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Brawltimore Entry (Good luck Penguin and Princess!) Who's Lou in the Zoo 1730 Words Oh yeah, that'll do nicely. Lou thought to himself as he yanked the costume off the hangar and stepped into the rubber feet, concealing his identity from security, who was in hot pursuit. What's taking her so long? Thought Scarlet as she waited by the prairie dog exhibit, blinded by panic to their adorable antics. How am I going to get out of this locker? Thought Poppy. She tried jimmying the handle and found it gave a surprising amount, but when she pushed it, the door stayed shut. Lou watched the chair he placed against the locker buckle against Poppy's pushing and laughed. He walked up to the locker and wrapped on it with his knuckles. "Not gonna be that easy," he said. He plodded out the door in the thick heavy costume and pounded on his chest at the fellow zoo-goers. Scarlet, her back turned to Lou, and her attention raptly held by her phone, missed the confederate mascot but heard a scream as the lifelike costume startled a child who dashed past her and dove into a stroller. Inside the locker, Poppy felt a rumble in her pocket. Her phone! She had forgotten all about it in the hullabaloo and fanfare of being forced into a locker. She wriggled her right hand down toward her pocket, withdrew the phone, and wriggled it back up to her face. A text from Scarlet: ? Anxiety rippled through Poppy's body as sweat pooled under her arms and beaded up through her eyebrows. She slid her thumb over the keyboard, desperate to explain that she wasn't actively standing up the girl she'd been pining over for years on their very first date. But, the moisture on her fingers autocorrected her words into oblivion. Thinking fast, she pushed on the microphone button and saw that the audio recording initiated. "Scarlet! I am so sorry! I'm trying to text you, but it's so hot and sweaty inside this thing and I just-" She dropped her phone. On its descent downward, it had just enough time to send its message to Scarlet before it landed on the metal bottom of the locker, and Poppy, in a panic, stomped on it. The phone rattled in Scarlet's pocket. She withdrew it, and read the message. "Hot and sweaty?" She said aloud. "Excuse me, ma'am?" Scarlet looked up and winced as the glare from a nametag that said "Irma" on it blinded her. "Huh?" Scarlet replied. "I was just asking if you've seen a large man in a yellow t-shirt acting questionably. I believe your answer to that was 'hot and sweaty." Irma wrinkled her eyebrows and rested her hands on her brown belt as she studied Scarlet's face. "Oh, sorry! Um, no, I don't believe I have. What was he doing, exactly?" "We had reports of him harassing an adolescent woman such as yourself. I'm worried he's some skeevy perv or something." Irma walked on and interviewed the next person over. Scarlet looked down at her phone, went to her blocked contacts, selected Lou, and unblocked him. She gritted her teeth and cursed. You're who Irma wants, aren't you? She shot to him. The slim, concealed pocket on the rear of the gorilla suit rumbled. Lou reached in and pulled out his yellow-covered phone. It fell between his gorilla fingers and landed on the ground with a thud. He picked it up and held it high up to his face so he could see through the slits in the mask. Lou read the words through the freshly cracked screen: You'---- who I----- want --------- you A smile stretched beneath the mask, and Lou fumbled the phone down back into his pocket. Now all he had to do was find her. And declare his requited love for her, of course. Poppy had hoped to do something similar today, but her futile pounding on the locker gassed her body into a tired, sweaty heap. The stale air within the locker failed to compensate for her body's elevated need, and she passed out the instant that Irma, now finished with her canvassing, entered into the staff annex. Irma stumbled into a chair propped against the locker, dislodging it. What idiot put this here? She thought to herself. She noticed that the zoo's new crown jewel, the GorilloGlo costume, had been prematurely ripped from its shrinkwrap and was missing days before its intended reveal date. She withdrew her walkie talkie from her holster and blurted out: All staff be advised, we've got a pervert in the gorilla, over Silence cut through the air until her supervisor returned with a simple question. What? Scarlet was standing next to the supervisor during the call, and she put some pieces together. Hot and sweaty? Missing gorilla costume? She had worried that Poppy would perhaps be too bold and romantic on their first date, but this was incomprehensibly weird. Then, she remembered that somehow, Lou was mixed up in all of this. She pulled out her phone. Leave Poppy alone! How many more times do I have to tell you I'M NOT INTERESTED! Slightly too close to the uncanny valley, Lou was freaking people out. He ambled past the reptile house in his best gorilla impression and marveled as paths cleared before him. He arrived at the gorilla enclosure. It was lunchtime, and the gorillas were being beckoned indoors by the zookeeper. He felt his phone rumble in his pocket and pulled it out. He lifted it to his eyes but fumbled it again and watched as it tumbled down into the exhibit. "gently caress!" he yelled, catching the attention of the zookeeper, who immediately picked up his walkie-talkie. After realizing that he blew his cover, Lou took off for the exit. Barry, the last gorilla left outside, noticed the apparent comrade's flight up above and whipped into a hooting frenzy of delight. The keeper quickly closed the gate and went inside to calm his charges down. Across the zoo, Poppy woke up. She opened the door to her locker. She had no phone, no dignity, and no clarity of thought beyond one idea. Kill Lou. She grabbed a stun gun off the hooks in the staff annex. Scarlet, who had arrived at the gorilla enclosure and was looking for either Lou, or more hopefully, Poppy, looked down into the pen and saw Lou's yellow-covered phone being handled by what she thought was a moron in a very convincing costume. "Lou, you son of a bitch!" She yelled at him. Barry, drawn by the noise but not the name, stopped trying to peel his frustratingly well-protected new yellow banana and looked up at Scarlet, which was all Scarlet needed to confirm her suspicion. Blinded by rage, she vaulted over the wall and dropped the five feet down. Her ankle twisted as she awkwardly landed, and she yelled out in pain as she writhed on the ground. The scream attracted the attention of the zoo-goers. Amongst their numbers were Poppy and Irma, who, when they both saw what they believed to be a pervert in a gorilla costume, also hopped the wall and landed in the pen. Barry sauntered over to Scarlet and poked her hair as she wildly flung her arms at him. Poppy pulled out the stun gun and pointed it at who she thought was Lou. Irma withdrew a taser and followed suit but then realized that a random teenage girl was armed, panicked and pointed the taser at Poppy. Irma oscillated back and forth between the two. "What are you all doing in here? Get out!" "We're supposed to be on our first date," Poppy said as she collected her breath. "And this dickhead stuffed me in a locker and tried to ruin everything." "This pervert was harassing you; that's what his whole agenda was?" Poppy and Scarlet nodded. Poppy approached Scarlet and stretched out her hand. This did not please Barry, who chucked his encapsulated banana at Poppy and pounded on his chest. "Knock it off, Lou! It's over!" Scarlet yelled. Just then, Irma's supervisor's voice called out from the walkie-talkie resting on her hip. "Perpetrator apprehended, GorillaGlo costume secured. Police have been called." Scarlet's face twisted in horror as the truth dawned on her. Poppy nearly passed out but kept her resolve and tightened her grip on the stun gun. Irma, meanwhile, tried to recall her emergency sign language training and hoped to god that Barry would respond. She placed the taser on the ground and signed: Friend Barry cocked his head to the side and wondered why this person was signing a request to play tic-tac-toe; it hardly seemed appropriate for this moment. But, Barry did love games, and this situation was profoundly dull to him. He turned around, found a stick, and started drawing an octothorpe in the ground. Irma looked at Poppy and nodded toward Scarlet, Poppy quickly returned the nod, and they crept over to her. Poppy and Irma lifted Scarlet by her arms. They headed towards the indoor portion of the exhibit and breathed relief as the door swung open as the keeper had been observing the scene intently. Having finished setting up the game, Barry decided to allow his challenger to go first. He turned around to see that, like a coward, she was fleeing from the competition. He let out a roar, pounded on his chest, and chased after them. They tossed Scarlet indoors first, then dove in after her, and the zookeeper slammed the door shut behind them just in time. Poppy crawled over to Scarlet, who was lying down nursing her foot. "I just wish Lou never came today; he ruined everything." Scarlet laughed. "Well, I haven't seen him at least. It's like he was never here at all." "Oh, he's here all right," said Irma. Giddy with relief and adrenaline, she chuckled as she held up her phone. The screen displayed what may have been the world's worst makeshift mugshot. The mask was off, but the costume concealed the rest of Lou'd body. He was pouting and crossing his gorilla arms. Poppy rested her head on Scarlet's shoulder. "Well," Poppy said. "At least it was memorable, right?" Scarlet pecked the top of Poppy's hair and breathed a relieved sigh. Outside, Barry decided to play tic-tac-toe by himself. He placed an X in the center circle, then an O to its right.
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Jan 12, 2022 05:46
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Sitting Here posted:I'll honor this because I've been admittedly slack about keeping up on toxxes, HOWEVER if you I'll be your post mule.
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Jan 25, 2022 19:48
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It was nice to hear the reasoning behind your judgment. Because your reasoning sucked. While the winning story absolutely deserved its spot at the top, it's tiresome to have to wade through yet another discussion on whether "sitting here" sitting here'd too sitting herely. Therefor I challenge ALL of you to an anonymous brawl.
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Albatrossy_Rodent posted:In. There is some kind of physical barrier between your characters.
