Joe crouched back into a fighters stance, one that bespoke of quick reflexes and powerful strikes. His eyes took in his challenger; a hulk of a man, heavily muscled with a cocky smile dancing about his mouth. Joe's mind ran through instinctive calculations of weight, mass, and inertia, profiling his opponent. Joe let fear show in his eyes, the perfect lure.
Joe took a step back as the man advanced.
One quick pivot of the hips and Joe flung his fist forward with devastating power and precision, connecting solidly with his opponents sternum with a sickening crack.
Another victory gained.
Thursday, March 25, 2010
Only Keith
“What’s the stealth rating on this mission again?” Keith asked.
Christian ducked down behind the wall and checked the clip on his gun, sighed. “Zero, obviously. Else we wouldn’t be having an action-movie shoot-out with the facility security.”
“Why are we sitting here shooting, then?” Keith asked.
“Got a better idea?”
Keith curled his hands into fists, and his grin turned decidedly wicked. “Got a better weapon.” He stood up, and flames flared to life on his palms. He began to hurl them across the room.
Christian cringed at the scent of burning flesh, the screams. Only Keith.
Christian ducked down behind the wall and checked the clip on his gun, sighed. “Zero, obviously. Else we wouldn’t be having an action-movie shoot-out with the facility security.”
“Why are we sitting here shooting, then?” Keith asked.
“Got a better idea?”
Keith curled his hands into fists, and his grin turned decidedly wicked. “Got a better weapon.” He stood up, and flames flared to life on his palms. He began to hurl them across the room.
Christian cringed at the scent of burning flesh, the screams. Only Keith.
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
So Surprised
They thought he was insane; there was no reason to attempt to decipher his unintelligible mutterings as he sat in the corner, rocking back and forth and talking at nothing, grimy fingers drawing obscure symbols on the linoleum. If Cody kept his head down, they barely noticed him.
It was precisely the way he wanted it. It took days, weeks, almost a full-on month to secure the spell, and he’d had to restart several components because he was working from memory. What they took to be insane mutterings were incantations, and they looked so surprised when the walls fell.
It was precisely the way he wanted it. It took days, weeks, almost a full-on month to secure the spell, and he’d had to restart several components because he was working from memory. What they took to be insane mutterings were incantations, and they looked so surprised when the walls fell.
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
All of Those Things
It was the smile, the slow, gentle curve of his lips, the coy tilt of his head, the glimmer of blue as he peered up from beneath his lashes; it was the slender lines of his body and the smooth ripple of muscle under skin as he moved; it was the fine lines of his cheekbones and jaw, the silky-smooth paleness of his hair. It was the song festooning the air as his long-fingered hands drew music from the strings of a guitar. It was all of those things that made people miss the first punch every time.
Monday, March 22, 2010
Sneak Attack
"You're never going to get any better if you don't practice," David said, leaning against his foam sword.
"What's the point, I'll never beat you," Ariana pouted.
"Yes you will, but you must practice. Now, try again," David commanded.
Ariana narrowed her eyes at him as he began to stalk towards her. As he approached she rushed past his defenses and pressed her lips to his in a long kiss.
David was taken by surprise and his brain seemed to fizzle out. He was brought back to the present when he felt a blow to his back.
"Dead." Ariana said.
"What's the point, I'll never beat you," Ariana pouted.
"Yes you will, but you must practice. Now, try again," David commanded.
Ariana narrowed her eyes at him as he began to stalk towards her. As he approached she rushed past his defenses and pressed her lips to his in a long kiss.
David was taken by surprise and his brain seemed to fizzle out. He was brought back to the present when he felt a blow to his back.
"Dead." Ariana said.
Seriously
It was the wide eyes, the trembling lower lip, the suspicious glimmer of tears on eyelashes, tears that would drop like crystals and draw shining silver lines down smooth cheeks, it was the hitch of breath in the throat and the beginnings of a sob –
It worked every time. Gabriel sighed and surrendered the sword. Instantly the tearful expression vanished, and Kyle leapt to his feet, brandishing his weapon like a miniature knight in shining armor.
Gabriel sat back and shook his head. A child that young shouldn’t have been able to defeat the general of armies of Heaven. Seriously.
It worked every time. Gabriel sighed and surrendered the sword. Instantly the tearful expression vanished, and Kyle leapt to his feet, brandishing his weapon like a miniature knight in shining armor.
