They stared at the book, wearing expressions of horror and amusement. Well, Thierry looked amused, but Ash supposed that after two thousand years of being a vampire he’d heard all the legends and took them in stride. Quinn was disgusted and all for having Iliana set the thing on fire; even though he’d broken from Hunter Redfern and was soulmates with a vampire hunter he had fierce vampire pride. James was still horrified and kept blinking and staring at his own hand as if expecting it to burst into sparkles at any moment. Delos’ mouth was twisted into a moue of distaste, and he prodded the spine of the book with one long, aristocratic finger. His other hand was twitching, possibly for the rapier he always wore at his side, as if he were planning on running the book through. Ash was both amused and disgusted. He was a lamia and so didn’t think there was much horror in being a vampire, but then the books had it all wrong - there was no need to kill a human for feeding. As for the blood lust - well, James had turned Poppy with little to no trouble. Oddly enough, it was Timmy who was puzzled over the inconsistencies of the book, insisting that this Carlisle person, even if he’d been a doctor in his own day and age, would still have been too old to endure the change. Then again, Timmy had been enamored of Claudia from that awful book, Interview With a Vampire. Of course, his ardor for her was understandable, having been changed as a child himself, but still. Thierry was right - this book was dangerous, because it meant that mortal girls would be more susceptible to vampire machinations.
Still, the book was stupid. Ash turned and called for Iliana.
(300 on the nose, fandom notes in the comments)
Saturday, December 27, 2008
Things Learned from Old Tobias
He was seventeen and barely free from school, from the stupid teachers, from Potter and his marauding friends - and yet he felt empty, incomplete. He tipped his head back and closed his eyes, listened to the hum of the pub around him. It was filled with working men from the local mill where his father worked. His father was probably among them, but Tobias wasn’t one to acknowledge his freak son. After Mother died last summer, Tobias and Severus said nary a word to each other. Tobias wanted Severus to get a job in the mill, do something useful with himself, make himself a man, but Severus refused. He’d done well enough under Slughorn’s tutelage that he could sit his exams, attain his potions mastery, and be useful to the Dark Lord. Severus didn’t know why he’d bothered to come back to this place, why he hadn’t taken Lucius up on his invitation to spend the summer at the manor, but he knew he had to finish things here before he moved on.
A fist thumped down on the table in front of him, and Severus opened his eyes. The other boys he would have gone to school with, soot-stained from working in the mills all day, stood over him. Severus gazed up at them, impassive, as they spewed long-used and tired, repeated epithets, and when they were done he rose up. They wanted a fight, and they would get one. Severus had learned a thing or two from old Tobias. He shrugged off his coat and rolled up his sleeves, drew his fists up like a boxer. The boys took one look at the Mark on his arm and backed away. Severus smiled grimly and rolled his sleeves back down. He had work to do.
(Word count: 298)
A fist thumped down on the table in front of him, and Severus opened his eyes. The other boys he would have gone to school with, soot-stained from working in the mills all day, stood over him. Severus gazed up at them, impassive, as they spewed long-used and tired, repeated epithets, and when they were done he rose up. They wanted a fight, and they would get one. Severus had learned a thing or two from old Tobias. He shrugged off his coat and rolled up his sleeves, drew his fists up like a boxer. The boys took one look at the Mark on his arm and backed away. Severus smiled grimly and rolled his sleeves back down. He had work to do.
(Word count: 298)
Office of Unfettered Omniscience
The team had made it a general rule not to profile each other. However, there was no moratorium on betting on each other, so most of the team sat at a table together and watched Reid navigate his way across the dance floor to the bar to get them a round of beers.
Morgan had money on Reid tripping and spilling some drink on a hot girl, and his clumsy attempts to clean her dress would earn him a slap.
Hotch had money on the bartender - who was an attractive redhead - hitting on Reid and Reid totally missing it.
JJ had her money on Reid being charmed by some ruthless seductress and ending up silly-drunk because he hadn’t drunk in college and was clueless about jello shots.
Prentiss had money on Reid finding a table of clueless college boys and robbing them blind in a game of poker.
Rossi’s money was on Reid leaving in a half-hour to watch Star Wars at home.
Unsurprisingly, it was Garcia who had twenty on Reid dancing with a hot girl and taking her home.