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Jan 26, 2022 02:16
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Ok, here are my thoughts/feelings. As a bonus, I tried something new this week. I took to recording my very first read-through of each of your stories. The intended purpose here is for you, as writers, to hear how your stories sound in another person’s head as they’re experiencing them for the first time. Helpful? I don’t know. But I tried it. You can find recordings to each of your stories in this folder. I stumble in places and sometimes that might be on you, sometimes on me. Some of the stories stir up reactions in me and those aren’t cut out either. Take ‘em or leave ‘em. https://drive.google.com/drive/folders/1bVY-U9h3HyfMLA7MKMzFkhkaKn0J-PNn?usp=sharing Staggy’s Thick as Thieves This story doesn’t seem to know what it wants to be, and of the things that it is, it doesn’t succeed often. The dialogue is largely expository and talks about adventures that seem more interesting than the one we’re on. I can’t tell if the tone of this is “oh look at funny it is that these people are hashing things out while doing this” or if it’s meant to be more serious. On its face, it seems like the former, but I’m not really buying it is amusing when the pretty flat banter is interrupted by errant guards and laser dodging yoga poses. I’m not seeing the heft that I was hoping for this week and I can’t even quite tell how this thing resolves by the end. Ceighk’s 600 Demons The title is the problem here. I cared more about the demons and whatever was going on in this world, than the problems with the relationship itself. She wants him to be foolish and save her, he’s a coward for not being ridiculous? I mean sure there’s also that he didn’t do enough I guess? But then he does? And then tomatoes? Nothing feels earned here. They kinda just mumble at each other after they have some sex and everything seems to be fine. Chicken of Tomorrow’s Inspirational Action This premise is cool and I wanted the story to nail it. But it doesn’t really. I don’t quite know what the tension is here and it’s hard for me to get a sense of what’s actually happening and how this relationship grows or develops through the piece. Apparently, somehow, this dude has been disrespecting his muse and we find out about that through the muse’s representative. Why? Why can’t we just hear from the muse? And then it’s basically all over and everything is fine. Nae’s Comfort Food Ok so the title kinda hangs on a lantern on the issue of this story. This is comforting, this is nice, this is two people being supportive of one another. The only tension maybe comes from tony’s fear of how he’ll be perceived but that’s so quickly disabused by perfect validating kindness that there’s really nothing here about the relationship and just about Tony’s issues and problems. Tony’s sold to as a hunk that’s so hot even a lesbian gets it and I also feel like that’s laying things on a bit thick given as you spend so much time in the story focusing on the hunkiness that is Tony. The man called M’s Of Babes and Brahs There are a lot of very odd things happening here that seem to be very easy to correct. The first is punctuation. I did recordings of everyone’s stories and you gotta listen to yours. You’ll see how jarring so many of your exclamation points are. They are hardly appropriate when you use them and you do so often. Read your stories out loud. Beyond that, you seemed to get really excited about talking this set piece that…. I mean it’s people squirting things at each other? There’s also this presumed understanding of wisdom and joy that you just tell us is there and it really doesn’t seem there. I’m not sure what’s being earned here. The telling of this story is done by a lot of “this is good, everyone is happy”. There’s odd tense stuff going on to but more importantly this just isn’t a compelling story. It’s a story of people getting squirted with condiments, and they loved it. Yoruichi’s Jelly This had a lot going for it. Squid people, some apparent tension between the characters, and the dialogue was snappy in parts. What I couldn’t really grasp on my read was what, exactly, the competition was all about. It seemed like some sort of wildlife ruining surf contest. It was hard to tell how things were moving through space and I also got confused at times with telling who was who and who was saying what. The names were a bit slippery feeling and such. The commitment to whatever the hell was going on with your characters was appreciated. T a s t e’s Cut Outs I had a bit of a hard time telling what was going here in the non-italics part. Was the protag heading to a funeral? It seemed like that at first but then I thought it was maybe a date? I’m not sure. Also, as a point of correction, we don’t need the italics, it was obvious you were moving through time and space with a bit of authorly freedom, that many curly words ended up being a bit of a strain. I like the chemistry of the barber and the protag but that’s about where my appreciation ends for them. This story, like many others this week, aren’t seeming to address rule 3 of the prompt which is that the relationship is currently being tested. I mean, I don’t think Vasi accidentally nicking the protag is the test here. Or, perhaps, the relationship in question is between the protag and someone else? I couldn’t really tell. Chairchucker’s Shark vs Platypus This didn’t work for me. We never get to see this cool thing you keep teasing and instead we’re subject to a very perfunctory and typical “trouble ensues” situation that ends up being just… totally fine? Even before the new guy comes over, it’s not an even an issue and it’s even less of an issue when he does. You set this all up to have the conflict at home mirror this apparently brutal and novel sporting event and I was hoping to see things in the sport, or at least wizard loop express some of the unspoken feelings or pain but instead both of those things are just kinda there. The dialogue too did not read as particularly bantery or funny, which is surprising given that it’s coming from you. And boy, I think you know how rushed and ridiculous that ending is. This story gives off a “oh poo poo, I don’t have enough time” vibe. Noah’s Gnawed I had no idea what was happening any of this. I don’t think it was a purple problem, I actually found the descriptive quality of the bodies to be pretty resonant, but I certainly didn’t understand much of anything about how these two felt apart from the whole parasitic birth monster thing. I can’t really comment further as I just didn’t get it. steeltoedsneaker’s Sin bin This is the best of the week so far but that’s a really low bar. The relationships here feel real and the way the people talk isn’t sounding hollow or forced. Is it much beyond that? Not really. But that’s OK. This story is a cold hard look at what happens to relationships as the people within them move through space and time. It doesn’t hurt that your three judges this week are all parents. Thranguy’s Half Well, there we go. Showed up with an 11th hour with a story that would at least HM in any other week. Clearly the best of the bunch. Gives us a problem and enough attention paid to it that its interesting and palpable. Shows the problem at large and also shows how the people in a relationship are compensating. This works and it took less words than everything else to get it done.
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Jan 31, 2022 19:49
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Jumping In. Old Bunny, my daugther's primary plush. 
Chili fucked around with this message at 15:04 on Feb 10, 2022 |
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Feb 10, 2022 04:34
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Week 497 Entry A Name 960 Words Bunny awoke in her warren to the sound of a leaf skittering across the ground. She sniffed the leaf and detected the scent of four different animals. Bunny’s heart filled with warmth: an invitation: an invitation to the high court. She ate a leafy breakfast, carefully groomed herself until her fur shined pristine white, and hopped out of her home and onto the nearby wolf den. ***** A small, shrill howl creaked through the cave and filled Bunny’s ears as she arrived. Bunny smiled as the month-old wolf pup tottered forward. “Hi, Bunny,” Pup said. “Why are you up so early?” “It finally happened, Pup. I got an invitation to the court of the high council. I’m getting a name.” “Oh wow! I bet it’ll be Brave Bunny! You’re not scared of anything!” Bunny chuckled. But, secretly, Brave Bunny was on her shortlist of hopeful names. “Well, who knows, but I’m just glad I’m finally going to get some respect around here.” “I respect you, Bunny!” “You want to come?” Bunny asked. “Really? Can I?” ***** The sun neared the top of the sky when Bunny and Pup arrived at a wide creek. Bunny didn’t hesitate as she hopped from rock to rock and across the creek in seconds. Pup let out a howl behind her. “What’s wrong, Pup?” “I… I’ve never been in water like that before. I don’t know if I can swim or not.” “Oh,” Bunny replied as she hopped back. “It’s not a big deal; you’re quick and sure-footed. You’ll have no problem making it over the rocks.” Bunny hopped over a couple of rocks and turned back to Pup. “Go on, Pup, you can do it.” Pup inched his way over to the edge of the creek and whimpered and whined. Overhead, a cloud blew past the sun. Bunny looked up and quietly rapped her foot on the rock below. “You’ll be fine, Pup. I’m not going to let anything happen to you.” Pup continued to whimper. “But what if I wet my fur?” Bunny chuckled and splashed into the creek next to the first passing stone. “Go on,” she said. “But you’re all wet!” “Don’t worry about me. Go on.” Pup hopped onto the first rock and teetered. Bunny nuzzled Pup back into balance and nudged him forward until, rock by rock, Pup crossed the creek. Her fur damp with mud, Bunny smiled as the proud little wolf looked up at her. “Maybe when I’m older, I won’t be so scared.” “Until then,” said Bunny, “I’ll be old enough for both of us.” Pup smiled and chased after Bunny as she hopped back into the thick of the wood. ***** They arrived at a fox burrow as the sun drifted further westward and shadows extended in front of them. “Oh, Bunny,” Pup cried. “We’ll have to find another way, right?” “Why’s that?” Bunny asked. “I don’t want you to get eated, that’s why!” “Well, for starters, keep your howl down. No need to draw attention to ourselves.” Pup tilted his head down in shame. “It’s OK. We just need to keep a sharp eye. It’s not dusk yet. Foxes can be out at any time, but the foxes in this burrow usually don’t come out for another hour or two. We should be fine.” “Will I know all of these things someday when I’m old like you?” Pup asked. “You will, and you already know more now than you did when you woke up. Just keep listening.” The two set off around the burrow. Bunny kept silent, but Pup couldn’t help himself. “Hey Bunny, why do you want a name so badly?” “Because,” she whispered, “if you don’t have a name, no one respects you in the wood. Now quiet down, OK?” “But what about me? I respect you. I think you’re my brave and kind old bunny.” “It’s different.” “Why?” Pup squeaked, only a little too loudly. “It just--Freeze!” Bunny whispered sharply. Suddenly, Keen Fox, the leader of the skulk, ambled out of the burrow and scanned around for the source of noise she heard. Freezing didn’t work. Keen Fox bolted towards Bunny and Pup. Bunny knew she could outrun Keen Fox, but she wasn’t so sure about Pup. “The creek! Head to the creek!” She shouted as she made a beeline straight toward Keen Fox. “But wait, where are you going?!” Pup cried out. She didn’t have time to answer. She approached Keen Fox, who was delighted but surprised at her pathing. She darted out of his reach at the last moment. Keen Fox only managed to bite the tip of her left ear. Bunny took advantage of Keen Fox’s momentary confusion and sprinted ahead. She dove into a nearby tree cavity while Keen Fox regained his balance. She rummaged and buried herself in the dirt within it, concealing her scent and presence, and watched through her paws as Keen Fox searched and ultimately gave up. ***** Bunny arrived back at the creek after the sun had set and the moon shined a coating of white light that danced off the water. “Pup!” She called out. Pup peeked out from behind a tree and smiled. He bolted at her and licked her face. “Come on then,” she wriggled away. “Let’s get you home.” Bunny hopped off, and Pup followed behind. “But wait, what name did they give you?!” Bunny laughed as she hopped on. “I didn’t get one from them. I came back to find you.” Pup stopped on the spot. “What? You mean you didn’t make it?” “I didn’t need their name, I already have one, and I only need it spoken by the only critter in the wood that matters.” “So what should I call you?” “What you’ve been calling me. I’m your Old Bunny.”
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Feb 13, 2022 06:34
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The next four posts from me will be brawl entries for the trenchcoat brawl. They will be posted one of the following ways.