Gabriel sat back and shook his head. A child that young shouldn’t have been able to defeat the general of armies of Heaven. Seriously.
Sunday, March 21, 2010
Project #65: Armed and Dangerous
This week you have 100 words (set limit, to more no less) to describe your character's favorite weapon. Is it a gun? Is it a knife? Is it his smooth-as-butter English accent? Is it is disarming smile and cute southern drawl? How does he or she use it? When does he or she use it - is it for special occasions, or is it for an instant kill every time? Tell us how your characters fight and fight dirty, and show us the best - or most unusual - weapons in their arsenals.
Overview #64: Challenges
As usual, I responded better to someone else's challenge than my own, so let's see how well I do with my own challenge in the coming week, aye? Once again this was a pretty good week of characterization for me. As a general rule, the boys in Sector Five follow a pretty similar mold - they all have tragic pasts, and they're all inhuman killers now with a soft spot for their commander. It can run a little boring, right? I remembered that the best characters have flaws, and real ones. So this week I decided to explore what makes each of the boys more human than he'd like, and I did my best to tie it into their existing characters.
For example, Tobias can look like anyone he wants with the nature of his gift, but he's still scarred from the horror of both of his lives, being the quintessential high school loser on acid, and despite being a trained killer he still hates himself. Both of Gabriel's lives were rife with the horrors of racism, and it's difficult for him to pretend to be racist to get the job done. Keith's second life was set during The Troubles in Ireland, so he hates the British, and as far as he's concerned Angel, the James Bond figure, stands for all the worst of Britain, and Keith struggles with that. Angel is womanizer and has some very deeply entrenched notions of his own sexuality, and he can't let those go. Christian struggles with class issues, having swung from one end of the spectrum to the other between lives. What I liked about Christian was that I could develop his coming to grips with his sense of self by the time the rest of the boys show up. Christian has several decades' seniority over the others, and I don't know that I really ever explored that properly before.
Knowing what a character struggles with and showing a character facing a struggle - one that's deep-set in a personality or history - makes a character interesting, and I'm glad I'm learning more and more about what makes my boys tick.
For example, Tobias can look like anyone he wants with the nature of his gift, but he's still scarred from the horror of both of his lives, being the quintessential high school loser on acid, and despite being a trained killer he still hates himself. Both of Gabriel's lives were rife with the horrors of racism, and it's difficult for him to pretend to be racist to get the job done. Keith's second life was set during The Troubles in Ireland, so he hates the British, and as far as he's concerned Angel, the James Bond figure, stands for all the worst of Britain, and Keith struggles with that. Angel is womanizer and has some very deeply entrenched notions of his own sexuality, and he can't let those go. Christian struggles with class issues, having swung from one end of the spectrum to the other between lives. What I liked about Christian was that I could develop his coming to grips with his sense of self by the time the rest of the boys show up. Christian has several decades' seniority over the others, and I don't know that I really ever explored that properly before.
Knowing what a character struggles with and showing a character facing a struggle - one that's deep-set in a personality or history - makes a character interesting, and I'm glad I'm learning more and more about what makes my boys tick.
Rules 3.2
3.2(a) - since almost everything we post is "prose", almost everything was tagged prose, and the tag had lost its usefulness, so from now on don't use it as a tag (I've removed it). If we do write poetry, however, do mark a poem as poetry so it'll be easier to find. The prose tag wouldn't help anyone find anything.
3.2(b) - prizes! We have not been picking winners and issuing prizes as of late, which is pretty sad. It'd be a bit insane to go back and attempt to issue awards and prizes, but from now on we would definitely like to get prizes and the like written again. Also, if there is anyone out there who would like to join the game and would contribute regularly, let me (Nagi) know and we'll see about getting you listed in the ranks.
Question: on tags, do we want contributor tags, so one writer can find everything he or she has written? It could be done. I could do it. Let me know.
3.2(b) - prizes! We have not been picking winners and issuing prizes as of late, which is pretty sad. It'd be a bit insane to go back and attempt to issue awards and prizes, but from now on we would definitely like to get prizes and the like written again. Also, if there is anyone out there who would like to join the game and would contribute regularly, let me (Nagi) know and we'll see about getting you listed in the ranks.
Question: on tags, do we want contributor tags, so one writer can find everything he or she has written? It could be done. I could do it. Let me know.
