one wants to impress a girl, and then they’re chased off — we don’t need to know anything about parties or Native American princesses or thieves. Unfortunately, there’s not a whole lot else to the story. Which might be fine, if the characters themselves were really fleshed out, but there’s not much to them either. Jan doesn’t feel comfortable in front of the camera, Lou’s trying to impress Jan, Carson … doesn’t really stand out in any way. If you’re not going down the path of having the Spook Light pay off as some real thing, you could easily throw in some kind of love triangle, where maybe Carson’s trying to set this up to scare Lou and win Jan over, but it backfires somehow. I wrote a little bit more about this story in my crit of crabrock’s story, too. Sailor Viy - Last Call in Para-Space: Yeah, this is exactly my brand of bullshit. It’s almost impressive how committed this story is to throwing as much science fiction at us as it can and just making us deal with it. Paraspace? Axiomatic fields? Causality Control? Sure, why the gently caress not. For the most part, this audaciousness works. And it works because at the heart of the story there’s still a character with desires, and tension, and ultimately a terrible decision to make. The problem is that, when you begin to rely on worldbuilding to create actual dramatic tension, it doesn’t have nearly as much impact as it otherwise might. eg, when you have an entire line dedicated to Axiomatic in a tone that’s clearly meant to be a reveal but which just had me wondering what that meant. Would this have worked better if it was something slightly less world-buildy, eg, ‘Quantum’? Maybe. Honestly, I think you could have cut this “reveal” out entirely and had the same effect — we can tell she’s worked something out, even if we don’t understand what it is yet. Anyway, I thoroughly enjoyed this story, because of course I did. Possibly a touch too much worldbuilding, but solid characterisation and a tense narrative worked in its favour. Honestly, I thought the most unrealistic part of all this was that future spaceship people would have access to Hibiki 17… Tyrannosaurus - Save the Date - 666: I really wanted to like this story, but unfortunately there were too many things going against it and not a whole lot working in its favour. There’s a fun concept and good characterisation throughout, but the story itself just feels too familiar. There’s a bit of hope halfway through when the demon misunderstands her intentions, but that’s wrapped up almost immediately and then the story drives straight through toward an ending that’s telegraphed by the title. Also, the jokes about hipster cafes feel dated, and take me out of the story a bit, since I’m never quite clear if this apocalypse actually had any consequences for the characters. Beyond that, the number of typos just made it feel like you were phoning in a first draft this week, and in a week with so many strong stories not getting a HM, it didn’t feel right passing this as a no-mention. I wrote a little bit more about this story in my crit of crabrock’s story, too. Carl Killer Miller - The Culture: Yep, this is a solid, satisfying story, with clear characters, motivations, an arc, and a good use of the song prompt. My one concern about the story is that, short of loving everything up, I’m not sure what role the protagonist was supposed to play in the Crucible’s development. You segue straight from Arixis saying their role is to not interfere, into an explanation of why the layperson is there to add diversity to the Crucible’s development. Is their role to record their own results against the experiments? Or does a layperson somehow set up the trials differently? The man called M - Love Peace and Hasslehoff: First, it’s Hasselhoff. Second, I think my biggest problem with this story is that everything’s just too convenient. Which doesn’t feel right for a story in the final years of the Berlin wall. I would have thought that an East German teenager winning tickets in a radio concert to see David Hasselhoff in France would face more difficulties in making the trip — even if such a trip were technically possible, my expectations as a reader are that it wouldn’t be as straightforward as you’re making it out to be. This convenience also comes into play at the end, where some West German soldiers just happen to know a soldier she met years earlier. (Was there really only one Henrik in the West German army?) All that aside, it’s a lovely little idea for a romance story, and David Hasselhoff provides a nice levity to the backdrop of the Cold War. It’s still written very matter-of-fact, this happened then this happened then this happened, and I think trying to cover three years of history, a love story, and German reunification in a thousand words was probably too ambitious to let any of the elements properly breathe. Idle Amalgam - Left Behind: I don’t think this story needed the ending it got. It doesn’t add anything to the story that came before, and it doesn’t change our own understanding of what happened in the way it apparently does Jimmy’s. It feels almost like this should, structurally, be a reveal to the reader that it was a suicide cult all along, but (thankfully) there was never any doubt in the reader’s mind until this point. There’s some dark humour in Jimmy going to all this effort and then loving up by not doing his own part, but it’s not really enough to carry this piece. I’m really not sure what story you were intending to tell here, to be honest — there’s potential in “someone fucks up suicide cult ritual” as a set-up to a story, but here it feels like that’s as far as you take it. Captain_Indigo - The Lifegiving Powers of Water and Womanhood: This is one of the many stories where it would be improved so easily by cutting the first four-hundred words or so. Once it hits its stride it’s a fun, energetic read — but until then, we’re asked to read about a character we don’t know or care about waking up and having a rough go of it. With some judicious re-structuring, you could even start it with “Enitan loved her space walking outfit” since it’s where the story properly starts. A fascist space-helmet modded to include a pink skull is some proper punk-rock character building that serves as effective shorthand for her character and the tone of the piece, and doesn’t deserve to be buried so far into the story. Beyond that, as before, it’s fun and the characters are all realised nicely, but it does feel as if you ran out of words toward the end and had to rush a conclusion to the fight. (The actual ending bit I don’t have a problem with.) Again, cutting more from the beginning would serve you well here, and help you find a resolution a bit less convenient than the Pharaoh spotting a joint on the floor. Thranguy - Girlfriend from Another Dimension: This is a lovely story, and if its first half were as strong as it second half, it could have nabbed a HM. Unfortunately it starts off unnecessarily vague and confusing, throwing us terms like ur-memes and Antibor and Thirdspace. Things like this work in Viy’s story because they don’t really influence our understanding of the setting or the characters, but here I really feel like I’m missing out on something. It probably doesn’t bode well for one of us that I feel I’m failing some sort of written comprehension test. quote:It started with her commenting on one of the Glory ur-memes. You know the one, her with that skinny glass scimitar coming up out of the grass and looking like a hundred percent stone goddess. 