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Feb 21, 2022 17:29
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Eschaton Through the veil of sleet, Arag-Ek-Anum saw the spindly, tangled wreck of the ancients’ tower piercing up into the clouds. They said it went all the way to heaven, and one day the ancestors had ascended it to meet the gods, and instead been devoured by the sky; on nights when that selfsame sky blossomed with leering lidless stars, it would spit back out their blackened bones, twisted mockeries that made for their old homes just to tear them apart. The steppe had likely never been a pleasant place to live, but these days it was home only to convicts, exiles, and madmen. Arag was – according to the authorities – all three. He was the last knight of the heretical Order of Urzi, who’d gone to heal heaven and never returned. All except him. He ran the tip of his sword through a patch of ice – the monomolecular trail it left behind was so slim as to be invisible. It wasn’t snowing hard, but they’d had a large dumping the previous night and now the wind was howling, bringing freezing sleet in sideways. They’d found a nice cave to spend the night in, and it had kept the worst of the weather off them, but it was time to go to work. Arag swung the sword around onto his back and smiled in satisfaction as it trembled into place in his sheath’s grav-field. Medved grumbled, so Arag took out a small piece of salmon and handed it to him. Med swallowed it in one bite, and Arag stepped in close and let the bear’s body heat be a balm against the cold. Med batted playfully at him, his paw bouncing harmlessly off the refractor field. So long as it wasn’t the tip of a claw, he was perfectly safe. “Just you and me, huh big guy?” he said. ksnrf sneezed Med. “Yeah mate” said Arag. “Of course.” He mounted his saddle, then gave Med one last scratch behind the ears before whistling and tapping his heels against Med’s sides. They set off at an amble, Med’s massive paws crunching through the snow. Arag found himself humming a tune he hadn’t heard in a very long time, something a lover once taught him, and when he realised which song it was, he stopped humming and sighed. As if on cue, a star opened high above him, its tiny pinprick pupil dropping fast, its blazing trail slicing the sky in half. Arag crouched low against Med. “Ag! Ag!,” he spat, and squeezed his calves against Med’s ribs. Med took off with a roar, crashing across the steppe. The wraith had almost disappeared over the horizon, and Arag remembered the second and third lines from the old creed: where branches break, stone stands; where stone shatters, branches bend. He rammed both elbows back into his own waist, pulling Med’s bridle and overclocking the refractor field in one swift motion. Med dug in his forepaws, dropped his belly and let his back paws slide, as he’d been trained while Arag flattened himself against Med’s withers. The shockwave ripped out towards them, the pressure throwing snow and ice into the air. They whirled into it, as low-profile as their bulky frames would allow. The nanobots in the refractor field glowed white-hot, guttering for a moment, torn open like a boil, then swiftly began to reassemble itself. Med was facing forwards again, back up and charging through calf-deep water that was draining into the raw dark earth. Arag held out his hand and roared the old battle cry – the grav field on his back disengaged and the magnets in his glove activated at the same time, and his sword shot into his hand. The wraith was larger than most, quadrupedal, almost centaur-like, a grinning bear skull inset in a lake of writhing nanofluid, a weeping tumorous spiking upward from its withers, crowned with a rotting orcish face. Ulug-mak-Naril, Blade of Dawn. “Brother,” he wheezed, just as Arag’s sword sliced upwards across his collarbones, severing the stolen head from its parasite body, a killing blow on any ordinary wraith. He heard the splash of Ulug’s skull hitting the lake of snowmelt. The last line of the creed: one strike; you will not get a second. He urged Med around, and his face fell as Ulug’s ruined chest reassembled, and a second face emerged from the oil, regrown. The first head was on the ground, and both of them opened their mouths and spoke in sick sing-song harmony. “They hate you, brother. Why do you fight for them?” “I don’t fight for them,” spat Arag. “I fight for us.” “We do not need war, brother, we need peace; take my hand, you can see Kav again, he would forgive you. ” An arm emerged from the mass of his chest, hand extended outwards. “DON’T YOU DARE SAY HIS NAME,” Arag roared, and Med roared with him. “Always the idealist,” said Ulug. “Very well. You will not bend; you will break.” Arag charged, Med charged. Ulug’s sluglike torso rocked back, trying to roll under the strike. Out of the corner of his eye, Arag saw Ulug’s sharpened armbone rocket from his palm, right through the refractor shield and deep into Med’s flank. They were moving too fast, and the bone-blade ripped across, right through fur, fat, and muscle. Bears were tough beasts, but even they had limits. Med lost his footing, and Arag hit the mud shoulder-first. The heat from the Med’s nanofield repairing itself vaporized the water, shrouding them all in scalding steam. Through a haze of pain, Arag lunged upward. A savage blow from Ulug’s armblade almost cut him in half, but he stepped around it and cut once, right through the saddle where rider and bear met and grinned as his blade bit into the knot of gristle and bone that served as its heart. Ulug fell apart, the oil from his body dissolving into what little was left of the water. Two more skulls dropped out of the mass, and Arag smashed both of them with his boot, just to be sure, then rushed over to Med. The wound wasn’t fatal, but it was bad. It would definitely leave a scar, and likely become infected if not dealt to quickly, and there weren’t a lot of veterinarians out on the steppe. Arag put a hand against Med’s shoulder, and patted him softly. “Hey there big guy,” he said, “I’m gonna do something and it’s gonna hurt, and I just wanna say sorry in advance.” Then he pierced his own refractor field with the tip of his blade, held the tip inside the field while the nanites glowed white, and then – as quickly as he could – dropped the blade, pushed his palm against the wound, then stepped sideways, dragged his hand along the entire thing, cauterising it. Med roared and tried to twist and lunge at him, and he let the blows glance off his field. “Sssh,” he said, “ssssh,” and somehow it seemed to get through and Med calmed down. “Let’s go home,” he said, “have some nice fish soup, and you can have a nice sleep okay? I’ll even let you sleep indoors.” Med growled at him. Then the sky opened up. Even through the driving sleet and the dark clouds, it was impossible to ignore. A thousand new stars, each one filled with fire. More than they could possibly hope to fight. Hells, he doubted the refractor field could survive the impact alone. He clambered up into Med’s saddle and knew immediately something was off, the balance was all wrong. The dark darts of heaven ignited as they entered orbit, and the boom shook Arag down to his bones. “Boy,” he said, “we gotta run, okay? I know it hurts, you gotta run as fast as you can. Now, ag, go!” Med took off, slowly at first, limping badly on his lefthand side. There were just as many fires in front of them as behind. Even juicing the field could only go so far. Up ahead, he saw a pinprick of darkness, the mouth of their cave. Where branches break, stone stands. “Ag! Ag!” he shouted, and Med took off, each step more laboured than the last, but as swift and implacable as a train. As they crashed across the steppe, Arag roared the first line of the creed; “THEY BREAK HEAVEN; WE RAISE HELL.” The distance between them and the cave vanished, but there wasn’t enough time, there had never been enough time. He’d lost everything and then some, and each day the pressure got worse, an endless crashing wave, one orc left to hold up the sky. The first salvo of impacts made landfall ahead of them lit the entire horizon on fire, a dozen shockwaves all racing across the ice, and he couldn’t hear his own voice over the sound of splintering and shattering. A hundred more impacts rang out from behind him, the roar of a dying god. The mouth of the cave was so close, less than thirty feet away, but he had only seconds. He dug in his heels and whipped Med around, and ran back, right into the second shockwave. It picked them up and hurled them faster than they could’ve possibly run. Arag struck the side of the cave mouth and his refractor field lit up as he screamed in agony, but the darkness of the cave covered him. He could do more than scream as the world became lost in monstrous sound. When he got up, he saw Med in the cave too, unmoving. A figure roiled up into the cave mouth, a beast of slick dripping darkness. “Husband,” it wheezed. Arag slammed his blade into the dirt and forced himself, shaking, to his feet. “My husband is dead,” he said. It cocked the mass of oil where its head would be. “Then why do I remember?” it hissed. “Because that’s what we do,” said Arag, “we remember the dead, even when it hurts.” “Yes,” said Kav, “it hurts. I could make it stop.” They broke heaven; we raise hell. Where branches break, stone stands; where stone shatters, branches bend. Make one strike; you will not get a second. He lunged and struck, lower than he’d been trained. His blade caught, for a moment only, on Kav’s heart. Arag passed through him, and for a moment it seemed as though he’d missed, then Kav fell apart in two even pieces. “I’m sorry,” Arag said. He stepped out of the cave. A thousand wraiths converged on him. The sun was going down, not that it mattered this close to heaven. Arag levelled his blade, and gave a feral grin and he heard a familiar growl from behind him. “C’mon big guy,” he said, “let’s raise hell.”
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Feb 21, 2022 17:29
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Hump Day Lucien was dangling from a two hundred meter organic diamond fibre, a kilometre and a half above the rain-lashed streets of Neo-Wellington, when the EMP hit: his visor flashed bright white, with a high-pitched skreeee, then turned silent and black. “Balls,” he said. The sound was muffled by the flanges of his breath mask. “System reset. Execute.” Nothing happened, so he flipped up the visor and squinted through grey sheets of rain down the fifty meter expanse of mirror-smooth and obsidian-black glass that lay betwen him and his target. EMP was from the Hutt, call it 10 klicks, 300 m/s travel speed, blast wave coming 30 seconds, call it twenty five from now. A heavy gust blatted freezing rain, shotgun-like, into Lucien’s bare face. He hopped down the building in long arcing falls, kicking away from the slick wet surface, and paying out the monomol five meters at a time with a finger on the manual release. At eight seconds to go a trickle of icy water had found its way through the neck seal of his suit and was slithering down his chest and he guessed that he was roughly at the target. Lucien unholstered his .224 flechette pistol, slapped down the visor against splinters, and sprayed a rough circle of darts into the glass, gun juddering in his hand. The splinters were still ricocheting off his armoursuit when he jumped as far out as he could, feeling the wind catch him and send his coat flapping wildly, then crashed back onto what he hoped was the centre of the weakened circle. It gave, with a fearful cracking noise he could just hear through the black and muffled confines of his helmet, but not enough. The shockwave would nearly be on him, a part of his brain thought calmly, stopwatch in hand. He jumped again, pulling his knees up to his chest and kicking in at the circle, felt it give way and hit the cable release at the same time, rolling along the glass-littered carpet tiles and into the cover of a support beam. Three, two, one… The sound was seismic and horrific, a basso profundo rumble that set the whole megastructure swaying in counterpoint - Neo-Welly buildings were built to take the Richters, though and he spent the space of three breaths in a silent prayer of thanks to the earthquake regulating nerds of the Greater Wellington Region. The cracked circle of glass he’d just scissored out of the building’s fabric was caught by the thunderclap of wind and sent spinning across the office he’d landed in, to shatter against the opposite wall. Lucien admired the effect in a slightly bleary way. Then a beep came from his collar, the shamefaced sound of his suit booting back up again. Just in time. “Tangerine, Romeo, Nectar,” he said into his neck mic, yelling over the howling of rain and newly atomic wind. “Your transport has arrived. Confirm location.” There was no reply, but Lucien was on his feet and moving. Security would have picked up the incursion, and though a nearby nuclear strike would distract at least some of them he didn’t want to rely on that. Taking a punt on the resurgent qualities of his armour he muttered the reboot codes, and sighed as the subsystems pulled themselves together and laid out mission data. He was one floor up, sixty meters southwest. Not bad, not great. The door he was jogging towards opened, a harried looking guard behind it, and Lucien tased him down to a quivering heap without breaking stride. His internal monologue, always an issue mid-mission, was moving into self-care: Hard part over with. Rest will be smooth sailing, nuke came through a little early, but we are on this. Asset recovery is what we do. We’re a profess– On that thought Lucien caught a flash of prox-warning as he rounded a corner and threw himself down, but he was too slow. A brace of bullets hit him, shoulder and arm, like getting kicked by a grumpy horse. A crackle in his comm: “I’m so sorry.” Lucien palmed a couple of grenades, one frag one gas, and skimmed them over the low cubical divider he was lying behind. “Tangerine? I’m inbound. Are you safe? There in one minute.” The grenades went off with a popping sound. His arm was aching; at least his med-stats subscreen said nothing broken. “I’m really sorry, but I can’t come with you.” “That’s not an option, Tangerine, you just hang where you are, I’ve got you. We’ll have a nice chat.” Lucien had a lock on two of them, maybe the third was down, couldn’t be sure, assume not. He poked his gun over the divider, dialled in the range, and sent a spread of fused micro-charges. They exploded with a subdued crump and he saw all three down. “It’s just, I’ve been thinking, and I don’t want to work for your guys? I want to stay here.” I hate this man more than cancer. Lucien was up and running, hobbling really, right arm pulled in close to his armoured chest, inside the protection of his armoured coat. The tracklights on his visor were showing a dotted line to target, 30 seconds. Please let him be there so I may hate him face to face. “I appreciate that, Tangerine, we all have days when we don’t want to go to work, you know? I’m having