Friday, March 19, 2010
Lieutenants and Subordinates
Angel looked at Asia. Asia looked at Angel. On the other side of the room, Tobias cleared his throat, uncomfortable.
“Commander,” he began, “I have a question about –”
Asia held up one hand to forestall comment, and Tobias fell silent. Asia didn’t look away from Angel; veritable storm clouds were gathering in her eyes, and were they in a less public place, she’d likely have a storm cloud spinning on one open palm too.
“What you’re asking me to do –”
“Is no less repugnant than the time I ordered you to kill a pregnant woman,” Asia said.
The look on Angel’s face said he disagreed.
Asia threw her hands up. “How have you made it this far along in human existence and been so unrelentingly straight? How did you survive the Greeks and the Romans and the Seventies?”
“I’m not going in there and you cannot make me,” Angel said.
Asia’s eyes flashed silver, eerily, and Tobias felt power spark in the room. He knew that he and the rest of the boys hadn’t seen the full extent of her power; he’d always thought that was a shame, but now he suspected that was for the better.
“I can make you, but I shouldn’t have to, because orders are orders and you’ve been given a bloody command!”
DJ poked his head into the room; he wore a pleasant smile. Tobias attempted to ward him off, hand gestures and spikes across the web and all, but DJ was just coming off a kung fu high.
“Hey, what’s going on?”
“I have to go undercover in a gay bar,” Angel said flatly.
Tobias’s heart plummeted into his shoes. No way. Angel was a womanizer nonpareil, the original Casanova, Romeo, Don Juan, James Bond. DJ’s pleasant smile turned into an amused smirk.
“Oh really? How about that?”
“I won’t do it,” Angel said.
“Yes, you will,” Asia said.
DJ tipped his head to the side, blue eyes gleaming, and Tobias recognized Chadstone in the mannerism. “Should mom and dad really be fighting in front of the children like this?”
“You’re doing your job, and that’s final,” Asia said.
The tension in the room rocketed upward, and Tobias realized that Angel’s gift was circling the room, closer and closer to Asia, ready to strike.
DJ grinned, and oh, but he was both beautiful and terrifying. “Now now, Lieutenant Rastaban, surely you aren’t unwilling to do something one of your subordinates would have to do.”
Angel turned a fierce glare on him.
DJ peeled himself away from the doorframe and strutted across the room, and there was something distinctly sinuous and dirty about every line of his body. “I danced in a gay strip bar once. Surely you can just flirt with a man a little bit, ask him out on a date?”
Angel spluttered at the display. Even Asia looked alarmed. DJ draped himself across the nearest piece of furniture.
“Come on, Angel,” he said, “come osi.”
(500 words)
Angel blinked. Then he sighed, defeated. “Fine.”
“Commander,” he began, “I have a question about –”
Asia held up one hand to forestall comment, and Tobias fell silent. Asia didn’t look away from Angel; veritable storm clouds were gathering in her eyes, and were they in a less public place, she’d likely have a storm cloud spinning on one open palm too.
“What you’re asking me to do –”
“Is no less repugnant than the time I ordered you to kill a pregnant woman,” Asia said.
The look on Angel’s face said he disagreed.
Asia threw her hands up. “How have you made it this far along in human existence and been so unrelentingly straight? How did you survive the Greeks and the Romans and the Seventies?”
“I’m not going in there and you cannot make me,” Angel said.
Asia’s eyes flashed silver, eerily, and Tobias felt power spark in the room. He knew that he and the rest of the boys hadn’t seen the full extent of her power; he’d always thought that was a shame, but now he suspected that was for the better.
“I can make you, but I shouldn’t have to, because orders are orders and you’ve been given a bloody command!”
DJ poked his head into the room; he wore a pleasant smile. Tobias attempted to ward him off, hand gestures and spikes across the web and all, but DJ was just coming off a kung fu high.
“Hey, what’s going on?”
“I have to go undercover in a gay bar,” Angel said flatly.
Tobias’s heart plummeted into his shoes. No way. Angel was a womanizer nonpareil, the original Casanova, Romeo, Don Juan, James Bond. DJ’s pleasant smile turned into an amused smirk.
“Oh really? How about that?”
“I won’t do it,” Angel said.
“Yes, you will,” Asia said.