'The exact moment when you know / that you're going to horny jail'. Of course it mostly wasn't the text. It was the picture itself, that first moment of believing. Seeing her, not the character but the actress, that much pretty and sexy and pure charisma in a single still, with no hint of the uncanny, and knowing that if this person existed in our dimension everyone would know her name. Once it hits its stride, though, this story is really quite lovely, though I’ve always been a sucker for these sorts of inter-dimensional romance plots. I was honestly anticipating the ending going worse for J.L., and I’m kind of glad it didn’t, though I’m again wondering if I’m missing something meaningful with the repeated “Would” or if that’s just the characterisation. crabrock - Sympathological Joy: Okay, this crit is for the other authors this week as much as it’s for crabrock. I’ve criticised a few stories this week for taking an idea and running it through to its natural conclusion. T-Rex wrote a story about a girl wanting demon dick, she got demon dick. Amars wrote a story about teenagers filming a hoax video and hoping they didn’t get interrupted, they got interrupted. The problem here is that as a reader, I want to be both surprised by how the story progresses, but I also don’t want to be disappointed when the story doesn’t meet my expectations, which can be a difficult balance — it’s easy to surprise a reader, it’s a lot harder to surprise a reader while keeping true to the story’s promise. (See also Week 482, which relied entirely on getting this balance right, and which crabrock also won.) Where this story succeeds is by taking an idea — a man wants to keep his partner warm by secretly implanting hairs on her body — and unflinchingly following it through to its natural conclusion, escalating the events on the way. It’s not that the idea itself is pretty crazy (though it is) and more that the ending feels inevitable but not predictable. On reflection, I think this is largely due to the character driving the story, and us watching them make the decisions that lead to the conclusion. Perhaps T-Rex’s story would have felt less predictable if we’d begun with the character trying to find a match on Tinder, before deciding to swipe right on a demon. Perhaps Amar’s story would have worked better if Lou had done something unplanned to try and impress Jan, which led to the landowner noticing them. In those, the conclusions would have naturally followed from the inciting incidents, as opposed to their current form where they feel more pre-ordained. Anyway. This is a good story. I don’t get the whole bit at the start, but maybe I’m missing something. I’m also not entirely convinced we needed the undercurrent of societal collapse, which was also a recurring theme this week for some reason. I was wondering if this might pay off in the end somehow, but it doesn’t hurt the story either way. Specific crits, I wasn’t sold on the character killing the rats first, and then making mention of how they bit him if he tried while they were still alive. I figure that would work better in reverse — he tries while they’re alive, then resorts to killing them. Also not entirely convinced about the pacing of her transformation — howling in the shower works since that’s ambiguous enough, but “hissing at me like a cornered possum” is a bit too on-the-nose and doesn’t track with her still being lucid enough to do internet research (lol like you need to be lucid to do that).
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Dec 2, 2021 03:21
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Crits for Week #486 A couple words in advance: despite this being my theme, I don’t care if your story doesn’t fit the song (or I can’t figure out how it does). In the instances I did figure it out I’ll point it out, and in some cases it might have helped, but I’m not going to tell someone they interpreted a song wrong. Also half of these crits were written on my phone, one handed, with a sick kid in the other hand, so apologies for typos, etc. Chili - Out of many, one: You already know this, but I’m not touching your story. In many ways this is easily the winner as, unlike every other story this week (whether good or bad), you wrote this for you, out of a unique circumstance, capturing a precious moment that now lives with all of us forever. As such, this is perfect, and far be it for me to critique it, judge it, or even consider it as some form of competition. Congrats again, Lupin should be proud. SurreptitiousMuffin - Augur in Red: This would have been my second Honorable Mention, and I debated it as the only honorable mention. It’s beautifully written, it makes great use of the second person, it fits your song, and if we really were making a music videoI think your story works best in that regard, telling a short moody piece in the three minutes the song plays. That said, while you nail the mood of the piece, it still feels like something is missing to draw us in. After the first paragraph I wasn’t really sure I cared who “you” was hiding from, and in many ways the story told the same idea multiple times: they do X, so I do Y, and so they do Z, so I do A, and they do B, etc. Again, it’s beautifully written, but in some ways it felt more like an exercise than a story. To stick with the music theme, this read like a world-class musician practicing scales. The technical ability is apparent, but it was missing the hook and passion of an actual song. This was probably the hardest critique I had to write, because it was also the story I was most divided on when we were judging. It’s excellent, and it’s missing something, and I lack the ability to explain it any better than I already have. Also read Thran’s crit for a bit more. Amars - Farm Road 50: This is ten times better than my first entry (also a well deserved loss). It also is a story that doesn’t go anywhere. You have this build up with these folk tales about the ghost light, and for me they were much more interesting than everything that happened after your characters called cut on the scene. Even if this had been 1000 words of what the Ghost Light might have been I would have enjoyed it more. As it stands, we get this nice intro and then nothing really happens. We never know what these characters think about the folklore - are they really into ghost stories, are they super cynics trying to prove the believers as dumb, or are they just jaded college kids trying to complete an assignment? There is some subtle flirting between two of the crew that goes nowhere. A farmer shows up with a gun, which fires!, and nothing really happens. Then someone pisses themselves and I guess that is the end? You had something cool in the beginning, but it felt like everything fizzled out the minute you character said “Good Enough?” Sailor Viy - Last Call in Para-Space: There very easily could have been four or five honorable mentions this week, and your story would have been one of them. There were also four or five stories this week that started out rough and then won me over, and your story is one of them. So, I think you nail the feel of this piece. The music references, the Hibiki, the laid back coolness of your protagonist: I get it, and I am all in on it. However, I have no idea what axiomatic is other than “something important” and using it as the ah-ha! moment just doesn’t work. You could have cut out half the sci-fi jargon and we would still get the point. “Luckily, Sarnelia Vance doesn’t make mistakes” is a sentence that I did not need, you already set it up with the first paragraph. Piloting through wormholes, listening to Surfing, sipping Hibiki - I get it, we have a cool character on our hands. That said, for me this was a “hang out” story. I enjoyed spending time with your protagonist in their world. I want to know more Sarnelia stories (I suppose prequels), and I can’t say that for many of the other stories. You nail the atmosphere and the cool, and I can picture this in my head as something broadcast on a screen during a Peggy Gou show. The biggest problem your story had was that there was a wealth of good stories this week. If this wasn’t my first time judging I might have