All were possibilities. Only one happened.
Later that night, after Reid and his girlfriend left (she’d asked him to dance after the third toast), Prentiss asked Garcia how she’d known.
Garcia replied that she worked in the office of unfettered omniscience.
Morgan had money on Reid tripping and spilling some drink on a hot girl, and his clumsy attempts to clean her dress would earn him a slap.
Hotch had money on the bartender - who was an attractive redhead - hitting on Reid and Reid totally missing it.
JJ had her money on Reid being charmed by some ruthless seductress and ending up silly-drunk because he hadn’t drunk in college and was clueless about jello shots.
Prentiss had money on Reid finding a table of clueless college boys and robbing them blind in a game of poker.
Rossi’s money was on Reid leaving in a half-hour to watch Star Wars at home.
Unsurprisingly, it was Garcia who had twenty on Reid dancing with a hot girl and taking her home.
All were possibilities. Only one happened.
Later that night, after Reid and his girlfriend left (she’d asked him to dance after the third toast), Prentiss asked Garcia how she’d known.
Garcia replied that she worked in the office of unfettered omniscience.
Birthday Conspiracies
Squall didn’t look up from where he was cleaning Lion Heart when he asked how Zell was doing, but then he was bad at eye contact.
Selphie fretted and mopped Zell’s brow; he moaned and clutched his stomach.
Irvine ducked into the tent, shotgun slung casually over one shoulder. His prediction was right, that Zell had eaten too many hotdogs trying to impress a girl and was sick.
Quistis, ever the instructor, informed Zell that he shouldn’t be lying down, that he ought to walk it off. Squall’s contribution was to order Zell to march the outer perimeter for a half-hour and watch for monsters.
Selphie insisted Zell was in no condition to fight, but Squall was Commander, so Quistis helped Zell up. Irvine shoved him out of the tent.
As soon as Zell was out of earshot, Selphie opened her mouth to scold Squall, but everyone else was moving, all military efficiency and precision. Quistis opened the med kit and pulled out of the stasis bag not transfusion blood but a birthday cake.
Irvine reached into his coat and drew out his box of ammo, inside of which were candles instead of rifle shells. He counted nineteen of them onto the cake.
Squall sheathed Lion Heart, set it aside, and brought presents out of the armor box. According to Irvine, it was Zell’s birthday. Selphie felt awful for forgetting, but Irvine reminded her that the GFs had stolen her memories and it wasn’t her fault.
Once the birthday spread was laid out, Selphie went to call Zell back, but Squall shook his head. Then he and Quistis short-sheeted Zell’s cot. Selphie said it was mean, that it was Zell’s birthday, but Squall, ever the commander, reminded her that there had to be repercussions - for all the hotdogs.
(Final Fantasy VIII post-game universe, no Rinoa because she bugs the snot out of me)
Selphie fretted and mopped Zell’s brow; he moaned and clutched his stomach.
Irvine ducked into the tent, shotgun slung casually over one shoulder. His prediction was right, that Zell had eaten too many hotdogs trying to impress a girl and was sick.
Quistis, ever the instructor, informed Zell that he shouldn’t be lying down, that he ought to walk it off. Squall’s contribution was to order Zell to march the outer perimeter for a half-hour and watch for monsters.
Selphie insisted Zell was in no condition to fight, but Squall was Commander, so Quistis helped Zell up. Irvine shoved him out of the tent.
As soon as Zell was out of earshot, Selphie opened her mouth to scold Squall, but everyone else was moving, all military efficiency and precision. Quistis opened the med kit and pulled out of the stasis bag not transfusion blood but a birthday cake.
Irvine reached into his coat and drew out his box of ammo, inside of which were candles instead of rifle shells. He counted nineteen of them onto the cake.
Squall sheathed Lion Heart, set it aside, and brought presents out of the armor box. According to Irvine, it was Zell’s birthday. Selphie felt awful for forgetting, but Irvine reminded her that the GFs had stolen her memories and it wasn’t her fault.
Once the birthday spread was laid out, Selphie went to call Zell back, but Squall shook his head. Then he and Quistis short-sheeted Zell’s cot. Selphie said it was mean, that it was Zell’s birthday, but Squall, ever the commander, reminded her that there had to be repercussions - for all the hotdogs.