DJ tipped his head to the side, blue eyes gleaming, and Tobias recognized Chadstone in the mannerism. “Should mom and dad really be fighting in front of the children like this?”
“You’re doing your job, and that’s final,” Asia said.
The tension in the room rocketed upward, and Tobias realized that Angel’s gift was circling the room, closer and closer to Asia, ready to strike.
DJ grinned, and oh, but he was both beautiful and terrifying. “Now now, Lieutenant Rastaban, surely you aren’t unwilling to do something one of your subordinates would have to do.”
Angel turned a fierce glare on him.
DJ peeled himself away from the doorframe and strutted across the room, and there was something distinctly sinuous and dirty about every line of his body. “I danced in a gay strip bar once. Surely you can just flirt with a man a little bit, ask him out on a date?”
Angel spluttered at the display. Even Asia looked alarmed. DJ draped himself across the nearest piece of furniture.
“Come on, Angel,” he said, “come osi.”
(500 words)
Angel blinked. Then he sighed, defeated. “Fine.”
Thursday, March 18, 2010
Maybe Not
“It’s pretty simple,” Christian said.
Gabriel looked down at the mission dossier, then up at Christian. “Where are Angel and Asia? Why are you giving me this?”
“They’re helping Tobias with some undercover work. When they’re gone, I’m the commanding officer. I outrank you all by at least three decades.”
“If we’re going by age –”
“DJ doesn’t count. He has a big sleep between his first and his second life.”
Gabriel accepted the dossier reluctantly and scanned through it. His gaze darkened. “You want me to –”
“Infiltrate and destroy an organization, yes,” Christian said patiently.
“You mean I have to pretend to – I have to wear the white pointed –” Gabriel flung the piece of paper aside. “No way. I won’t do that. I won’t!”
“Just because you associate with them and pretend to be like them doesn’t mean you believe what they say,” Christian said. He kept his voice gentle, even. “You just have to pretend long enough to get us their outlying schedule, and then you get first crack at total annihilation.”
“Like hell they’re going to accept me.” Gabriel ran a hand through his dark, curly hair. “Seriously. Why would they?”
“Tobias and DJ have a way,” Christian said. “A little illusion, a little shapeshifting, and no one will even recognize you.”
“You mean you’re going to make me look whiter than I am,” Gabriel said flatly.
“If you don’t want to get shot on sight, yes.”
Gabriel closed his eyes. “Do you know what it was like, back then?”
“I was alive during the sixties, thanks,” Christian said.
Gabriel shook his head. “I mean before - during my first life. Do you know what it was like to be treated as nothing better than an especially useful animal? To know that your life was subject to the whims of one drunken, tyrannical man and was forfeit for his amusement?” His words came out broken, choked, and Christian could see his hands were curled into white-knuckled fists.
“Gabriel,” Christian began.
“Do you know?” Gabriel asked.
“Yes, dammit, I do know,” Christian snapped. “I was ripped from my home and sold to Roman slavers, and then I was sold to fight in the Colosseum where every day of my life I wondered if I would live or die, if the crowds would like me enough to save me from having to throw myself on my own sword. In my next life I was nobility, and I fought every day to never be a slave, never be subject to someone else’s will again, but guess what? We’re all slaves, every one of us, to whatever is going on above Sector Three. So do your job or forfeit your existence.” Christian shoved a bracelet at him, one woven with runes and Tobias’s blood to secure the illusion. He spun on his heel and walked away. As he left, he mused that Angel or Asia would likely have handled that a lot better.
Or, upon reflection with his own experiences, maybe not.
Gabriel looked down at the mission dossier, then up at Christian. “Where are Angel and Asia? Why are you giving me this?”
“They’re helping Tobias with some undercover work. When they’re gone, I’m the commanding officer. I outrank you all by at least three decades.”
“If we’re going by age –”
“DJ doesn’t count. He has a big sleep between his first and his second life.”
Gabriel accepted the dossier reluctantly and scanned through it. His gaze darkened. “You want me to –”
“Infiltrate and destroy an organization, yes,” Christian said patiently.
“You mean I have to pretend to – I have to wear the white pointed –” Gabriel flung the piece of paper aside. “No way. I won’t do that. I won’t!”
“Just because you associate with them and pretend to be like them doesn’t mean you believe what they say,” Christian said. He kept his voice gentle, even. “You just have to pretend long enough to get us their outlying schedule, and then you get first crack at total annihilation.”