had the balls to hand out multiple HMs, you would have one. Tyrannosaurus - Save the Date - 666: Part of the reason this got a DM was that we had four or five stories that arguably should have had an HM, and felt that putting those stories and yours all as no mentions didn’t seem right. Also up front: this story oozes of raw talent, which means I was absolutely judging you on a harsher curve than some of the other entries. It probably isn’t fair, but what about art and judging has anything to do with fairness? The good: the front half of this story made me laugh. I also liked that you said you used all three songs. You have a great voice for your protagonist, and the writing feels effortless (which again probably hurt you here). I also enjoyed the peripheral glimpse you provided into an apocalypse. The bad: This felt one note, and in many ways too tame. If I’m taking this literally, and your protagonist wants to get one last bang during the apocalypse, to the point where they are willing to gently caress a demon, then I guess I’m expecting some Hellraiser levels of depravity. Getting a good dicking is fine, but a good dicking can come from many things. What is it specifically about a demon, or the apocalypse, that made it so good that you are getting married on 6/6/6? Give us less, trusting our imagination, or give us more, trusting our, well, gently caress it just titilating us. As it stands I read this as a disney teen version of what could have been a scandalous, depraved steamy romance. Or something that got rushed, considering the typos and all. In a fair world this is a no mention. But your reputation, and your obvious talent, and the multiple other strong entries did you no favors this week. Carl Killer Miller - The Culture: “I selected a particularly brutal track and prepared to key it to my aural implants.” I was on my phone, sitting on the couch, the first time I read this sentence and the rest of your description of the song. I laughed loud enough that my partner thought I was making fun of her for something. Up until that line, though, and I had serious issues with your story. Or not even issues so much as I had no way in. You threw a LOT of “sci-fi words” at us up front, and coupled with an unknown in the crucible it was a rough start, and it was hard to find anything to pull me into the world you were building. But that all changed with the music player fiasco. Your characters went from being described as having traits to portrating traits. You stopped telling us and allowed us to experience first hand who these characters were, and understand the situation they were in, and understand both the boredom that would lead to smuggling in a music player and the anger that would result from someone destroying a month of tedious experiments (and possibly death from messing things up, which I guess you hint around but honestly isn’t necessary - your story didn’t need exaggerated stakes, a month of wasted work is enough). In the end, you left us with a well paced story, where characters react with genuine emotions to a realistic event, and then respond to those reactions in a realistic fashion. There is growth, and change, in each of your characters, and it all feels natural. As a plus, I have no idea how much inspiration you took from your song, but your story and the song feel simpatico to me (I really don’t know an english word that works as well as simpatico). You won me over, and truly deserve your HM. Also, for the record, I had no idea what the lyrics were to your song before I found the youtube video I linked. I still don’t know if I know that the hell that song was about. The man called M - Love Peace and Hasslehoff: First question: HOW THE gently caress DID SHE LEAVE EAST BERLIN? I was all ready for a cool story about being smuggled out of the city, past the guards and the checkpoints, just to get a chance to see her hero perform. But you managed that in a sentence. In your story, riding the tube in London is a much more hazardous journey than trying to leave communist controlled Berlin. To get the bad out of the way: your story tries to tell way too much, skips over the fun parts (escaping the city, the thrill of the concert) and spends way too much time on completely irrelevant parts (rapey dudes on the tube). You tell us SO MANY TIMES that your characters are from Germany. ““I’m fine.” Emma responded in German.” No poo poo, the woman who has never left East Berlin who meets another German responded in German? “Emma asked, wondering if it would be wise to go with a complete stranger. A handsome stranger, but a stranger, nonetheless.” Is he a stranger? There are multiple instances where you hit us over the head with the same thing, repeatedly, like this. Or state something obvious, that we could get from the remaining words you use such as: “They mentioned how the Berlin Wall made things inconvenient at best, and hostile at worst” (and then spend a paragraph describing those issues that you just told us about in this very unnecessary sentence). But, all that aside, we all absolutely saw you trying with this story. You have characters, that have wants, and have obstacles they need to overcome to achieve those wants. I think all of the problems I pointed out above come from you trying to strengthen your story. You have obviously read your previous critiques and put serious thought into how to improve. It shows. I’m far from an expert in writing, and a pale shadow to some of the talent that exists in the TD world, but even I can see how much work you put into this. In the end, despite all the issues, it wasn’t boring and there is definitely a good story ready to be unearthed here as you continue to build your skills. Idle Amalgam - Left Behind: Many of the stories this week started out rough and finished strong. Your story did the opposite: I was totally on board with the first half, up through your protagonist’s realization that they hosed up and forgot to take their pills. The second half, though, honestly just felt like you ran out of time and it got rushed. I think there is a cool idea about watching your protagonist fight their slow recognition that it was all a hoax, but you didn’t have enough words, or enough time, to nail that ending. I don’t think your story was meant to be some sort of twist reveal to the audience, but I definitely felt reading it that you were able to write the first two thirds, then edit them, but had to rush the ending to submit it for the deadline. Trust me, I’ve been there, and assuming that is correct you pulled it off way better than I have. But it went from an interesting premise to a muddy finish, and you got unlucky to be surrounded by a bunch of really strong entries this week. However, it was a cool song choice and I definitely see the inspiration, so well done on that front. Captain_Indigo - The Lifegiving Powers of Water and Womanhood: The entire waking from deep sleep, and puking, needs to go. This is a long story, and a story where you rush the ending (which, spoilers, is the best part). Who cares if your protagonist was in stasis, or had to wake up, or what it was like waking up. She could have just woken up normally to her ghost man, ate some (mouthwateringly described) food and smoked a fatty in a hundred words, rather than wasting like a third of the story on it. You could also probably trim a lot of fat on discovering the floating pyramid. She could wake up, get lit, marvel at something cool, and then be off to a payday. Your prose is descriptive enough that I totally got the idea of a floating pyramid, which is cool. Sentences like “Through the viewing window, it was an impressive edifice” are just overkill. Likewise, you probably could cut one-third of the time spent in the horror-Pharoh scenes. We get it, dude is all-powerful, it’s scary, she is hosed. Judicious editing, even a few words here and