(Final Fantasy VIII post-game universe, no Rinoa because she bugs the snot out of me)
Friday, December 26, 2008
After
"After the ball was over, she took her glass eye out, kicked her false leg in the corner..."
Ron's drunken warbling was obnoxious.
Stephanie smiled indulgently and plunked another shot glass down on the bar in front of him. He'd had enough vodka that he wouldn't be able to tell that the next six shots were nothing but water. Most nights Stephanie would feel bad for stealing, but when he was drunk he tipped well, and if she saved him from alcohol poisoning, well, that was his money well spent.
Ron's drunken warbling was obnoxious.
Stephanie smiled indulgently and plunked another shot glass down on the bar in front of him. He'd had enough vodka that he wouldn't be able to tell that the next six shots were nothing but water. Most nights Stephanie would feel bad for stealing, but when he was drunk he tipped well, and if she saved him from alcohol poisoning, well, that was his money well spent.
Wednesday, December 24, 2008
First Sight
Lirael drew on the hated garment, the blue that meant that she still didn't have the sight like her sisters, and rolled her eyes at her Aunts hurrying her along to the ceremony. Yet another of the sisters had gained the sight. Every Watch saw new sisters joining their ranks. Lirael wished that she could go and hide, so she would not have to be humiliated again.
She marched with the others, bored and wishing to be anywhere else, she didn't even pay attention when the Watch started to call the names of the new visionaries, and one by one they came to the front to receive their robes and circlets. Lirael was startled out of her self misery when the entire body of women turned in her direction. Lirael felt her aunt nudge her sharply, and motioned her to walk forward.
Confused, Lirael stood and walked towards the front of the assembly. The Voice of the Watch, waited for her. Her steps faltered as she realized what this meant. The two powerful seers draped her slim form in the white robe of a seer and placed the moonstone circlet on her brow. Two tears slipped down her face as she Saw for the first time.
(Character is Lirael from the Abhorson Trilogy by Garth Nix. The spin is that she actually gets the sight, when in the books she never did.)
She marched with the others, bored and wishing to be anywhere else, she didn't even pay attention when the Watch started to call the names of the new visionaries, and one by one they came to the front to receive their robes and circlets. Lirael was startled out of her self misery when the entire body of women turned in her direction. Lirael felt her aunt nudge her sharply, and motioned her to walk forward.
Confused, Lirael stood and walked towards the front of the assembly. The Voice of the Watch, waited for her. Her steps faltered as she realized what this meant. The two powerful seers draped her slim form in the white robe of a seer and placed the moonstone circlet on her brow. Two tears slipped down her face as she Saw for the first time.
(Character is Lirael from the Abhorson Trilogy by Garth Nix. The spin is that she actually gets the sight, when in the books she never did.)
Dance Dance
On any other night, they would have been wearing black body armor and carrying assault rifles, knives, and grenades. Quatre’s pale hair - and Zech’s too - would have been jammed under black knit caps (knit thoughtfully by Relena, so lumpy and uneven), and Duo would have had black paint smudged all over his boyish face.
Tonight, however, was no mission night.
Still, five gundam pilots watched, as intent as on any surveillance job, while the sixth member of their ranks put some of his training to use.
It had been Trowa’s idea, oddly enough, and even more odd was that Wufei had supported him. Quatre was on the bandwagon easily enough once Wufei threw down some philosophy to back up his point. As soon as Duo learned what the endgame was, he volunteered to handle the majority of the training. Zechs, unsurprisingly, had been the hold-out.
After some strong convincing (wheedling and puppy eyes from Duo, some smooth politician maneuvering from Quatre), Zechs relented, and so there they were, standing on the edges of the dance floor, watching Heero ask a girl to dance. For the first time. For totally non-mission-related purposes. Zechs and Quatre had handled dance lessons, with Trowa putting in his two cents about fighter grace being the same as musical grace. Wufei had selected practice candidates, including Noin, Sally, Relena, and Hilde - they’d all unanimously agreed against Dorothy. Duo had handled the conversational aspect and covered all matters of charm.