“Like hell they’re going to accept me.” Gabriel ran a hand through his dark, curly hair. “Seriously. Why would they?”
“Tobias and DJ have a way,” Christian said. “A little illusion, a little shapeshifting, and no one will even recognize you.”
“You mean you’re going to make me look whiter than I am,” Gabriel said flatly.
“If you don’t want to get shot on sight, yes.”
Gabriel closed his eyes. “Do you know what it was like, back then?”
“I was alive during the sixties, thanks,” Christian said.
Gabriel shook his head. “I mean before - during my first life. Do you know what it was like to be treated as nothing better than an especially useful animal? To know that your life was subject to the whims of one drunken, tyrannical man and was forfeit for his amusement?” His words came out broken, choked, and Christian could see his hands were curled into white-knuckled fists.
“Gabriel,” Christian began.
“Do you know?” Gabriel asked.
“Yes, dammit, I do know,” Christian snapped. “I was ripped from my home and sold to Roman slavers, and then I was sold to fight in the Colosseum where every day of my life I wondered if I would live or die, if the crowds would like me enough to save me from having to throw myself on my own sword. In my next life I was nobility, and I fought every day to never be a slave, never be subject to someone else’s will again, but guess what? We’re all slaves, every one of us, to whatever is going on above Sector Three. So do your job or forfeit your existence.” Christian shoved a bracelet at him, one woven with runes and Tobias’s blood to secure the illusion. He spun on his heel and walked away. As he left, he mused that Angel or Asia would likely have handled that a lot better.
Or, upon reflection with his own experiences, maybe not.
Leveling
Men and women in white ghees accentuated by various shades of belts milled about the large multipurpose room on the lower level of the training facility; the low buzz of conversation filled the air.
"Attention!" a Drill Sergent shouted as he stepped into the room followed by several men in Ghees, all belted at the waist with black belts stripped with red. All of the soldiers snapped to ramrod straight attention.
"Form ranks!" the Sergent shouted.
In less than a moment all of the soldiers were in perfectly dressed lines, standing at attention, awaiting orders.
"Alright you Leathernecks, time for belt advancements again," the Sergent said as he paced back and forth in front of the men, "your instructors today are Sensei Akane, Sensei Daichi, and Sensei Kiyoshi."
The Sergent stopped in front of the ranks, "I know you will all give it your very best, and I expect nothing less than completion of your rank requirements." He gave the gathered men a steely glance, "Pair up and get to it!"
Joe fiddled with his blue belt as he stepped up next to Steve in his red belt. "Steve, can you help me out for a moment?"
Steve looked around at Joe, his green eyes taking in the nervous young man, "sure Joe; what do you need help with?"
"The lower joint lock, I'm not sure I am getting it right," Joe said.
"Alright, lets run through it," Steve said as he fell into the ready stance.
Joe followed suit and stood ready, waiting for Steve to make the first move.
Steve moved with lightning fast reflexes, jabbing and twisting away. Joe reacted, blocking and turning in response to Steve's attack. Within a few minutes Joe had Steve in a joint lock, his face pressed to the mat.
"Good," a voice behind them said.
Joe released Steve and snapped to attention, "Sensei Kiyoshi!"
"Easy soldier," he said as he motioned Joe to relax.
Joe fell into a parade rest, waiting for Sensei Kiyoshi to speak.
"You're form could use a little work, but you have the basic principles," he said as he walked around Joe. "Try this," the Master said as he flowed through a couple of forms.
Joe studied the Sensei's forms with a sharp eye, taking in the movements. As the Sensei began the forms again Joe fell into sync beside him, his movements precise and sure as he relaxed into the rhythm.
"Good," Kiyoshi said as they finished, "I can, in good consciousness, award you the rank of green belt."
"Thank you Sensei Kiyoshi!" Joe said.
"Call me Scott," Kiyoshi said.
(perhaps a little lame, but my muse does not want to cooperate. I will work on it though)
"Attention!" a Drill Sergent shouted as he stepped into the room followed by several men in Ghees, all belted at the waist with black belts stripped with red. All of the soldiers snapped to ramrod straight attention.
"Form ranks!" the Sergent shouted.
In less than a moment all of the soldiers were in perfectly dressed lines, standing at attention, awaiting orders.