there, would keep the tension but also improve the pacing without sacrificing any detail: you have the ability to say a lot with very little, but it feels like you aren’t aware of how descriptive your words are in this story. This probably sounds like nit-picking, and it is, because you had a great story buried under a few too many words here. Another day, another round of editing, and this is competing for a win. You got a hard as balls song for inspiration and knocked it out of the park (even down to incorporating the album name). The ending great: an eons dead pharoh and a badass space cowboy toking up and getting into poo poo could be the start of a great series of adventures, and I wish we spent twice as long with those characters. Again, absent a wealth of strong entries and this would have been an HM. Or a little more time and a little more editing and this is an HM. But it was a fun read, and I truly enjoyed it. Thranguy - Girlfriend from Another Dimension: The idea of an “honorable HM for best inspiration” also came up during judging. There were seriously four or five stories we considered for an HM, so debated just granting one from pure song inspiration. If we ran with it, you would have been in the running. The reason I didn’t go with it was that Muffin’s story would also have been in the running and I couldn’t decide between you two. So, right off the bat: hearing Bat Fangs and coming up with an alternate dimension that rooted out of the 80s was pure gold and a perfect way to take inspiration from the feel of the song rather than the literal lyrics or, I don’t know, whatever. The problem, though, is that your story didn’t really start working for me until you brought up the 80s dimension riff. Those first nearly 800 words: a lot of sci-fi terms and descriptions of people communicating online. Not to sound cliched, but I was bored with the story, then you let in on the 80s alt dimension reveal, and I say up straight and truly started to engage with your story. And while the kernel of inspiration from that alt dimension is what made me sit up, it was your characters that kept me in. They came alive after that, started acting, with desires, as opposed to existing with pre-conceived histories. I didn’t expect a happy ending (?) for your protagonist, but I am happy we got one. Or at least the possibility of one. The first half of your story felt like you were worried we wouldn’t understand things, going into overdrive describing every little thing (even things that had a new sci-fi name for something we already could figure out). The second half trusts us, allows us to read between the lines with your characters, and has faith in your story to leave the ending open to possibilities. In a way the halves of your story are similar to the worlds they describe: two alternate dimensions, but only one I want to exist in. crabrock - Sympathological Joy: You make your protagonist believably caring despite being despicable. Yes, it’s a well written story. It’s disgusting without being a gross-out. It’s set in an apocalypse that is only hinted at but somehow adds to the unworldliness of the domestic situation. To steal from Chili, it’s ultimately a story of the “don’t touch the thermostat” dad. But god drat your protagonist is just fully realized. He is hot, grumpy, and covered in hair. He is also loving, protective, and cares for his wife and her well-being. Everything, from making hot chocolate to re-pelting his wife stems from these very simple, but fully illustrated, character traits. I honestly don’t have anything more I can say about it - you take us through a fantastic journey that we never question because the character and his desires are so clearly set forth and so believably relied upon as the onus of all the action in the story. It is one hell of a feat. All three of us had independently identified it as our runaway favorite this week, and I don’t think anyone even broached an alternative choice for the win. Voodoofly fucked around with this message at 07:50 on Dec 2, 2021 |
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Dec 2, 2021 07:16
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Orb me
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Dec 3, 2021 22:29
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Give me would like 1 (one) orb, pleases
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Dec 4, 2021 03:05
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Dr. Kloctopussy posted:Orb me  this frog is very nice and friendly and carries around this orb Uranium Phoenix posted:Give me would like 1 (one) orb, pleases oh no, a bird got stuck in this orb and his friends can't get him out. are the birds the wizards or just pets or what? anxious over here https://imgur.com/xBbkuMo
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Dec 4, 2021 06:07
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Signups are closed! thank god this week the shame of failing to submit is temporarily rescinded.
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Dec 4, 2021 09:03
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rohan posted:Crits for Week #486 Voodoofly posted:Crits for Week #486 man gently caress this weak rear end horseshit i'll crit this motherfucker's story Out of many, one couldn't even do it in latin, huh? 983 Words My hopes and dreams, borne of my tradition and the ancestors before me, how wonderful they are. With the permission of my teachers and the community, I endow you with heritage and the sanctity of the responsibility to carry it forward. You needn’t worry about direction; you already have it. Blessed are you my little one with the sort of guidance and restrictions that will free you from the prison of choice that will detain so many of your generation. We will take a part of your body to remind you that nothing is yours. RIP HIS DICK You are a person of God. Our people belong to God. Stay in the faith, stay for our people. I see you reaching for that candy but we cannot have that candy. wait really? We can’t have the candy because we’re different, we’re special, we’re chosen god called he wanted me to let you know you forgot to put a period here Our people are chosen. So, put it back, and put it back with pride in knowing that you made that choice. You made that right choice. A choice to embolden yourself and your people. Our people. I see you cracked the code. Yes, your friends go to school for three hours less than you do each day. But what do you suppose they do with that time? I know what you’d do with it. You’d squander it. You’d play your games, you’d watch your shows, you’d indulge in choice. Choices that remind you of the temptations that await if you stray from our people. bro how good is this candy? But, perhaps you’re right, I can’t stop you. Sit down with me, I found a school that’s far away, a school for our people, let me show you. This school will be the best thing for you, and for our people. A graduate, so proud, now, don’t stray from this path, it is the path that guarantees you success and acceptance. You will be loved, just stay here. That girl is nice, yes, but she is not one of us. So, she must not be allowed to be with us. It might seem cruel but you haven’t yet understood the cruelty our people have endured. This is a cost. A cost she won’t ever understand, and perhaps you don’t for now, but you’ll have to trust me. I’m doing the right thing. My friends have ensure haha that's a drink for old people (also you forgot the d) me, I am doing the right thing. I understand it’s time to move along, comma splice I always knew this day would come, but California? So far? Go, I suppose, I just thought family meant more to you than this. I feel dizzy. show don't tell I just thought things would be different. You’ll go, but you’ll come back. gently caress YOU NO I WON'T, MOM Until you do, I don’t