Heero had thrown himself into his new civilian training with the same doggedness with which he’d pursued his Preventers training, and there he was, out on the dance floor, asking a random girl to dance.
All five men held their breath without realizing it.
And then Heero tugged the girl close for a waltz.
(300 on the nose; Gundam Wing; technically Zechs was a gundam pilot because he piloted the Tallgeese, which was the original prototype for the other five gundams)
Tonight, however, was no mission night.
Still, five gundam pilots watched, as intent as on any surveillance job, while the sixth member of their ranks put some of his training to use.
It had been Trowa’s idea, oddly enough, and even more odd was that Wufei had supported him. Quatre was on the bandwagon easily enough once Wufei threw down some philosophy to back up his point. As soon as Duo learned what the endgame was, he volunteered to handle the majority of the training. Zechs, unsurprisingly, had been the hold-out.
After some strong convincing (wheedling and puppy eyes from Duo, some smooth politician maneuvering from Quatre), Zechs relented, and so there they were, standing on the edges of the dance floor, watching Heero ask a girl to dance. For the first time. For totally non-mission-related purposes. Zechs and Quatre had handled dance lessons, with Trowa putting in his two cents about fighter grace being the same as musical grace. Wufei had selected practice candidates, including Noin, Sally, Relena, and Hilde - they’d all unanimously agreed against Dorothy. Duo had handled the conversational aspect and covered all matters of charm.
Heero had thrown himself into his new civilian training with the same doggedness with which he’d pursued his Preventers training, and there he was, out on the dance floor, asking a random girl to dance.
All five men held their breath without realizing it.
And then Heero tugged the girl close for a waltz.
(300 on the nose; Gundam Wing; technically Zechs was a gundam pilot because he piloted the Tallgeese, which was the original prototype for the other five gundams)
X-Poker
It’s one of the more vicious stalemates they’ve come to. They sit in a circle, cards held close to their chests, eyeing each other warily. Scott is down his boxers, and his expression is even more unreadable. Remy wonders if Scott has peripheral vision with those ruby quartz shades of his. He darts a suspicious glance at Jean, who is down to her bra and jeans, and he wonders if what she says is true, that his kinetic potential energy prevents her from reading his mind. Across the table, Warren has his wings folded about himself to preserve his modesty, but he’s not blushing - he’s staring intently at Kurt, whose expression is also suspiciously blank. Remy thinks Hank has it made, because no matter what he takes off, no one will notice anything but that he’s completely furry and blue. Remy wonders, briefly, if that’s why dogs aren’t embarrassed that they’re naked, and then he feels ashamed for comparing one of his teammates to a dog. It is, oddly enough, Bobby, whose naked form is modestly cased in ice, who has the biggest pile of poker chips. Remy’s not sure how they ended up playing for chips as well as clothes, and he thinks that the bottle of booze Storm brought is to blame. She’s down to her underwear, but she also seems unbothered by it all. Remy is surprised to realize that, for some odd reason, he’s the only one uncomfortable with his state of deshabille.
His discomfort isn’t at issue, however. What matters is who’s showing their hand first.
A muscle twitches in Scott’s jaw. Warren flexes his wings ever so slightly. Kurt’s tail lashes like an angry cat’s.
Jean settles it with a flick of her telekinesis.
Remy strips off his boxers and folds out of the game.
(300 on the nose; X-Men canon characters but in no particular universe, except possibly Ultimate-verse wherein all the characters have at least made one appearance and may or may not be young and foolhardy enough to play such a game.)
His discomfort isn’t at issue, however. What matters is who’s showing their hand first.
A muscle twitches in Scott’s jaw. Warren flexes his wings ever so slightly. Kurt’s tail lashes like an angry cat’s.
Jean settles it with a flick of her telekinesis.
Remy strips off his boxers and folds out of the game.
(300 on the nose; X-Men canon characters but in no particular universe, except possibly Ultimate-verse wherein all the characters have at least made one appearance and may or may not be young and foolhardy enough to play such a game.)
Tuesday, December 23, 2008
Circles
"We're going in circles," Henry insisted.
Randolph snatched the map from him and flicked on his torch. "We are not - see this right here? That's the church we passed ten minutes ago."
Liam said, "We also passed that church an hour before that."
Henry sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "How long until the locals realize that we escaped the jail?"