"Alright you Leathernecks, time for belt advancements again," the Sergent said as he paced back and forth in front of the men, "your instructors today are Sensei Akane, Sensei Daichi, and Sensei Kiyoshi."
The Sergent stopped in front of the ranks, "I know you will all give it your very best, and I expect nothing less than completion of your rank requirements." He gave the gathered men a steely glance, "Pair up and get to it!"
Joe fiddled with his blue belt as he stepped up next to Steve in his red belt. "Steve, can you help me out for a moment?"
Steve looked around at Joe, his green eyes taking in the nervous young man, "sure Joe; what do you need help with?"
"The lower joint lock, I'm not sure I am getting it right," Joe said.
"Alright, lets run through it," Steve said as he fell into the ready stance.
Joe followed suit and stood ready, waiting for Steve to make the first move.
Steve moved with lightning fast reflexes, jabbing and twisting away. Joe reacted, blocking and turning in response to Steve's attack. Within a few minutes Joe had Steve in a joint lock, his face pressed to the mat.
"Good," a voice behind them said.
Joe released Steve and snapped to attention, "Sensei Kiyoshi!"
"Easy soldier," he said as he motioned Joe to relax.
Joe fell into a parade rest, waiting for Sensei Kiyoshi to speak.
"You're form could use a little work, but you have the basic principles," he said as he walked around Joe. "Try this," the Master said as he flowed through a couple of forms.
Joe studied the Sensei's forms with a sharp eye, taking in the movements. As the Sensei began the forms again Joe fell into sync beside him, his movements precise and sure as he relaxed into the rhythm.
"Good," Kiyoshi said as they finished, "I can, in good consciousness, award you the rank of green belt."
"Thank you Sensei Kiyoshi!" Joe said.
"Call me Scott," Kiyoshi said.
(perhaps a little lame, but my muse does not want to cooperate. I will work on it though)
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
Noble Pride
“You want me to do...what?” Christian asked.
Asia held out a mop and a bucket. “It’s just for a week - you need to pretend you’re a janitor and monitor the target’s movements, and then report back to Angel and I so we can arrange the kill.”
Christian drew himself up to his full height, indignant. “You want me to be a servant? I think not.”
Asia raised her eyebrows. “Are you serious? Look, orders are orders, your commanding officer has delegated this assignment to you, and you need to go do it or get punished.”
An angry flush rose on Christian’s cheeks. “I will not.”
Asia thrust the cleaning supplies at him. “Christian, I’m not asking you, I’m telling you.”
“I am not a servant,” Christian said.
“I’m not saying you’re a servant, I’m saying you need to pretend to be one for a week so we can get critical information.” Asia kept her tone as patient and even as possible.
“That’s like being a servant for a week,” Christian huffed.
Asia took a deep breath. Then she set the bucket and mop down, grabbed Christian by the collar, and dragged him close. His eyes went wide, and the rune on his forehead flared, but she ignored the explosion of itching across her skin and held his gaze firmly.
“Listen to me, and listen good. Your family is dead. None of your line remains, and what does remain is as common as the mud under my shoes. Chivalry, knighthood, and everything you lived for is dead. No one knows who you are, no one cares who you are, and no one thinks you’re any better than the rest of the peons out there. As far as Sector Three is concerned, you are a servant, and you will do whatever they say. Now get out there and do your job.” And she shoved him away.
Christian stumbled back, startled, eyes wide. But then he dusted himself off, expression mulish, and picked up the mop and bucket. Then he marched to do her bidding. He was going to lose his job at any moment.
Asia sighed. Damn Christian and his noble pride.
(361 words)
Asia held out a mop and a bucket. “It’s just for a week - you need to pretend you’re a janitor and monitor the target’s movements, and then report back to Angel and I so we can arrange the kill.”
Christian drew himself up to his full height, indignant. “You want me to be a servant? I think not.”
Asia raised her eyebrows. “Are you serious? Look, orders are orders, your commanding officer has delegated this assignment to you, and you need to go do it or get punished.”
An angry flush rose on Christian’s cheeks. “I will not.”
Asia thrust the cleaning supplies at him. “Christian, I’m not asking you, I’m telling you.”
“I am not a servant,” Christian said.
“I’m not saying you’re a servant, I’m saying you need to pretend to be one for a week so we can get critical information.” Asia kept her tone as patient and even as possible.