want to hear from you. You’re with those people now. We’ll be waiting when you’re ready to come back to ours. So glad you’re back. Who is this you’re bringing to us? With a last name and a nose like that, lol this feels stereotypey and offensive but who am i to say that's not what you've actually heard she can’t be one of us. We won’t let her be one of us. Don’t you want to be one of us? One of us? One of us? Think of our people, our people, think of our people. They’re your people. i don't get the repetition here or what it's supposed to convey. also what of this girl? is it a serious thing or what? Thank you for inviting us to your home, but, oh and I hope this is some mistake. I noticed some items in your pantry. They must be hers. Oh, they are yours? I suppose this is an interesting phase for you to go through. this seems like a weird order. he's found out that his son is deep dickin' this hot gentile but then is like "oh poo poo, a fuckin pepperoni pizza?" what's the order of sins here? Interesting phase. It’s very interesting. Please, don’t tell any of your friends about these changes. God forbid these details find their way to their parents and then back to us. We’ve suffered enough, our people have suffered enough. Please, let us know when it’s over? Our people miss you. They’re your people too. Is it over? Is any of it over? Please. Tell her to leave and clean your house. Get it out, get it all out and get all of those people out. Don’t you know what you have? What we’ve done for you? Look at what’s here for you if you just come back to our people. We can’t possibly attend your wedding, but you knew that right? You know that we had to talk to our leader about you, right? Oh such shame even coming to him as we did. We had to ask for office hours at his house for fear of people seeing us getting support in such a way. He told us to keep you close in spite of all of this but he’s just doing his best to be kind. Our people, please think of our people. This hurts our people. And now this, the biggest betrayal of all. A betrayal too harsh to comprehend. Do you really want your son to not be like you? To not be like our people? Our people. Think of our people. How can we live down the shame? Oh, the ugly, thoughtless choice you’re making. save that dick Haven’t we done right by you? By our people? We kept you close, we kept you on the path. You strayed at times, but always found your way back. But this? Generations and generations that came before you. Do you reject all of their wisdom? The wisdom of our people. I guess you know better, or at least, we’ll have to hope that you do. That you know better than our people. We can tell you we’ll pray, and hope, and believe but we know what that means to you. So what? What are we supposed to do for our people? a little repetative with the "our people" bit, could add some more around it to space/pad it out a bit. repetition should hit to link thoughts, not simply be repetitive to drive the same point home harder ***** My person, my own person. You are perfect and I will take nothing from you. You will be labored by choice, freedom, pain, and consequence. What choices you make will be yours and they will be met with acceptance. You’ll careen through life and stumble. When you do, I will be here, because you are my person. I hope I get this right; please tell me when I don’t. that's good i guess but def reads like a humblebrag --------------------- ngl the first few paragraphs got me lol. i was like "oh gently caress chili leaning hard into this stuff." glad to see it went the other way whew. but the dad became a bit of a caricature, which while probably taken straight from things you've actually experienced, don't necessarily translate well to a story. you could tone him down a bit, make his disappointment a bit more subtle, a bit more manipulative and hard to say YES THIS IS DEFINITELY BAD. that would hit harder. maybe have some bits in there where the son is obviously conflicted. right now it seems like he's like "gently caress you dad i'm doing everything the wrong way!" and i would guess there would be more guilt there and whatnot. from a story perspective. the last little bit is out of place and maybe you could thematically have the dad commenting on the birth of the grandson and the other stuff. maybe he hears of it or something. anyway, those other judges were cowards THIS STORY SUCKS, D- crabrock fucked around with this message at 10:26 on Dec 4, 2021 |
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Dec 4, 2021 10:22
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Alright, fine. Let no one say I shirk my responsibilities as judge. Chili - Out of many, one: Okay, obviously this was written in a very specific context, and when first judging this week I think we all took that into account and gave it a pass from any real criticism. That’s not fair to you as a writer and it’s not fair to your story. That said, this really is a story that lives or dies by that context. Coming to this fresh, doing the whole Barthes death of the author thing, I’m not sure there’s as much to this story. What it lacks is a certain specificity to elevate this above my own (admittedly, incredibly generalised) understanding of your cultural background. And this is only because I know enough about you, personally, that I can recognise the subtext. I don’t know if your intention was to make it as general and oblique as possible in order to make it resonate more universally, but I feel the story would be stronger with some specific cultural signifiers or emotional beats. Beyond that, I’m also not convinced by the ending, which would probably work better if there were some motif from the beginning of the story you were able to echo or invert in this conclusion. (Again, the specificity would work wonders here.) I’m also, frankly, a bit confused as to the delivery of this narrative, which is … what, part epistolary and part monologue? This didn’t bother me on a first read, because at the time I’m happy to just accept this disembodied voice as existing in some context, but perhaps it would work better with some sort of defined framing.
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Dec 4, 2021 12:14
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Thank you both so much!
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Dec 4, 2021 13:32
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Rosewood 1300 words Gross nature orb Though she’d spent weeks of research and hours of slogging through the swamp to reach this point, Rose hesitated when it came time to claim the omni-seed orb. “I can give it to you,” the skunk plant said in a whispery voice, “on two conditions: one, you use its power to stop humans from hurting the plants in this forest. Two, you give me your heart.” Was the price too high? Her heart for the unlimited power of the omni-seed to create plant life? She was tempted to simply return to her position as a research assistant. But then she remembered the sweaty hours spent searching for rare plants for the phytomancers to study. She remembered each time the other expedition members ignored her suggestions. Most painfully, she recalled the handsome face of Sorrel, the expedition leader, looking through her in a way that was both casual and devastating, like walking through a spider web. No, her heart wasn’t doing her any good anyway. “There’s no going back,” the plant warned, but Rose had decided. “I accept.” The plant unfurled its purple-green leaves, revealing the pale spiked orb. She cast a spell ensuring her survival, then reached into her chest and pulled out her still-beating heart. Her hands trembling, she replaced the omni-seed orb in the plant’s cupped leaves. The leaves closed around her heart protectively and Rose placed the seed within her chest. Green power surged through her like an orgasm. She