"Not long enough," Liam said, and drew his pistol.
The townsmen shuffled toward them, zombie-like, bloodlust in their eyes.
Randolph snatched the map from him and flicked on his torch. "We are not - see this right here? That's the church we passed ten minutes ago."
Liam said, "We also passed that church an hour before that."
Henry sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "How long until the locals realize that we escaped the jail?"
"Not long enough," Liam said, and drew his pistol.
The townsmen shuffled toward them, zombie-like, bloodlust in their eyes.
Trust and Betrayal
I should have trusted him, should have known he would never betray me, and here I have betrayed him. I thought that he didn't mean what he said. I didn't trust myself. I didn't think that he could love me, I didn't know that he did. And now I have hurt him worse than he could ever have hurt me.
He looked at me with such pleading in his eyes, a desire for me to understand, but I would not. I could not, and now it is to late.
And now, I could never get back what I never had.
(Okay it seems to me a little convoluted, but inner thought often are. This is JJ's thoughts about Reid after he told her that he loved her. I know it's not exactly cannon, but...)
He looked at me with such pleading in his eyes, a desire for me to understand, but I would not. I could not, and now it is to late.
And now, I could never get back what I never had.
(Okay it seems to me a little convoluted, but inner thought often are. This is JJ's thoughts about Reid after he told her that he loved her. I know it's not exactly cannon, but...)
Circles
Follow in the circles I dance, round and round we go.
No beginning and no end, we circle for eternity.
Spin about and once again follow in my rounds.
No beginning and no end, we circle for eternity.
Spin about and once again follow in my rounds.
Overview #8 Writers Tennis
This was a bit more tricky than I counted on. I agree with Master in that there should be some sort of end point in mind when writing in conjunction with another person. I did enjoy not knowing what was going to happen though. Someintes it was a bit difficult to decide where to take the story when I didn't know what my writing partner was going to do.
All in all I enjoyed the challenge.
All in all I enjoyed the challenge.
Monday, December 22, 2008
Breaking the Rules
He watched her standing in the fury of the storm, wild and untameable. His eyes darted back and forth, making sure that there was no one else around. Walking with stealth he stole closer to his target, closer to victory.
She twitched her blond hair out of her eyes, still facing into the storm, letting the rain mingle with her tears. She jerked to full alert when she heard the sound of a footstep behind her. Quick as lightning she turned on the person behind her; years of military training coursing through her body. She shifted into a fighters crouch.
The military man backed up a step, raising his hands to show he meant no harm, a warm smile flashed across his craggy and weather worn face. He inched closer.
The woman straightened up; snapping off a sharp salute to the man in front of her, though her eyes were hard, mocking and empty. She swallowed painfully, sadness flashed in her face when she remembered all that she wanted, and all that regulations said that she could not have.
The superior officer returned the gesture and then, dropping all pretenses, he closed the gap and pulled her into his arms, whispering vows never to let her go.
(characters are Jack O'Neill and Samantha Carter from Stargate-sg1)
She twitched her blond hair out of her eyes, still facing into the storm, letting the rain mingle with her tears. She jerked to full alert when she heard the sound of a footstep behind her. Quick as lightning she turned on the person behind her; years of military training coursing through her body. She shifted into a fighters crouch.
The military man backed up a step, raising his hands to show he meant no harm, a warm smile flashed across his craggy and weather worn face. He inched closer.
The woman straightened up; snapping off a sharp salute to the man in front of her, though her eyes were hard, mocking and empty. She swallowed painfully, sadness flashed in her face when she remembered all that she wanted, and all that regulations said that she could not have.
The superior officer returned the gesture and then, dropping all pretenses, he closed the gap and pulled her into his arms, whispering vows never to let her go.
(characters are Jack O'Neill and Samantha Carter from Stargate-sg1)
The Wrong Profile
The profile, according to local police, was a man in his late thirties or early forties who had been perfecting his skill for many years. The confidence, strength, and knowledge of physiology suggested a medical background, and a large man, at least 200 pounds, and probably of local stock, Chinese or Mongol.