one right now. Oonf.” “My name’s Derek,” said the voice in Lucien’s ear, but he was otherwise engaged, grappling with a fourth mercenary. Goddammit. From the suit-moko on their masks they were Ngai Tahu, expensive, and that meant he’d probably been set up. But why bother with this crap about changing his mind. He put a foot behind the merc, who was holding his vibro-knife in a hand that Lucien had locked outstretched, then amped up his suit myomer with a clench of his jaw and slammed him through the wall and sprayed a clip of flechettes into their prone body. “Hi Derek. Thing is I have a job to do, here. I’m going to be with you in about twenty seconds, and then we’re going to leave. Are there any problems with that?” Derek’s didn’t reply for a few seconds, enough time for Lucien’s myomer-assisted arms to pull apart the lift doors. He risked a quick scan, burning a chunk of suit power to get the adjacent floors - seemed clear. “I want to quit my job. I play the flute. I want to play the flute instead of doing my job.” It sounded like he was crying. No, I hate him like a combination of cancer and sandflies. “Do you understand that?” “Derek, I do understand that. The flute’s a lovely instrument. I’m totally confident you will be able to play it at your new job, which will be similar to your current one except not radioactive. Does that sound good? Not radioactive?” Lucien was at the door, a big X blinking on it in his heads-up, and he burnt another five percent power to scan absolutely everything as fast and hard as he could. No explosives, triggers, electronics. Clean. Jesus. Suit charge was dropping fast though, maybe the EMP zorched the capacitors. Whatever, get him and blow this place. He raised his foot to kick the door off his hinges then, instead, put his foot down and turned the handle instead. Inside was an office, a little disarranged from the nukewobbles. Lying on the couch was a shortish man with a little moustache. He looked over at Lucien with a bleary, lolling expression. “Sorry again, I just really would rather stay here if that’s ok.” There was a vape in his hand and the air was thick with its smoke. Lucien grabbed it out of his limp hand. Tranked out. Could be worse. “Derek, I’m going to pick you up, and then we’re going to leave. Is that ok? I’m asking only for information, because that’s what’s going to happen.” As he spoke he swept the limp body up into a fireman’s carry, powering up the suit to compensate. A red blinking light helpfully explained he would be running out of power soon. Thanks, little light. Round the corner there was a straight run down the corridor to the window, which might or might not have survived the blast. The same coinflip applied to his exfiltration vehicle, a kilometre plus below them, but Lucien elected not to think further on that possibility. Instead he glanced round the corner, sized up the range and sent a fused grenade zipping down the hall. It detonated with a gratifying thump, and he could hear the splatter of rain coming in. OK, you have this, quick run, anchor the line, slide down it to the van. “Sometimes you just want to stay in bed, you know?” The voice was wavering in his ear, but at least he wasn’t struggling. “Derek I know exactly what you mean. Wednesdays in particular. Do you hate them too?” The corridor was clear, nothing on scan, nothing on IR, no explosives. Red light was blinking faster though. The window frame was still smoking when he got there, and started fastening the line brace for their descent. “This Wednesday I thought about staying in bed and playing the fuckin’ ukulele but I didn’t because I had to rescue you. Now, I’m going to–” He’d put Derek down by the window to get the brace right, so there was nothing between Derek and the air when the earthquake hit. It came first as a slamming, sudden impact that knocked them both over, and then as a great rolling shudder, that slid Derek right out of the shattered window frame and into the yawning abyss below, tumbling as he fell. Lucien didn’t stop to think, just hurled himself right after Lucien, coat flailing, wind battering, diamond monomol trailing behind him like an immense fishing line. He almost got him. It was really close, fingers outstretched, grasping for a piece of Derek to hold on to. Almost. But not quite. The last vestige of suit power ran out with a bleep, the safety catch on the monomol reel engaged, and Lucien was yanked to a stunning horrible stop, and slammed into the side of the building. It was still swaying, he could feel it through his back, hear a scraping of metal on glass. He wondered if his back was broken - could feel his feet, probably not. Lucien raised his visor, lifted a painful hand to his mouth, and took a pull on the vape, held it in for a moment and puffed out a big cloud to be whipped away by the wind. Then he laughed, once.
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Feb 21, 2022 17:30
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0. 1800 words “Don’t you walk out on me,” Darla said from amidst the tousled sheets. Brenda Steele paused in the middle of doing exactly that. She’d almost made it to the door of the small apartment without waking Darla up. A few more steps and their sordid weekend together would have been just another notch in their respective bedposts. “I’m not some conquest you can take for granted,” Darla said coolly. She looked regally post-coital there on her bed, surrounded by rumpled imitation silk and black candles. Brenda placed a cigarette between her lips and said, “I don’t take any of my conquests for granted.” Which was true; she’d boned some absolute bombshells, but most of her time was spent alone and paranoid on various far-flung missions. Her ‘conquests’ were the only pleasant memories she had; when she was embedded with insurgents or within a hostile government, she ran her mind over those tangled, sweaty encounters like a monk counting their prayer beads. But she couldn’t stay. That wasn’t the way her life worked. She undid the deadbolts and turned the doorknob. “You’re a fool,” Darla said, “and as the fool you will know yourself. So mote it be.” Ah. Right. That had been the thing about Darla, Brenda recalled. Darla insisted she was an honest-to-god occult witch. All the more reason to relegate her to the realm of pleasantly horny memories and move on. “If I end up in your bed again, we’ll know you were right about that,” Brenda said, sliding on a pair of sunglasses. She stepped into the morning light, feeling well-hosed and wise, and lit her cigarette. . Brenda was forced to admit something was wrong when an explosion went off on the ferry carrying her from Helsinki to Tallinn, where she was supposed to meet her Estonian contact. She should have been in the ferry’s bar—she always ended up in the bar, regardless of which country she was in or mode of transportation she was using—except she’d felt a strange and uncharacteristic urge to go out to the prow of the ferry and look at the pretty reflections of the clouds on the water of the gulf, maybe let the sea breeze ruffle her trench coat in a cinematic sort of way. A fiery whoomf cut through the crackle of wind in her ears. Brenda whirled around, saw black smoke already pouring upward into the sky. The ferry now had a smoldering crater in its starboard side, a gaping wound where the bar used to be. Brenda lowered her sunglasses and said, “Woah.” Then people began to scream. . The ferry never made it to Tallinn; the Finnish border guard towed it back to port with much ado, and Brenda was swept up into the chaos of the investigation. Several international bodies were calling it a terrorist attack, which had Brenda feeling very fretful indeed. Super spies tried to stay away from terrorist attacks. As she waited for Finnish agents to clear her to leave the port, Brenda did a quick check-in with her brain. She should have died in that explosion. If she’d been acting like herself, she would have been in the ferry bar. Instead, she’d been out on the prow of the boat, reenacting that scene from Titanic. Brenda hadn’t even seen Titanic, nor did she plan to. As the fool you will know yourself. She wasn’t acting like herself, and she’d survived an attack that by all accounts should have taken her life. This wasn't going to go unnoticed by her employers. . It was after midnight by the time investigators released the ferry passengers, with the heavy implication that no one should leave the country. She dragged her exhausted carcass to her organization’s Helsinki safehouse—a run-down hotel at the edge of the bleakly industrial Jätkäsaari quarter. The dingy hotel bar was lively with the din of drunken voices. That was good. It was always better to hide in plain sight, and hiding in plain sight was easier in a room packed with a couple dozen sweaty, bellowing barflies. She slid into a seat at the table across from her handler, ‘Florin’. He was hawkish as ever, and appeared to be nursing a Shirley Temple. Two cherry stems sat on his napkin. “Your face appeared in seventeen separate international news clips,” he said by way of greeting. “Couldn’t you have just died in the explosion? It would have made things simpler.” Brenda found herself looking between those two cherry stems and the mostly-full Shirley Temple. Somehow she’d never figured Florin for an eat-the-cherries-first kind of guy. But then, she’d never really thought about it. It wasn’t the least bit relevant to anything she did. Florin was, for the most part, the voice in her ear telling her where to go and who to kill. When and how he ate the cherries out of his mocktail was irrelevant. Except she couldn’t stop thinking about it. In the entirety of their professional relationship, Brenda had never considered Florin as a human being with cherry-eating habits; now she saw his crisp facade as the tip of a great iceberg she would never have cause to understand. “I assumed I was more valuable to you alive,” she said, tearing her eyes away from the cherry stems. “Apparently that was a miscalculation.” “Our colleagues in the Estonian government are wondering why one of our people was so close to the incident on the ferry,” Florin said. “It’s raised questions about your intentions. And your allegiances.” “I’d never be that sloppy on purpose,” Brenda pointed out. She had twelve years of cold, hard spying to back her up. “You know I didn’t have jack poo poo to do with the explosion. You know that.” “Be that as it may,” Florin said, sounding very nearly sorry, “the Baltic situation is too delicate. As a display of good faith to our regional colleagues, we’re taking you off the assignment.” “You mean you’re taking me off the assignment…of being alive,” Brenda said. Both she and Florin raised an eyebrow at that. There was a beat of mutually embarrassed silence. Then he smiled and said, “Of course not,” just before he drew his silenced handgun and fired. Brenda, who had been considering Florin with renewed curiosity, read the warning in that smile and was already moving out of the way. The bullet punctured the wall where her head had been less than a second before. She hurled herself onto the floor, rolled clear of Florin’s line of sight, then sprung to her feet and bolted for the door. A commotion went up in her wake; good. The barflies might even slow Florin down for a few beats. Brenda pounded pavement, sprinting hard into the Helsinki night. A few seconds later, she heard Florin’s footsteps behind her, rapidly gaining. He had a long stride and would close the distance in a matter of seconds. Brenda skidded blindly into an alley, praying it had an exit; it did. She saw street lights at the other end, ran for them. Then, to her left—a yawning slice of darkness. An alley within an alley, some sort of ingress into the narrow space between two sections of the same building. In the fraction of a second it took her to observe this space, she noticed a small, glowing purple sign a ways down the passage, the only light in the darkness. It was a stupid move, one she would ordinarily have not made. But it hadn’t been an ordinary day, and breaking from routine had already saved her life once. She lurched to the left, pelting headlong into darkness made even deeper by the purple light glowing in its depths. The light turned out to be a neon sign advertising a psychic tarot shop, the only business in the mini-alley. With no other apparent exit and Florin closing in behind her, Brenda threw herself against the door to the little shop as she turned the knob, expecting the place to be closed at one o’clock in the quiet Helsinki morning. She tumbled into the shop, announced by the disordered tinkle of bells, quickly slammed the door behind her, and then put her back to the nearest wall. “Can I fix you a cup of coffee?” asked a voice in cheerful Finnish. “You seem like the sort who could use some night coffee.” “No,” Brenda panted, then added, “thank you.” “I won’t insist,” said the woman seated at the room’s only table. “But I do insist that you let me read your cards.” “Yeah— no—I can’t…there’s someone out there and I really ought to—” “It’s my policy for mysterious people who tumble through my door at odd hours,” the woman said. She picked up a deck of tarot cards and tapped them pointedly on her little table. The whole shop was little more than a shoebox; just the proprietor, her table, and her cards. Brenda listened for the sound of Florin’s footsteps, but after several seconds, she realized that he hadn’t followed her down the side passage, probably hadn’t even seen it as he’d run by. She was, for the moment, safe. “Fine,” she said, flopping down in the chair across from the psychic. “Fine. Why not.” The woman shuffled her cards, cut the deck, and then, after some wordless consideration, drew a single card. Brenda held her breath. It was the Eight of Wands, a card Brenda had no familiarity with whatsoever; all of her scant tarot knowledge had been absorbed unwillingly from various eccentric lovers. “You look disappointed,” the psychic observed. “Were you expecting a different card?” Brenda slumped back in her chair, laughed ruefully. “If you’d drawn the Fool, it would have made for a nice punch line,” she said. The psychic rested her chin in her hand. “Do tell?” So Brenda told her about Darla, about the strange feeling she’d had on the ferry, the explosion that she’d been foolish enough to survive, and her narrow escape from Florin. “I think,” she said in conclusion, “I’ve been cursed by a witch.” The psychic drummed her fingers on the worn tarot deck. “No,” she said after a long moment. “The only magic your Darla did was invoking the power of suggestion.” “You’re saying the real Fool was inside of me all along,” Brenda said mildly. The psychic flipped over the deck so that the bottom card was facing up. “There are worse archetypes to carry inside of yourself than open-mindedness and possibility,” she said. Brenda glanced down at the newly revealed card, then looked again. She smiled, then started to laugh. There was The Fool, grinning up at her from a lush world of possibility, bindle on his shoulder, his hand raised in greeting to whatever adventure might come next.