gasped as her lungs suddenly rejected the oxygen within them, craving carbon dioxide instead. But when she touched the ground, she found she could summon any plant, from common grass to the rarest flowers. She smiled and surrounded the skunk plant with forget-me-nots in thanks. “You’re welcome,” the plant said. “Now, remember the first condition.” Rose was already gone, giant lily pads supporting her across the swamp. # Upon returning to the research group’s camp in an old logging site, the first thing she did was impress them by growing a mango tree in full bloom. Marigold and Ash congratulated her on the spell while harvesting the fruit, but Sorrel demanded to know how she’d gained this power. Proudly, she explained how she’d found the fabled omni-seed, though she didn’t mention the price she’d paid. Sorrel looked at her as if seeing her for the first time, and the next day, when she suggested testing a tiger orchid for transfigurative properties, he actually listened to her. Rose’s ability to summon plants naturally accelerated their research, and the other phytomancers started treating her with the appropriate respect. Rose enjoyed her new position, but soon found that the omni-seed’s power came with side effects. Every morning she had to fight her way out of the creeping figs that she summoned in her sleep. Her hair turned green and flattened, like pine needles, and instead of eating she now got her energy from standing in the sun. More unexpected were the emotional changes. Before she’d been a meek research assistant; now, she insisted on being involved in everyone’s projects. She pursued her own research-- plant-fungus symbiosis-- aggressively, often getting Marigold or Ash to assist her. They were happy enough to do so, as her favor meant getting plants to study. She quickly took over their projects as well, steering them towards plant husbandry rather than essence extraction. Sorrel disapproved but was powerless to stop her. Rose noticed that she didn’t desire his attention anymore; she didn’t need a man to spread her seed far and wide. However, when Ash, attracted to her new assertiveness, started flirting with her, she did not hesitate to take him into her tent. Finally, after Rose had insisted that Marigold spend the day planting hundreds of palm tree seeds, Sorrel approached her. “Rose, we need to talk,” he said. Stinging nettles sprang up at her feet. “Your powers are impressive, but I’m not sure they’re a good fit for the research team anymore.” “Why? Haven’t I saved you hours of searching for your orchids?” “Yes, but, you’re … demanding. You’ve got your vines around every tree here, figuratively and literally.” Rose sent roots into the ground, bracing for an argument. Then, the forest attacked. Thorny vines ripped into their tents, shredding fabric and research notes. Ash shot fire at the ground, saving Marigold from roots that attempted to drag her into the dirt. Sorrel cast a protective shield around them. “Rose, cut it out!” he yelled at her. “It’s not me!” The attacking plants were avoiding her, but she couldn’t control them either. A thick branch shot out from nowhere, impaling Ash. Marigold screamed and cast a spell, severing the branch from the tree. Red, human blood spurted out of the tree’s stump, drenching the area. They all froze. “I’ve never seen anything like it,” Sorrel said, wide-eyed. But Rose had an idea of what had happened. She ran through the forest, plants parting for her, back to the swamp. # Instead of the small skunk plant, she found a gigantic corpse flower, smelling like death itself. “What have you done with my heart?” she demanded. “You again,” said the plant. “I traded it away for this.” It shook its frilly leafy skirt. “You like it?” Rose did not. With a snarl, she covered the flower in parasitic moss. “Tell me where it is.” The plant puffed out its foul odor, causing her to stumble away. “I gave it to the King of the Forest. The omni-seed was his, of course. Go take it up with him, if a human like you can even find him.” “Oh, I will.” Rose set off deeper into the forest than she’d ever gone. New types of plants pulled at her attention, but all she had to see was the blood running under the plants’ green skins for her to remember her purpose. She began to sense the orb in her chest pulling her forward, and she followed it. It led her to the King of the Forest. He was an unnaturally tall rosewood tree, towering alone in a clearing. Wildflowers singing with bees surrounded him and the rarest orchids clung to his trunk. He was beautiful; all thoughts of forcing him to do anything withered. “I was told you have my heart,” she said humbly. “And you have my omni-seed. Yet you have not upheld your end of the bargain,” the King rumbled. His voice shook her bones. Rose shrank from his disapproval but defended herself. “The wizards stopped harming plants, I summoned what they needed instead.” “Yes, but there are more humans.” the King said. “The loggers who cut my teak trees. The poachers who set fires to flush their prey. No, you failed, but the skunk plant gave me the key to stopping them myself.” “By killing humans?” “Humans have killed plants long enough.” Rose couldn’t argue with that, but she still felt responsible for her species. “Give me another chance. Stop attacking humans and I will convince them to stop attacking the forest.” “You have said that before. I need more from you now.” He already had her heart, what more did he want? Rose felt a little daisy grow up to brush her hand. Smiling, she summoned more flowers to join it. She sensed the King’s pleasure, and she knew what to do. What he wanted was what she wanted. “I will travel the forest, repairing any damage done by humans with new growth,” she said, daisies winding around her fingers. “I will be your Queen. Defender of the forest.” “Finally, you understand the purpose of the omni-seed,” the King said. “I accept. Now, begin with those wizards. They must learn to grow their own plants rather than raid my forest.” Rose kissed her King and returned to the humans, new life sprouting in her wake.
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Dec 5, 2021 07:37
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That night I called you 1500 words (posting early for +200) “I woke at 2:22 AM on my 30th birthday with sudden clarity. Moonlight spilled over the bed, illuminating the hairy, muscular curves of my husband's arm on the sheet, like some fleshy creature crouching on him. I could not hear him breathing. I heard nothing but a low hum that seemed to come from inside my skull. Everything was floating and blue, as if the room rested in hardening resin. I sat up and the covers fell from my naked body. I never slept naked back then, and I did not remember doing so that night. I only remembered reading in the recliner in the living room, then cut to moonlight. “I got out of bed and stood next to the window. The garden glittered with dew like diamonds refracting the moonlight. The violets burst with blue energy like butane flame. I couldn’t look away. The hum was louder, and now sounded like singing, one perpetual note in a soft tenor. I pressed my nose to the glass and felt the vibrating hum of the song against my face. Then I was sliding up the window and chill air wafted across my legs and belly, tightening my skin with goosebumps. I climbed out and my feet sank into soft earth. The song rang its singular note in my ears. Each earthy step it grew louder. I knelt in the dirt at the violets and caressed purple petals and emerald leaves. Their vibrations zipped across my skin, down my spine, and into the ground. I plunged my fingers into the surprisingly warm earth.” Do you, Dika, take this man to be your husband, as long as you both shall live? The words are amplified by stained glass windows and ancient wood beams, refracted off empty pews and stone floors. Candle