So when the officers cornered the killer in the alley and forced him into the light, they desperately hoped they were wrong even though they knew they weren’t. They didn’t understand how they could be right, because the killer was nothing like the profile. He was young, twenty at best, and wiry, whipcord thin but slick with muscle, skin slick with blood. And he was white - startlingly so, with frost-white hair - he was too young for hair that color - and feral golden eyes.
And his mouth was wide, pretty, blood-stained. His hands were bloodstained, too. The screams the officers had heard weren’t knives in flesh from neat, efficient evisceration. The screams were as from a dying beast, and when they’d rounded the corner they’d come upon the glory of Victoria Bay, Hong Kong island - and the horrific tableau of a man tearing apart another man with his bare hands.
The officers had their guns drawn, but it didn’t matter, because the man was bleeding from a shot to the shoulder and still grinning, still laughing.
Just as the lieutenant was about to give the order to open fire, to cut the man down with every round they had, a child appeared, slight, fluffy-haired, blue-eyed, Japanese-faced. His conversation with the blood-covered man was calm, casual, in a rolling tongue the officers had never heard. And then the boy turned, scaled the alley wall with casual elegance, and helped the murderer escape with him.
(Words: 300 on the nose; fandom: Weiss Kreuz; Characters: Farfarello, Nagi, random useless OCs)
So when the officers cornered the killer in the alley and forced him into the light, they desperately hoped they were wrong even though they knew they weren’t. They didn’t understand how they could be right, because the killer was nothing like the profile. He was young, twenty at best, and wiry, whipcord thin but slick with muscle, skin slick with blood. And he was white - startlingly so, with frost-white hair - he was too young for hair that color - and feral golden eyes.
And his mouth was wide, pretty, blood-stained. His hands were bloodstained, too. The screams the officers had heard weren’t knives in flesh from neat, efficient evisceration. The screams were as from a dying beast, and when they’d rounded the corner they’d come upon the glory of Victoria Bay, Hong Kong island - and the horrific tableau of a man tearing apart another man with his bare hands.
The officers had their guns drawn, but it didn’t matter, because the man was bleeding from a shot to the shoulder and still grinning, still laughing.
Just as the lieutenant was about to give the order to open fire, to cut the man down with every round they had, a child appeared, slight, fluffy-haired, blue-eyed, Japanese-faced. His conversation with the blood-covered man was calm, casual, in a rolling tongue the officers had never heard. And then the boy turned, scaled the alley wall with casual elegance, and helped the murderer escape with him.
(Words: 300 on the nose; fandom: Weiss Kreuz; Characters: Farfarello, Nagi, random useless OCs)
Project #9: No Dialogue
This week's assignment is to a write a scene, 100-300 words, with no dialogue. This does not mean that one can fall back on telling and not showing, because a story can be well-written without dialogue, and some moments in a story need no words from the characters. Since this is Christmas week and we all have important family time to spend and we may or may not be able to carry through our solstice inspiration from tonight, I'll offer this - seven days, seven fandoms, no dialogue. Every day a different fandom, pick your own fandom, feel free to use common fandom acronyms, pairing systems, or whatever; state full names if using obscure characters.
Joyeux Noel.
Notes: the Dagaz does not count as fandom. Keep the crossovers to a minimum.
Joyeux Noel.
Notes: the Dagaz does not count as fandom. Keep the crossovers to a minimum.
Overview #8 - Writer's Tennis
This was an interesting exercise. Sometimes I could tell where Madness was going with what she wrote, and sometimes I had no clue where she was taking her angle. It was an interesting interplay between writers. I sensed that we had different senses of drama, romance, and even the characters we wrote (though Angela was clearly the protagonist and we came to a fairly early consensus on Kenneth). This exercise has proven to me that, for all the fun that it was batting the ball back to the other side of the net and sitting back, Schadenfreude at the ready, to see what the other person came up with, for two writers to properly collaborate there needs to be an endgame plan at the ready, some sort of agreement for events and happenings and who will handle what to have a consistent narrative. Still, it was good times, building a world together. I do confess to having serious Schadenfreude moments of thwart! in me, but all the same, writing with a friend, and actually working with each other as opposed to merely occupying the same corner of cyberspace, was a fun ride.