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Feb 21, 2022 17:30
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The Chronicles of Spiderman James: Spiderman James and the Vampire’s Sword 1190 words Far below the city, the iron door to the vampire’s ancient prison clanged shut behind Spiderman James. “No going back now,” said his sword, Agbat mal-Habradak. “Not until you’ve killed the vampire.” “What if I don’t want to kill the vampire?” said James. “Then I’ll kill your mother and - look, we’ve been over this.” James pictured Lucretia, her hairy black legs wrapped protectively around the egg sac containing his future baby brothers and sisters. “Why do you want to kill this vampire so badly anyway?” said James, squinting. Being a spiderman he could see pretty well in the dark, and Agbat’s red glow was hurting his eyes. James pulled his wraparound shades off his spikey blond hair and put them on. Better. “Because he’s an ancient evil who lies waiting beneath your city for his opportunity to slaughter everyone?” Agbat’s grip was suddenly scalding hot, and James had to toss the sword from hand to hand to avoid burning his palms. “Aren’t you also an ancient evil that--” “Quiet!” hissed Agbat. “We approach the chamber.” Agbat cooled until only the faintest glimmer of hellfire played along the blade’s obsidian edge. James dropped to a crouch and scuttled silently up the rotting stone wall. The ancient evil vampire Vladimir Voskoboynikov sat bolt upright in his sarcophagus, bat ears quivering. The clang of the iron door had woken him; a sound that he had not heard since the start of his accursed imprisonment 267 years ago. Perhaps his demonic sword, Red-Blossoms-at-Dawn, had finally found its way back to him. Vladimir licked his fangs. James darted out of the tunnel’s mouth and zipped up to the ceiling, hips turned out at a 90 degree angle and body flat against the wall. The chamber was round, roofed with a high dome and faintly lit by a single blue flame burning in a metal brazier at the chamber’s centre. The stones were slick with muck that trickled from the sewers above through an opening at the dome’s peak, just beyond the reach of the light. The vampire was dressed in rags. His red velvet cape was rotting on his back and his silk shirt had gone grey with age and grime. The skin on his face was the colour and texture of a raisin and his desiccated lips were pulled back showing an awful grin of yellow teeth. A huge red ruby hung on a gold chain against the vampire’s skeletal chest. Gross, thought James. Then he stopped, and chided himself. Lucretia had taught him better than to judge quote-unquote monsters by their appearance. What would she think, he thought, if she knew he was here, about to murder another (un)living creature just because a talking sword had told him to. Sure, Lucretia killed things all the time, but she had to, to live. She couldn’t subsist on tofu burgers like James. But it wasn’t like he was going to eat the vampire, so was killing him really ok? Don’t tell me you’re having a loving moral crisis. Agbat’s voice forced itself into James’ mind like someone pouring aspic into his ear. James shuddered, cursing for the hundredth time the day he’d bought Agbat on a whim from Herbert’s Cursed Items and Magickal Supplies. He understood now why the sword had been so heavily discounted. I will chop your mum into spider sashimi and make an omelette with her eggs. I will-- James’ chest tightened. He so badly wanted to be a big brother. Growing up it had always just been James and Lucretia - she would never tell him anything about his father, no matter how many times he asked - and the thought of having more family, a proper family, meant everything to him. If killing an ancient evil vampire was the price he had to pay to keep them safe, then… James took a deep breath and tightened his grip on the sword’s handle. Agbat’s infernal monologue ceased and a tongue of flame licked the edges of the blade. Yesssss, the demon sword hissed. The vampire’s ears flicked. His head turned, and his eyes widened-- James shot from the ceiling like a bullet from a gun that shoots spidermen. The vampire opened his mouth to scream-- “Blossom!” Vladimir shouted, and threw open his arms. Agbat’s grip flashed red-hot and James released the sword with a yelp of pain. He twisted in the air just in time to avoid landing on Vladimir, and Agbat mal-Habradak Red-Blossoms-at-Dawn the cursed demon sword tumbled, trailing flames like a bridal train, into his master’s waiting arms. The vampire cackled and swung the sword with a whoosh of flame, then fired a fireball at James. James jumped out of the way just in time to avoid getting barbequed. He shot a rope of sticky silk out his navel, exposed between his black crop top and skinny jeans, and scurried hand over hand up it to the marginal safety of the dome. “Holy Nosferatu, did you see that?” Vladimir said to Blossom. “He’s a spiderman, yes,” said the sword. “Now kill him so we can use his blood to break the seal and get out of here.” “But what if I don’t want to kill him?” said Vladimir. He slung Blossom over his shoulder and pointed one long manky fingernail at James. “Hey man-spider, how did you do that?” “What, this?” James poked out his belly, then pfffth’d a stream of silk straight at Vladimir. It hit the vampire’s chest and stuck to the ruby amulet. James gave the web an expert flick, then yanked the necklace up and over the vampire’s head and into his waiting palm. “Hey!” said Vladimir. “Mum’s going to love this,” said James, and pocketed the necklace. “KILL HIM KILL HIM KILL HIM!” screamed Red-Blossoms-at-Dawn. Vladimir unshouldered the sword, braced his legs wide apart and wrapped both clawed hands around the grip. Fire jetted from the tip and scoured across the mouldering stones. The layer of wet muck boiled and steamed, and James coughed as a dreadful smell filled the chamber. He lept and swung on his navel-web, sticking his threads to the dry stone left in the cone of flame’s path as Vladimir wielded Blossom to chase him around the dome. James climbed higher and higher, until he was in jumping distance of the hole at the top. He grabbed the lip, and heard the vampire groan and Blossom let out a stream of guttural curses as he whipped his body into the tunnel and out of sight. The ruby amulet pressed into James’ thigh as he wriggled up the narrow drainage hole and into the sewers above. He grinned as he thought about how one day he could tell his little brothers and sisters all about the time that their big brother, Spiderman James, saved the city from a vampire and an evil demon sword and got his mum the best present ever. And about how they should never ever buy anything from Herbert’s Cursed Items and Magickal Supplies, not even if it looked really cool, and especially not if it was super heavily discounted.
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Feb 21, 2022 17:31
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Tars Tarkas posted:Hey, can I get a discord invite too? The one higher on this page is no longer valid Sent
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Apr 14, 2022 04:36
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flerp posted:in yokai Diner Youkai  The man called M posted:I think I have a regular-rear end something in mind. Waterfall youkai  sebmojo posted:in yokai Piano youkai 
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Apr 27, 2022 02:06
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Oh, I'm judging. The horseperson agreed to it.