flames waver in their wake. The bride is hesitating. Her veil moves in and out with each breath. She squeezes the bunch of violets in her hand until the stems split. I... The word cracks in her throat and the groom flinches as if the colored glass above them has shattered. I... Sweat tickles the small of her back beneath the constricting white fabric. The church air is at once humid and dusty and clogs her nostrils and burns her esophagus. The dozen onlookers murmur. The priest smiles encouragingly. The groom, nervously. Do you, Dika... The priest is trying to be helpful, but he only calls attention to the delay. The groom’s face goes red. Dika is on fire and thankful for her veil. The world is watching, she feels, the world is waiting. Her stomach churns. I do! she shouts, as one might shout ‘mercy’ at a bully. The priest recites the remaining words. The veil is lifted, the kiss given. The cheers commence, the rice is thrown. The tension drains like watery blood from a pricked boil. Everything becomes normal. “I threw handfuls of steaming dirt between my legs like a dog. My fingers tangled in roots and scraped against stones. My arms were black up to the elbow, legs to the knees. My hair stuck wetly to my face, crawled into my mouth. I didn’t know what I was doing, only that I must. Twelve inches down and my fingers bruised on something flat, solid. I brushed away dirt and saw wooden slats, rusted nailheads, a black dirt caked handle. The singing was down there, behind the door. I pulled on the handle and the circular slab of wood lifted with a groan. Violet light gushed up from a stone tunnel that glimmered with wetness. Bracing with my hands on the edges of the hole, I lowered myself inside.” Dika! Go get Saph, we’re late! Dika is nineteen. She is traveling to Mexico with her boyfriend to spread the word of God, along with her best friend Sapphire. Tucked safely in the back of Dika’s luggage is a folder stuffed with clippings from bridal magazines. She has a secret hope her boyfriend will propose on the trip. Hurry up! Where is she? he yells. Dika runs into the house, up the stairs, toward her bedroom where Saph is getting ready. The door is closed. She doesn’t think or pause to knock. It’s her room, why should she? She opens the door. “The glowing ice-blue stone of the tunnel was cool and damp. I dragged my fingers along the walls, following the song deep into the earth. Little rivulets of water dribbled from the stone above, falling on me like anointing oil, and the dirt was washed away, leaving a trail of dark streaks behind me. The tunnel grew wider, then opened into a great cavern lit everywhere by twilight hues of violet and indigo. The music roared softly, composed of an infinity of overlapping voices coalescing into the singular note, and everywhere was blue, violet, sapphire hues stretching out to eternity. In the center of that impossible cavern whose ends I could not see, was the orb.” Dika shuts the door with a gasp. Sorry! Um... we’re ready to go. Her face is burning. The heat flows from her cheeks down her neck, over her chest, everywhere, spreading by the second. Her stomach swirls and flutters. I’ll be out in a minute! Sapphire calls. Dika closes her eyes and wills the heat away, but it wont go. Frozen in place behind her eyelids is the flash of an image she saw for one second through the opened door. Sapphire, next to the bed, in profile, hands over her head holding a canary yellow blouse, bright yellow like the sun shining down on her bare body, her bare neck, bare shoulder, bare breast, stomach, hip, buttock, thigh, calf, heel, the continuous sinuous lines swim circles in Dika’s mind like eternal elegant snakes. The bedroom door opens. Dika runs to the bathroom and locks herself in. “It was twenty feet across and fifty feet in the air, and composed entirely of breasts. Woman’s breasts, of all shapes and sizes, entirely covering the surface of the sphere. They were living, breathing breasts, many dozens of them, of all skin tones from pearl to ochre to onyx. I was transfixed, hypnotized, and a strangely familiar heat rushed over my skin. A moment later I saw that, like the slowly turning orb, the breasts were also in motion. They rotated in on themselves, becoming buttocks, then thighs, then swelled out to become pursed lips, then those other lips between our legs, and then from those lips rose a nipple, and the breasts returned. Then the cycle repeated. I must have watched for hours. Each cycle seemed unique. Each morphing breast seemed part of a single body with its own song, as if the orb was composed of whole women, not body parts, women who sang and swam through each other, only ever exposing one section of their body to view. Later I began to believe I could tell each breast and pair of lips apart. I began to search for a familiar shape, a familiar skin tone, a familiar flowing line. Perhaps one breast belonged to me. Perhaps one belonged to you. “Days passed in that cavern. Weeks. The orb moved closer until it encompassed my entire field of view. There was only the orb. Only the flowing breasts and thighs and lips. I swear, months went by. Then from one breath to the next the orb, the cavern, the song--everything was gone. The orb-women whose bodies I had documented every square inch of with my eyes, who I’d named and loved and memorized--everything was gone in a blink and I was back in bed. The clock said 2:22. My husband was there, unmoving. The window was closed and everything was normal. But normal had changed. I lied there in bed waiting for it to fade, like all dreams, but it didn’t. “And that’s when I called you, that night at 2:30 am five years ago. I called, and you know all the rest. I know you always wondered what made me wake you that night. You’ve prodded me with subtle questions, with little jokes over the years. And I always shied away. I dodged. And now you know why. This is why. This little secret insanity of mine.” Dika hands Sapphire the object she’s been holding. It is white, 3D printed plastic, about the size of an apple and covered with breasts. There is a small lid on top that one might lift off by gripping the uppermost breast. Sapphire holds it, rotates it. She leans back in her easy chair in the living room of the house where the two have lived together for four years. “Now you know all my secrets,” says Dika. Sapphire lifts the lid of the strange object and peers inside. An ice-blue sapphire on a silver ring glints up at her like moonlight on a dew speckled violet.
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Dec 5, 2021 16:22
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Personal Contact Word count: 1210 Orb:  https://thunderdome.cc/?story=10170&title=Personal+Contact a friendly penguin fucked around with this message at 13:12 on Dec 9, 2021 |
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Dec 5, 2021 17:28