Writer's Tennis 14
Kenneth was pacing a circle behind the camera. His expression was tense - brows furrowed, eyes dark, and he and Eddie were deep in conversation. Angela averted her gaze politely - she had no desire to read their lips and see any more than she had to see. So she paused by the table where the blue screen crew was set up.
Oddly enough, the blue screen crew for this film was a group of nervous, young Japanese men who spoke little English but ignored their translator more often than was helpful. Angela had once done deep cover with a group of otaku who were hacking government computers and selling data to the highest bidder, so her Japanese was good. At first the techs looked nervous, but once Angela settled back into the rhythm of the foreign language, they opened up. She played ignorant about the blue-screen process, as this was technically her alias’s first big visual effects film, and the men scrambled to explain it to her.
Before things could really get interesting, however, Eddie called things to order.
“All right, let’s get this baby blocked and then shot. Angela, Kenneth, start over here!”
Angela moved to stand opposite Kenneth on one corner of the set. The lights overhead had been filtered to give a nighttime effect. Angela resisted the urge to roll her eyes at the thought of a kiss in the middle of the night and followed Eddie across the set. The blocking was simple and, Angela thought, artful. She and Kenneth were supposed to exchange blows and arc down diagonally across the open room, and once the fight came to a head - with Angela pinned up against a wall, and she could never imagine a boy like Kenneth actually being able to pin her - the kissing would begin. The closer they got to the wall, the more pale Kenneth became.
“You clear with that?” Eddie asked.
Angela nodded and headed back to her corner of the set. Kenneth settled in opposite her, and then it came, that fateful cry,
“Action!”
Angela leapt at Kenneth and started into the fight choreography, careful to pull her hits. They followed the blocking across the set, and then it came, the fateful pin. Angela saw terror flash across Kenneth’s face, but he leaned in to kiss her.
And then someone yelled, “John Henricks, get on the ground! This is the FBI!”
Oddly enough, the blue screen crew for this film was a group of nervous, young Japanese men who spoke little English but ignored their translator more often than was helpful. Angela had once done deep cover with a group of otaku who were hacking government computers and selling data to the highest bidder, so her Japanese was good. At first the techs looked nervous, but once Angela settled back into the rhythm of the foreign language, they opened up. She played ignorant about the blue-screen process, as this was technically her alias’s first big visual effects film, and the men scrambled to explain it to her.
Before things could really get interesting, however, Eddie called things to order.
“All right, let’s get this baby blocked and then shot. Angela, Kenneth, start over here!”
Angela moved to stand opposite Kenneth on one corner of the set. The lights overhead had been filtered to give a nighttime effect. Angela resisted the urge to roll her eyes at the thought of a kiss in the middle of the night and followed Eddie across the set. The blocking was simple and, Angela thought, artful. She and Kenneth were supposed to exchange blows and arc down diagonally across the open room, and once the fight came to a head - with Angela pinned up against a wall, and she could never imagine a boy like Kenneth actually being able to pin her - the kissing would begin. The closer they got to the wall, the more pale Kenneth became.
“You clear with that?” Eddie asked.
Angela nodded and headed back to her corner of the set. Kenneth settled in opposite her, and then it came, that fateful cry,
“Action!”
Angela leapt at Kenneth and started into the fight choreography, careful to pull her hits. They followed the blocking across the set, and then it came, the fateful pin. Angela saw terror flash across Kenneth’s face, but he leaned in to kiss her.
And then someone yelled, “John Henricks, get on the ground! This is the FBI!”
Sunday, December 21, 2008
Broken
"It's not broken," Jennifer insisted.
Tom poked at her wrist. "Well, can you move it?"
"No, but --"
"Then it's broken."
Jennifer gazed back out at the softball field. "The championship game is this weekend."
"It's no use aggravating an injury," Tom said, but his tone was gentle. "Come on - let's get you to the ER. I'm sure the other girls on the team will sign your cast and make it all bright and pretty. Better than a yearbook, seriously."
Tom poked at her wrist. "Well, can you move it?"
"No, but --"
"Then it's broken."
Jennifer gazed back out at the softball field. "The championship game is this weekend."
"It's no use aggravating an injury," Tom said, but his tone was gentle. "Come on - let's get you to the ER. I'm sure the other girls on the team will sign your cast and make it all bright and pretty. Better than a yearbook, seriously."
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