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Apr 27, 2022 02:10
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In
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May 12, 2022 18:38
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Week 510 Entry Living the Dream 780 Words Zari pulled up to Metropolitan Mercy and sighed as she glanced up at her ID badge on her mirror. The smile that looked back at her was the professional expression she had grown weary of wearing. Through high school, college, and grad school, the smile was an obnoxious sidekick that guaranteed each step forward to this: a good, yet grueling, job. She grabbed the badge, hooked it onto her white coat, and left her car. The frigid wintry air stung her face as she pulled her jacket tight. She rushed across the parking lot and through the main entrance of the hospital. "May I help you?" A cheerful man behind the desk looked up over his TV guide. "Zari Daniels," she said as she curled her lips up. "I'm the new overnight hospitalist." He tilted his head toward the elevator. The doors opened and out walked Dr. Marion, the woman who hired her. "Zari! So glad to finally have you on board. Come on," she said as she turned around. "I'll show you your office." They stepped into the elevator together. Dr. Marion pushed the '8' button. "Excited to get started?" Dr. Marion asked. "Of course!" Zari squeezed through her teeth. "This is going to be a great experience." "Now that's the kind of attitude we need around here. Someone who will go the extra mile you know? Sacrifice a little." Zari nodded. "I'll be honest with you," Dr. Marion continued. "This isn't the most glamorous position. But try and think of it as a stepping stone to greater things." Another stepping stone, Zari sighed. The elevator opened and Dr. Marion exited and pointed toward the end of the hall. “Last door on the left. When you get settled, call extension 730. That’s Dr. Zaheer. He’ll give you your marching orders.” Zari nodded and walked off. She arrived at the back corner of the 8th floor and opened the door. It was less an office and more like a dormitory. One that resembled something like the ones she used to live in when she was grinding her way through undergrad and barely stopped to rest. A bed sat under a window and the dusk light cast a cool glow on the folded beige blanket and crisp white pillow that sat atop it. A door to an adjoining bathroom was slightly ajar and the noise from the fan hummed softly and filled the room with a gentle thrumming. Zari put her things on the bed and re-opened the door, which had shut. She couldn’t find a doorstopper, so she wadded up some paper towels and stuck them underneath it. Even if you’re not busy, look busy, her father’s words echoed in her head as she sat down at the desk. Almost immediately, there was a knock on the door. “Ma’am?” It was the night custodian. “Yes!” Zari turned and greeted him. “Gotta keep this closed, OK? Security protocol.” He removed the paper towels and walked off. The door closed and Zari's shoulders loosened as her smile rested. She examined her surroundings. There was a hot water kettle on the desk and a small selection of tea next to it. Mentally, she selected a satchel of Lemon Zing. She picked up the phone, dialed extension 730, and asked: "What would you like me to do?" "Rest up." Dr. Zaheer sounded from the phone. "We'll call you when we need you." Zari's mouth fell open for a second as she swiveled in her chair and looked at the bed. "How uh," she stammered. "How often might you usually need me?" "Oh, once a night maybe. Gotta run, go ahead and get settled." The phone clicked off on the other end and Zari hung up. She rolled her chair over to the bed and patted the threadbare hospital blanket. It was the softest thing she had ever felt. She wheeled back to the desk and turned the kettle on. A light rattling stirred inside the kettle as the element warmed. She opened the tea box and selected a decaf tea, knowing that she would never even get to it. She walked over to the bed, lied down, and pulled the blanket over herself. The sun was nearly done with its course for the day and only a sliver of purply pink peeked out over the horizon. She rested her hand on the sill and admired the view. She felt warm air envelop her forearm as she realized the bed was right next to the heating unit for the room. Some slippers, was her last thought, definitely need some slippers. The hot water heater clicked off and Zari fell fast asleep.
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May 13, 2022 06:22
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sephiRoth IRA posted:Are we just doing brawls or is there a specific prompt? Or just the normal prompts? You looking for trouble, friend? Cos if you're looking, look no further. I will get mad for no reason and talk as much crap about you, myself, anyone or anything if need be.
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May 13, 2022 15:59
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sephiRoth IRA posted:I'll baby shoes for sale never worn your rear end I have nothing to go on except your willingness to engage. I'm more just pissed at EVERYONE ELSE IN THIS ENTIRE COMMUNITY FOR NOT ALREADY ISSUING SOME KIND OF BRAWL PROMPT! What the hell is wrong with every single one of you loving slackers?
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May 13, 2022 16:30
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It's been 17 whole minutes since sephiRoth was kind enough to slap me back with their finest dueling gloves. Pick up the pace. We got a bloodometer to fill.
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May 13, 2022 16:31
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Here's some burps. Want more? Ask. Sparksbloom’s I like reading this a good bit, but the ending felt predictable. In a week where the bad guy needs to win, I suppose that’s gonna be a tough thing to avoid, but we’ll see how your fellow combatants do. I think my big beef with this though is that in many ways both of your characters are victims. Holly was an innocent who fell victim to a trap and a very cruel fate, and your protag is stuck with them. I don’t see Holly really “winning” her, but she does kinda get what she thinks she wants, so maybe? Either way, it felt like this was some kind of a metaphor for the concept of being abused into staying by a harmful person. It works, but I almost wish that Holly’s being trapped in the tree was more a result of her own doing or a consequence of her actions. Ceighk’s This is a decent snapshot of a world that feels a lot bigger. It’s more of a systemic evil that wins here and I don’t necessarily mind that, but I find it less fun than just a dick in the yard stealing people’s poo poo.The language is formal and the characters aren’t quite developed in a way that makes the story feel a bit cold and lessens the horrific outcome if I were made to care a bit more about the fate of your narrator. But, it was well written and pretty efficiently done! Derp’s I’ll be real with you. Stories like this, no matter how effectively written are just not what I want to be reading right now. I don’t even know who wants to read things like this. Yeah the planet’s in big loving trouble. There’s nothing new there and there’s not much new here. Sure this is pretty logical and the expected outcome of the scenario you propose. Who cares? The story is clear and fine, but the outcomes are obvious and there’s “winning” here. Chernobyl Princess’s Yick. yick yick yick yick. This hurts to read, the right kind of way. Saw the outcome coming from a mile away but it was still effectively done and I really like that the villain of the piece is clear, and is also off screen. It’s a neat little touch and also makes Kim feel even more powerless. I just wish I haven’t seen this story play out a bunch of times in my life, as I’m guessing you probably have too, but yick. Yick. This is gross. Gross and bad, but good job. Yick Man Called M’s It’s starting to seem like you’re trying really hard to find an appropriate place to use the word whore without getting reprimanded. The story itself is whatever. A simple tale with characters who aren’t fleshed out. The evil is obvious and predictable but things escalate at a hilarious pace and the outcomes are sloppy and silly. Hawklad’s This was a cool concept but man, the villain didn’t win! The protag does a bad thing but the villain is the bully! And the bully lost big time! I mean sure, in most revenge stories the protagonist ends up exacting revenge in ways that, with a deeper read, makes them look pretty bad but meh. I just want a bad guy to be a bad guy and get away with it! Like why not have Stephen grow up to be the head scientist guy and have him further torment people with his sun laser thing? Anyway, it was still pretty effective and well told. The jumping around in time was clear and easy to parse. Rodent’s So I don’t really get what the protag is playing at but I was sorta seeing them as the doctor from eternal sunshine. I read it quickly, followed it fine, and was curious to see what would happen in the end. So I guess the person’s head toyed with in a dream and then they were set up to do something bad. And this was done just to see if it could be done. I mean that’s fine I guess? I don’t know this is ultimately a fun read but pretty forgettable. Nae’s Ugh, you had me going for a bit! And then it gets into more sad things about how all people are bad. And then the villain doesn’t win again! Sure, they win the fight but they don’t get what they want. They essentially end the story by saying as much. Ultimately, this is a short scene that plays out over combat, and it’s fine, the action is followable and I kinda did empathize, at least a little with the protag. I do like that the protag was the bad guy at least. T-rex’s This is my favorite so far. The victory is subtle and the villain is rather triumphant in their victory. I like the call to have the battleground be moreso over the soul of the individual than the institution they seem to uphold. The story works for me in a way others haven’t this week and it’s largely due to the resentment and how it’s handled of this intruding presence. It feels raw and ugly. Tars's The structure of this is imposing and makes for a largely uncomfortable read. The story is told through formal proclamations in the first half doesn’t do it any favors in getting me to care about the individuals and by the time you start fleshing them out I’m already kinda glazed over. The writing feels very stylized to be something that would look good in a book with a bunch of wizards on it but beyond that, it’s hard for me to find much in here that I’ll hold onto tomorrow. Thranguy’s So the protag figured out the dirt and then got killed right? I’m not quite sure what they were trying to figure out or what they did figure out. I couldn’t follow much of this to be honest. Some kind of corruption tale where the villain is very well protected but we also don’t really care about or get to see the villain enough for any of this to have any real heft. Jib’s Not gonna lie, this is just way the gently caress over and around my head. I have heard enough time reading things that aren’t in verse. Now I could watch the hell out of this and if it were performed well could maybe even be moved but I really don’t know what this is. Call it a blindspot but I hardly feel equipped to say much else about it, so I won’t. BabyRyoga’s Takes a long rear end time to get started and when it does I’m kinda glazed over and bogged down by the expository universe building. Once it does get going things feel a bit over the top and caricaturish. Also, it’s a brassy play to include Cerulean and Crimson as to colors in one sentence. That’s chutzpah right there, and I appreciate it but I didn’t love the overwrought overwritten descriptors found throughout the piece.