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The God in the Trees in the Orb in the House on the Hill 1495 Words (1500 limit for early sub) Reggie huffed back and forth through the room, naked, throwing aside mounds of dirty clothing and piles of books. His familiar, Beaux, watched him from the curtain rail with avian eyes. “What are you looking for?” she asked, then shat on the floor. “‘Scuse me.” “The orb,” he muttered. He had thrown it aside after drunkenly loving up one of his spells. He lifted a stack of plates and the remnants of a take-out curry spilled onto a pile of clothes. “Why do you need it? We doing big magic today?” Beaux asked hopefully. “No...maybe....I don’t know, but I might have messages.” “From who?” she asked. “You don’t have friends. And your family don’t talk to you.” “I have friends,” he muttered. “Like who?” Beaux cackled. “Ixilt’hatus,” he muttered, transforming Beaux into a tiny blue starfish. She toppled, fell, and landed on the windowsill with a splat. He eventually found the orb under the bed. Inside, wreathed in sun-kissed fog, stood the decaying copse within which Gargoth was imprisoned. Tiny leaves the colour of fire fell to the ground and turned to dust. Dirty orange light seeped from within. “FREE ME, MORTAL AND I SHALL GRANT YOU CLEMENCY WHEN I SAVAGE THE WORLD WITH ETERNAL AUTUMN!” Reggie ignored him. He scratched his bollocks with one hand and swiped the messages aside one by one with the other. “Reginald, we were wondering if you had any intention of payin... - Reginald, it’s doctor Ma... - Yo! Ever heard of Wizard mate? It’s fun, entertai… - Mr Moth, Alison at Camden Library again, we are still awaiting your return of... - Reginald, you fucker... - Mr Moth, Alison at Camde… - Reg, this is Abdul at Majestic Wines, you have outstanding payme… “ He sighed as the glow faded. “There’s a man outside,” Beaux said. “What?” Reggie said. “There’s a man at the bottom of the hill.” Reggie lifted his robes and grimaced at the curry stains. He threw the damp, coarse fabric over his head and wriggled inside. He opened the door and the staleness of the hut was beaten back by fresh, cool air. The young man was dressed in ornate silver armour. Loose blonde curls cascaded down his shoulders. Nearby, a large white horse sniffed at a discarded kebab box. “Hey! You!” Reggie shouted. The man looked up, shielding his eyes against the mid-morning sun. “He’s probably here for the questing,” Beaux said. “No! Don’t be ridiculous!...No that can’t be right… surely it’s only…” Reggie trailed off, counting days, then made a low muttering noise that rose to a growl of annoyance. Zilean University called it “The Great Questing”. It was the time for students to apply what they had learned in the previous semester. The kingdom would be full of first year students seeking to cut their teeth before returning for winter classes. With no dragons left to slay, wizard harassment and orb acquisition were enjoying a renaissance. “Hey! You!” Reggie shouted again. The knight looked around, then pointed a questioning finger at his own chest. “Yes! Yes you! gently caress off!” Reggie yelled. The man drew his sword and took an uncertain step towards the hut, then another, then charged up the hill. “Damnit!” Reggie hissed, grabbing the Orb of Autumn. “FREE ME, MORTAL AND I SHALL…” “Not now,” Reggie snapped. “Give me the orb!” the young knight cried as he got to the door. His voice reeked of entitlement. “No! Go away!” Reggie barked. “Give me the orb! I need it. For class.” “Oh you need it for class?” Reggie snarled sarcastically. “For class? Oh for class? Well in that case, yeah take it. Never mind the fact that it’s mine, or the fact that I need it to do magic, or even the fact that the only thing stopping the Autumn King from breaking free and trapping the whole world in a state of permanent decay is me, but no, Little Lord Fuckleroy needs it for class.” “This is why you have no friends!” Beaux grumbled. “You have no friends?” the knight asked. “I have friends!” he shot back. The knight hesitated for a moment. He regarded the strange old man carefully, then swung his sword. By the time it struck Reggie’s shoulder, the blade had turned to rust. It shattered into a handful of orange leaves and the scent of cinnamon. The knight looked confusedly at the handle. “My sword.” he whined. “My sword!” Reggie mimicked. Then he headbutted him. The knight stumbled back, clutching his face as blood began to stream between his fingers. “You broke my nose!” “You tried to bisect me. Now, off you gently caress, before I age your dick by 1000 years.” “No wonder you have no friends!” the knight sobbed through his hand. He trotted back down the path towards his horse as Reggie slammed the door. And that was the pattern for the next three weeks. Reggie grumbled and cursed his way through two-dozen students. Each strode up to his hut with purpose. Each demanded the orb. Each limped back to London with a broken nose, burnt arse or at the very least, a battered ego. Then, one Friday afternoon, there came a knock at the door. Beaux, scuttled down the wall as a small, long-legged spider. “Who is that?” she asked. Reggie was hunched over a huge book at his desk. He ignored both the knock and the question. His fingers traced runes stamped on waxy paper. “Excuse me,” a voice came through the door. “I’m here for the orb.” Reggie folded the book in half and continued reading as he carried it across the room in one hand. Without looking up, he scooped Beaux from the wall and carefully carried her to the door. “Bix’halmadag,” he muttered, tossing her outside. There was a puff of blue smoke as she transformed into a colossal azure tiger mid-air. “Hell yeah!” she cackled. Reggie continued reading as whoever had come for the orb sprinted around the hilltop, Beaux snapping and slashing at his feet. He heard the clang of fangs on steel, grunts of exertion, growling. Then silence. “Got him,” Beaux called, cheerfully. Finally, Reggie glanced up from the page. Pinned to the grass by one of Beaux’s great paws was a portly older gentleman with a grey moustache. His stomach bulged through the gap in his armour and his pink cheeks were dripping with sweat as he stared up at her warily. “Aren’t you a bit old to be doing all this?” Reggie asked. The man kept his eyes focussed on Beaux. “I’m a mature student. I was a grocer in a previous life. Wanted to give something back.” Reggie nodded, turned to head back inside and paused. “Wait… that sounds familiar. I’m sure I’ve heard that before.” “Yes, sir. I came here last year. Last three years actually. And um… yes two or three before that as well actually.” Reggie stared at him sweating and wheezing beneath the gigantic feline. He sighed. “Rex’hafillix,” he declared. A puff of blue smoke and Beaux was a kitten. “Aw!” she whined in disappointment, then bounded back into the house and curled up by the fireplace. “What’s your name?” Reggie asked. “Biggs. John Biggs,” the knight replied, awkwardly shuffling to his feet. “I want you to deliver a message to Doctor Valourheart, John,” Reggie said. “I’m actually not at Zilean,” John interrupted gingerly. “Gloombridge?” Reggie muttered. John shook his head. “Saint Darion’s? The Grailorium?” “Shoreditch Polytechnic,” John replied with a sheepish grin. “Go badgers, right?” “Good grief,” Reggie sighed, picking at the food stains on his robe. “You are aware that The Great Questing is traditionally only for first year students?” John blushed. “God help me,” Reggie pinched the bridge of his nose. “How many years have you been a first year, John?” “It’s complicated...” he said. “I retook several times at Zilean but...well...I had a disagreement with the bursar and so I’m seeking education elsewhere.” “What disagreement?” “He wanted me to pay for tuition.” “Of course.” Reggie walked back into his living room and poured red wine into a mug. On the side, faded letters declared “To a magical uncle!” “Is that it?” John asked, pointing to the orb. “Yup.” “So...can I have it?” John smiled. He rummaged around in his pockets, shuffled a few coins around in his palm. “I’ll give you twenty quid. Twenty quid and twenty, forty, sixty, sixty eight pence.” “No,” Reggie sighed. “Oh go on!” John said. “Help out a friend in need.” “We aren’t friends,” Reggie said. “We are! Kind of,” he said, glancing around the filthy room. “Or we could be!” “Goodbye, John,” Reggie said. “Give me the orb! We’re friends!” “No!” “See you next year then, you miserable bastard,” John muttered, then turned and walked back down the hill. “gently caress you!” Reggie shouted after him. John gave him the finger without turning round and Reggie slammed the door. “So, you finally have a friend,” Beaux purred. Reggie smiled.
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Dec 5, 2021 19:53
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