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May 31, 2022 02:29
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Brawl with SephirothIRA Hollywood Hero 1,110 Words Rex Milgram’s moist, unlit cigar hung from his lips as he held a Hustler magazine. “One hour, Rex.” A production assistant poked his head through the door of Rex’s trailer. “That’s Mr. loving Milgram to you.” “Sorry, Mr. Milgram. We’ll need you in an hour, OK?” The assistant rolled his eyes, and Rex moistened his fingers on the wet part of the cigar near his mouth and turned the page. “Yeah, I heard you. Get on out now.” The assistant nodded and left, all too glad to be dismissed. “Remind me again,” Rex said through the small gap in his teeth adjacent to the cigar. “Why the gently caress are we here?” “We’re here,” Kim, his manager, said through pursed lips. “Because you’re a total PR nightmare.” He swiveled in his chair and faced Kim, who sat attentively on the sofa across from him. “You know, time was, nobody had to like me. I just showed up, did my thing, and got my checks.” “Yes. Well, times have changed, and perhaps even for the better.” “The better! Ha!” Rex pulled the cigar out of his mouth, stood up, and walked over to the Venetian blinds. He yanked the cord and pulled them up. “See all these people? Prancing around the lot?” Kim made a token craning of her neck. Rex wagged his cigar at her. “They’re soft! Soft, I tell you. Walking around with their precious green juices and pleated loving pants. They’re all soft.” “Be that as it may, you have alimony and child support to pay, do you not?” “Ungh,” Rex replied as she shoved the cigar back into his mouth and plopped back down in his chair. “That’s right, so you’re going to listen to these nice people, follow their directions, try not to curse at anyone, and get paid.” “So will you.” He said with a scoff. “I’m a bargain. You have no idea.” He chuckled and nodded as he withdrew a flask from his pocket and untwisted the cap. “I’ll take that!” Kim said as she swept to him and yanked it out of his hand. “Honestly, Rex, you have a problem!” She left the trailer, and Rex reached into his other pocket and withdrew another flask. “loving right.” ***** “OK, Mr. Milgram, you understand your motivation, right?” The segment director leaned over Rex as a makeup artist tried her damndest to make him look like less of a haggard corpse. “Yeah,” Rex said as he hiccuped. “Get paid.” The director sharply sniffed and raised his eyebrows at Kim. “Rex, we talked about this.” She said as she walked over. “It’s simple. You are showing up as the hero, ready to save the day. You want nothing more than put smiles on all of the little children of Cityopilis.” The director crooked his head to the left and began to object, but Kim placed a finger over her lips and mouthed ‘trust me’ at him. He nodded at her and regarded Rex, “You look great, Mr. Milgrim; let’s get you to wardrobe.” ***** “The gently caress is this?” Rex growled. “You’re a heroic Tyrannosaur, coming to save the day, remember?” Kim said as the costumer crammed a dinosaur head over Rex’s face. “I’m a hero. Yeah, a hero.” He tilted his head toward the costumer. “Ay mama when you off?” She scoffed and yanked the head down aggressively onto Rex. The assistant from the trailer knocked on the open door. “You’re on, Mr. Milgrim.” Rex grabbed a fresh cigar out of Kim’s purse—she kept them there for safekeeping—and shoved it into his mouth. “Showtime.” He said through his clenched teeth. ***** A semi-circle of children surrounded the sprawl of Cityopilis. 6-foot tall skyscrapers, parks, and roads with busses and cars adorned the model city. The children all fixedly started at something they swore never to touch or play in. They all sat with their legs crossed and waited for the show to begin. The studio lights dimmed, the children gasped, and a booming voice echoed throughout the soundstage. “Nighttime, in a city that never sleeps!” Maddie Science, one of the show’s many heroes, walked onto the stage and positioned herself in front of her lab. “This city needs a protector! Someone who can save us in times of trouble.” She played it big to the camera and flashed a matinee smile. “Luckily, I,” She swooped her right arm across her body and stuck her thumb on her chest. “Maddie Science, am here to help!” A lab cart mysteriously shot out from the wings, and Maddie Science grabbed it and held it in place in front of her. The kids roared in approval as they waited to see what the well-intended but scarcely competent Maddie Science would create. She poured the contents of some flasks into other empty ones and fiddled with the bunsen burner, tweaking the flame ever slightly. Moments later, a cracking noise shouted from stage right, and smoke billowed up from the floor. The children screamed and squealed with delight and turned to see what creation Maddie Science had made. The smoke slowly descended, and as the studio audience and children alike quieted, the room held a stillness as the face of Rex Milgrim, cigar in mouth, surrounded by a T-Rex costume, appeared. He reached up, pulled the cigar out of his mouth, and burped a cloud of bourbon vapor. “Hey there kids, get ready to fuggin’ shmile!” He hiccupped and toppled into the nearby animal shelter sending shards of wooden splinters and plush animals into the air. Smile they did. The children hooted and cheered as the one-time Oscar nominee pushed himself up with his hands and hurled into Peaceable Lake. They turned to Maddie Science, who held her hand up to her mouth. “Holy Helix!” She shouted her catchphrase. She redoubled her efforts over her lab bench, and the last thing that happened before Rex Milgrim passed out was another crack stage left, as smoke filled the stage. ***** “Wake up, you washed up has been,” Kim said as she harshly patted Rex’s cheek. “Did I shave da day?” He said as he came to. “That you did. You played the fool perfectly.” “The wha…?” Kim tilted her head to the crowd, where a woman dressed in a giant robot suit was signing autographs. “She kicked your rear end.” “Ah, did I fight gud?” “You were dreadful, but the director assured me they got what they needed.” “So, I’m not a hero?” Rex said blearily but regaining his composure. “Nope,” Kim said with a smile. “And I didn’t do what they asked me?” “Nope,” she answered. “But, you got the check?” He asked. “Yup.” “Sounds pretty fuggin heroic to me.”
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Jun 3, 2022 03:28
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Antivehicular and derp. Stop fighting, it's gross. Instead, take 500 words and a week to tell me a story about cheating. What kind? Whatever kind you want but something needs to happen outside the established law of your universe. Get the gently caress on, go gogo.
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Jun 3, 2022 22:54
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Albatrossy_Rodent posted:Chili! Your face is dumb and your thoughts are stupid! That hat you often wear makes you worthy of derision and mockery! Brawl me. Yes
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Jun 11, 2022 04:19
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Antiderp, This is an absolute tweener. Please bear with me I want to sleep on judgment.
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Jun 11, 2022 05:27
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Chili posted:Antiderp, It's super close but I think derp squeaks out the victory. Crits when I get home.
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Jun 11, 2022 12:04
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Derpular brawl crits So a bit of an elaboration on my judging: I did like both of these stories but I can’t say I loved them. And I liked them both pretty equally but for different reasons. Hence, it was hard to arrive at a judgment. If I were to judge them right now, I think I’d actually choose Anti’s for the win. But that’ll probably change again tomorrow, so really take the verdict with several chunks of salt. Anti - The prose and feel of this piece are the strong part of it, and that shouldn’t be a surprise, it’s coming from you after all and you know what you’re doing with words. Beyond that? This feels like it needs to be bigger and doesn’t really fit the tiny word count. We don’t see examples of the summoning done correctly so the weight of the protag’s decision isn’t all that heavy and it doesn’t feel so much like they’re cheating, even though you specifically call them out for it, as much as they are being lazy/incompetent and taking a shortcut. They do end up paying a cost for their creation and that works nicely and ties everything up. derp - Your story is a bit more straightforward and direct. No better place to invoke a cheating story than over a game of cards. And the stakes are high without having to do very much worldbuilding or scene setting. Gambling for capfuls of water is an interesting idea. Why does it matter that the dude has cheated on his wife, and why don’t you actually end the story? The outcome is pretty heavily implied, but the aftermath is something we’re robbed of and there was a little extra like that wife stuff that you could have dropped in favor of showing a bit more. I wanted more though, so that’s good! See this is weird, now, after writing these crits I like derp’s story better again and I stand by my verdict. I don’t know. You’re both cool and good. Thanks for writing stories.
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Jun 12, 2022 16:17
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Jun 14, 2022 19:11
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Week 515 Entry Corporate Climbing 500 Words I walk out of my promotion interview at Equicorp feeling nothing. There is no way that they will ever promote me to manager. I’m not just being humble or trying to protect my ego from expecting something good. I asked for the interview to retain my dignity. If I didn’t ask for it, they would have invited me. I can barely stomach the charade as it is without another layer of artifice on top of the mountain of bullshit that already is my career in this hellscape of cubicles. I survive my job by having no expectations that anyone, at any point, will ever do the right thing. Then, at 5 PM, I leave my cynicism behind me and rejoin the world. It works. It also guarantees that I will stay right where I am and never go up or down. I’m fine with that. Aspiration has never been available to me, and I’m reminded of that as I pass Brenda’s cubicle on the way to my own. “How’d you do, Baby?” I wish I could say the moniker was borne out of a romantic affectation, but that’s not the case. It’s what I’m known as around here by everyone. “Fine,” I nod. “I’ll bet you get it!” She says in the exuberant tone I heard her use with Stew from accounting a mere hour ago. Truth is, Stew will probably get it. He wears suspenders and certainly looks the part. And it’s for that reason that I won’t get it. I’m 36 years old, but I look like I’m fresh out of high school. I’ve tried every possible strategy to age myself up, to no avail. Can’t grow facial hair, hats make me look like a PEZ dispenser, and when I go more formal, it seems like I’m about to attend my first communion. I can’t grow, in any sense, and that’s fine. Just fine. I don’t need these people, and I don’t need anything. And it’s that energy that I carried into my interview. I had nothing and, therefore, nothing to lose. They asked me a question, and I answered with one of my own. They proposed a scenario for me to respond to. I told them the literal, disappointing truth colored by my apathy and don’t-do attitude. I surprised them, at least. ***** A week passes by. I have forgotten about the interview. I’m more concerned with my phone and the current run of the recent roguelike I’ve been dabbling with. Others walk with nervous energy and hope that will soon blow out when Stew from accounting takes the reigns. The PA blares out, and after a cough, an announcement beckons all of us to the conference room. We are sat down and told to wait a moment. Brenda wheels in a rectangular box atop a cart. A decision has been made, and they decided to go with an inside hire. “Congratulations!” they all shout as they rip off the cover to reveal a freshly frosted cake that says: boss baby
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Jun 14, 2022 19:36
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interprompt Story starts as bread goes into the toaster. Story ends as toast pops out. 150 words
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Jun 22, 2022 00:57
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Jun 29, 2022 03:00
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Data Graham posted:I could use an editor pass. I'm at 1679 words but I don't know what to cut. It's encouraged! If you're up for joining the discord you'll have no problem finding a set of eyes. https://discord.gg/DXTke97H
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Jun 30, 2022 14:46
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Week 517 Entry Staff Support 1250 Words Janelle sat in the corner of her therapist's office with her shoulders as far forward as they could go. Her bangs draped over her eyes, and she squeezed her left forearm with the nails of her right hand as her therapist awaited an answer to his question. A question he could no longer recall since they had been sitting in silence for minutes. "You know," he said as she jumped. "I'm cool if you don't want to talk. It's kinda nice to just have things be quiet, isn't it?" He caught a sliver of an eye turning up to him through her bangs. "Maroon Unit's so loving loud." She mumbled. "Well, it's quiet here, and as long as you're in here, my boss thinks I'm working." Ross leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. "You're trying to trick me. You want me to say something." Ross kept his eyes closed but smiled, "You know, I wouldn't put it past me. But, when you catch me, I admit it, right? Like that time I tried to show you a card trick." "Yeah," she said, looking back up. "You wanted me to like you, so I'd trust you." "You caught me. When I do all the intakes for your unit, I show the kids card tricks. They're surprised and think I'm a different kind of therapist, and it gets us started on a good foot. But…" "...not me." Ross chuckled and opened his eyes. "Not you. You know, this whole therapy thing would probably be a lot easier if you weren't so smart. You realize that, right?" "The gently caress does that mean?" She shot up out of her chair. Ross didn't flinch. "That I'll never get out of here because I see poo poo and call it out? I thought you said that I was special. That I have everything I need to get out of here if I can just see it in myself and trust people." "Oh, I was saying all that, huh?" Ross asked. "Well, you've said it before." "And I guess you've been listening. I'm glad." Janelle sat back down. "You know," Ross started. "Maybe someday I won't need to keep saying those things if you keep saying them for yourself like you just did." "Our time's up, right?" Janelle asked. Ross looked up at the clock. "For this week, yeah. Ready to go back?" ***** Ross and Janelle arrived at the Maroon Unit just in time to hear a loud thud on the other side of the entrance door. "Oh lord." Janelle sighed. Ross pulled his walkie-talkie off of his belt and clicked it on. "Let's see what's going on." He said. "Staff support! All available units to Maroon!" Ross ran through his options quickly. He was, technically, available. But he was also with Janelle, who was firmly safe and outside the unit. He did the quick math and decided that the best option was to remain outside, where it was safe, and keep Janelle out of harm's way. But, his hands twitched in protest as it had been weeks since he last was able to intervene in a conflict, and his body begged for the adrenaline rush that went along with de-escalation. "You good?" He asked Janelle. "What?" She responded. "You good to hang out here? Just sit right here, and wait for me." He wasn't supposed to leave her by herself, but Janelle was not generally a risky resident. "I think they need me in there." He said. Janelle nodded and sat down against the wall. She brushed her bangs back out of her face and scanned the hallway, ensuring it was vacant. Ross yanked his ID badge off his belt loop, unlocked the door, and strode inside. A room several doors down the hallway was ajar. Several staff members stood around, warding off other residents and trying to calm down whoever was inside. The door closed, and Ross inched his way forward as he nodded at the other residents and maintained his posture. The door flew open again, and t-shirts and bras belched out of the room as it swung closed. "Oh hey, Mr. Ross." Amaya, the unit director, greeted him. "Whatcha doin' here?" Ross stepped back, and his hands dropped for a moment. "I heard the staff support call." "Oh, OK, we don't usually get many therapists responding. You know we got this, right?" "Is that Mr. Ross out there?!" A voice roared out from inside the room. "Yeah," Amaya replied. "He's here. He'd like to help." "What's the matter?" The door flew open, and she stared at Ross. "That bitch you work with ain't good enough? You gotta come up here?!" She pulled the door shut, and the unit door opened. "Who the hell left Janelle out here all by herself?" A livid residential worker called out. Ross deflated a bit and raised his hand. "The hell's wrong with you? You know we don't do that here." "No!" Janelle called out. "No no no no no!" She took off toward the crowd around the room and was stopped by the staff. "Who's in my room?" She cried. "Is it Carisa?" "That's right bitch! And I'm breakin' all your poo poo!" Janelle crumpled to the floor, dropped her head into her hands, and wept. "Will you please look after her?" Amaya asked Ross. "Just get her out of here." Ross frowned and nodded. "Come on, Janelle." But Janelle stayed on the floor, so Ross sat beside her. He waited for a moment until Janelle took a breath. "You know if this poo poo happened a month ago. You would've gone into crisis. They probably would've had to restrain you." Carisa flung open Janelle's door and saw Ross and Janelle sitting down. "Oh gently caress no!" She charged at them, and Ross shot up to his feet as the day staff surrounded them. Carisa crashed into the staff. They went hands-on and restrained her. "You're lucky they're here!" She yelled at Janelle as she struggled. "Or I swear to god I'd kill you." Janelle had had enough and stood up and walked away. Ross followed her. "That's right, Mr. Ross," Carisa called after them. "You walk away. That's how you do. Always walking away." Ross nearly took the bait and turned around, but Janelle reached out and grasped his arm. "Don't," she said as she wiped away her tears on her sleeve. "It's not going to help her. She needs to move on." "Move on?" Ross asked. "You know, she still talks about the trick you showed her when you did her intake." "Really?" "Yeah, I may not have bought that poo poo, but she did. You might have been the first person to be nice to her in years." "Well, sure, but I'm not her therapist. I just did her intake, and she works Sarah, who's gotta be the sweetest out of…." Janelle laughed. "Oh, Mr. Ross. Aren't you supposed to be the therapist here?" Janelle straightened her back and cleared her throat. "It seems like you're talking awfully fast, Mr. Ross." "She thinks I abandoned her?" "poo poo she thinks everyone abandoned her, she gets like this during our sessions. She gets like this when the others on the unit get family visits. She just gets like this." "God, you know, I hadn't even realized that our whole way of doing intakes here is screwed up, isn't it?" "I'd say so," Janelle said. "Don't think I woulda been too happy if I got shuffled over to someone else after you." Ross smiled. "Don't let it get to your head, though." Janelle continued. "But yeah, you should talk to your boss about how y'all run things around here." Ross shook his head in disbelief. "What was it I said, back in my office, about you being too smart for therapy?" "Was some bullshit." "Fuckin' right."
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Jul 4, 2022 06:07
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Jul 8, 2022 05:24
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Week 518 Entry Follow the Light 987 Words "Henry, what happened to Poppy?" Henry sighed and rolled over. He looked over his stack of recreational coding and physics books piled high next to his bed and saw his kid brother's dark and shadowy outline lying on his bed. "He died, Jason." Jason sniffed a tear into his nose. "I know he died, but what happened to him?" "Well," Henry sat up and rested his hands on his knees. "We buried his body in the ground today. So I guess that's what happened to him." "But that's just his body. What happened to him.” "I guess he's just gone." "Oh," replied Jason. "Maybe when I'm gone someday, I'll be able to talk to him again." "Maybe," replied Henry. "Ms. Helmand told me it's hard for 2nd graders to understand, but I will one day. Maybe when I'm in 8th grade, like you, I'll get it." Frustrated with only being able to administer maybes, Henry lay back down and closed his eyes. He heard his brother whimper and softly cry. Henry's stomach twisted in pain as he tried to find words to soothe and calm his kid brother. "Henry?" "Yeah, bud?" "Thanks for making up that story today at the funeral. About me losing my voice." "Oh," replied Henry. "No problem. It seemed like you didn't want to talk to anybody." "I didn't." "I get it." "I wish I could make up things like that, but I just feel bad for lying." "Hey, it's not a lie if it helps you, OK? You come first. They were all just people; you're my brother." ***** Henry pulled toast out of the toaster as his brother wandered into the kitchen, his eyes full of sleep. "Hey buddy, you sleep OK?" Henry asked, putting a plate of cinnamon toast in his brother's hands. Jason shrugged, and Henry frowned. "Couldn't stop thinking about Poppy, huh?" "I just can't remember without getting distracted." Henry suddenly realized how he could help his brother. "Hey Jayce," **cough cough** "I don't think I'm feeling too well. I'll get you on the bus, but I think I need to stay home." Henry hugged Jason at the front door when the bus arrived and told him to be good. Jason left, and Henry grabbed some kitchen sheers and duct tape and trodded down into the basement, where his mom kept the cardboard recycling. He surveyed the contents and smiled when he saw, behind the pile, a collapsed refrigerator box that his mother hadn't gotten around to collapsing. He twirled the scissors in his right hand and the duct tape in his left and said, "Let's get this poo poo done." ***** Henry worked all day and got lost in the process. Jason startled him while he was finishing his creation, with his earbuds in his ears as he listened to The Strokes. "Shitfire! You scared me, dude!" "Sorry, Henry," replied Jason. "Did you eat today? I checked the fridge and found the lunch mom packed for you." "Oh, yeah, I guess I forgot." Henry's stomach rumbled, and he took the brown sack out of Jason's hands. "What is this, Henry?" Jason walked up to the tall cardboard creation. It stood high over his and his brother's heads, and at the top was a semi-circle cut-out that housed a lone light bulb fixture. Henry had marked it up with all manners of nonsensical equations in sharpie that he had recalled from his readings and then randomly altered into incomprehensible garble. "It's called The Spiritbringer. You can use it to talk to Poppy." Jason twisted his eyebrows and looked at Henry doubtfully. "What? Like some make-believe thing?" "Nope, it's real," said Henry as he punctured his pouch of Capri-Sun. "You go in there from the door in the back, close your eyes, and you'll remember better." "What about that?" Jason pointed up at the light fixture. "Once you've remembered, you'll make a connection to Poppy, and he'll show us that he's here by turning the light bulb on." "What? No, come on, you have a switch or something." "'furch me," Henry said as he chewed on a Twinkie he had crammed into his mouth. He shot his arms out and spun around for Jason. The search would prove useless. Henry had put a pressure switch under The Spiritbringer. He set it to detect pressure and then trigger the lightbulb at a random amount of seconds between 35 and 80. "Give it a whirl," Henry said as he wiped his mouth on his sleeve. Jason crept around the box and walked inside. A minute or so later, the lightbulb came on. Another minute later, Jason emerged from The Spiritbringer in tears. "Henry! I heard Poppy!" "Huh?" Responded Henry. "Poppy! I heard his voice as soon as the light came on! He told me the story about sneaking bites of Christmas ham from the trunk while he sat in the backseat of the van on our road trip! It was like he was right there!" Henry shrugged. "Oh, well, that's great!" ***** Two days later, the doorbell rang after school. It was a large group of Jason's neighbor friends. He had told them all about The Spiritbringer. They all had someone they missed. One at a time, he let them in. They all made connections, and the light kept flickering on. Word spread. A week later, a mob of children, and even older kids from high school, arrived at Henry's house seeking the aide of The Spiritbringer. "Henry," Jason said. "Look at all of the people you're helping! This is amazing!" "I guess," said Henry, as he frowned at the crowd of people in his front yard. "We need to tell more people about this! You need to help everyone, just like you helped me!" Faced with taking something magical away from his brother and lying to people who didn't much matter to him, the choice was easy: "Let the people in."
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Jul 10, 2022 20:07
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Step right up, step right up! We've got a wheel here that needs spinning! When you sign up for any of the prompts this week, you have the option to #SpinTheWheel. What's the deel with this wheel? The wheel has 12 wedges, these wedges have all sorts of random things on them! What kind of things? You'll have to tune in to find out because for the first time ever… We're going to twitch! Every night, at 10:00 PM EDT, I will live stream a real-time spinning of my wheel! Why do I have this? I am not a well person; I am a wheel person. https://www.twitch.tv/honkerwatch The wheel will refresh with every spin. Things will come off, and things will come on! So don't get cute thinking you can rely on the bravery of others. Other fun events may or may not occur each night, so feel free to hop on for any of the times if you want to join in, even if you're not queued up for a spin! Additionally, if you have requested a flashrule or a hellrule, you will be assigned one during that night’s spin! You can request an additional rule even if you don’t #SpinTheWheel. When signing up for either prompt, please indicate if you’d like to spin by posting #SpinTheWheel. And, if you do sign up for a spin, be sure not to sub your entry until the wheel is spun because the outcome may impact your entry! If you cannot attend the live stream, all results, including spins and all assigned flash and hell rules, will be posted in the thread immediately following the spin. Chili fucked around with this message at 19:03 on Aug 1, 2022 |
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Aug 1, 2022 18:58
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Video is processing but it'll be good to go in about five minutes: Here are the results of our first spin! https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eX5LdH_oRio
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Aug 2, 2022 03:31
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Sailor Viy posted:I want to #SpinTheWheel 2 times today No. You'll have one, and you'll thank me for it.
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Aug 3, 2022 02:49
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Night 2 is in the bag! https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gUGMHiYlMhQ Thranguy and Digital Raven are not in the video Thranguy: sh was your Montycan champion and she won you 400 bonus words! Digital Raven: you won a donation to the charity of your choosing!
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Aug 3, 2022 03:36
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Little psa: There will be no word bounties or penalties on the wheel tomorrow, nor will there be any flash or hell rules on the wheel itself. You can still request them, and we'll still draw them as requested, but the wheel will have no content altering wedges tomorrow night. So if you want to get writing, go right ahead! Tune in! Somebody fucked around with this message at 04:53 on Aug 3, 2022 |
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Aug 3, 2022 04:49
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Wheel night 3, no popsicles, just sand in my mouth. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=video?0eX4-9OORfQ?edit
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Aug 4, 2022 03:45
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