“That’s like being a servant for a week,” Christian huffed.
Asia took a deep breath. Then she set the bucket and mop down, grabbed Christian by the collar, and dragged him close. His eyes went wide, and the rune on his forehead flared, but she ignored the explosion of itching across her skin and held his gaze firmly.
“Listen to me, and listen good. Your family is dead. None of your line remains, and what does remain is as common as the mud under my shoes. Chivalry, knighthood, and everything you lived for is dead. No one knows who you are, no one cares who you are, and no one thinks you’re any better than the rest of the peons out there. As far as Sector Three is concerned, you are a servant, and you will do whatever they say. Now get out there and do your job.” And she shoved him away.
Christian stumbled back, startled, eyes wide. But then he dusted himself off, expression mulish, and picked up the mop and bucket. Then he marched to do her bidding. He was going to lose his job at any moment.
Asia sighed. Damn Christian and his noble pride.
(361 words)
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
Bets
"I bet you won't do it," Bryan shouted as he nudged Mark in the side. They stood in the middle of a crowded club; music pounding and bodies bumping in time to the beat.
"I bet you I will," Mark shot back, clearly embarrassed. Massive amounts of people had always made him uncomfortable.
Bryan snorted, "yeah right. You have never taken the initiative and I doubt that you'll start now."
"I can do it," Mark said with determination.
"Then prove it. Get out there, pick a girl and dance with her. I'll even give you bonus points if you kiss her," Bryan leered at his brother. With one backward glance and a smirk Bryan disappeared into the crowd of gyrating bodies.
Mark stood for a few moments looking around, jostled by the surrounding people. Mark cracked his knuckles and shook his hands out as he let his eyes fall closed, waiting for the beat to become a part of him. It started in his chest, the throbbing of the bass that echoed his heart beat; felt it in the marrow of his bones, his feet and body beginning to move to the beat.
Mark opened his eyes and they met a pair of pretty brown eyes in the crowd. He smiled shyly as he moved towards her at her encouraging smile. He held out one hand in invitation and felt a cool hand slide into his in response.
Mark tugged her close and began to move to the music; the girl following his lead as she glanced up at him through thick eyelashes.
"I'm Mark," Mark shouted over the music.
"My friends call me Mishi," The girl shouted back.
"It's nice to meet you Mishi," Mark smiled at her as a new song came over the speakers and the fell into step again.
"I bet you I will," Mark shot back, clearly embarrassed. Massive amounts of people had always made him uncomfortable.
Bryan snorted, "yeah right. You have never taken the initiative and I doubt that you'll start now."
"I can do it," Mark said with determination.
"Then prove it. Get out there, pick a girl and dance with her. I'll even give you bonus points if you kiss her," Bryan leered at his brother. With one backward glance and a smirk Bryan disappeared into the crowd of gyrating bodies.
Mark stood for a few moments looking around, jostled by the surrounding people. Mark cracked his knuckles and shook his hands out as he let his eyes fall closed, waiting for the beat to become a part of him. It started in his chest, the throbbing of the bass that echoed his heart beat; felt it in the marrow of his bones, his feet and body beginning to move to the beat.
Mark opened his eyes and they met a pair of pretty brown eyes in the crowd. He smiled shyly as he moved towards her at her encouraging smile. He held out one hand in invitation and felt a cool hand slide into his in response.
Mark tugged her close and began to move to the music; the girl following his lead as she glanced up at him through thick eyelashes.
"I'm Mark," Mark shouted over the music.
"My friends call me Mishi," The girl shouted back.
"It's nice to meet you Mishi," Mark smiled at her as a new song came over the speakers and the fell into step again.
Mark of the English
“You’ve got to be joking,” Keith said. He looked Caomhin up and down, only he wasn’t really Caomhin, wasn’t the man who’d sneak Keith and his mates a pint of guinness after school.
“I’m not,” Caomhin - Angel - said. He had a smooth, upper-crust British accent, and all along, he’d been a bloody spy for MI6, hadn’t he? Keith knew he was breathing hard, that his gift was crackling dangerously under his skin, but he didn’t care. Maybe he should set this bloody impostor on fire - only he knew that the man before him had dangerous talents of his own.
“You lied to me all this time,” Keith said, voice low and dangerous.
“Yes and no,” Angel said. “I lied about who I am, yes, but I didn’t lie about why I’m here or what I believe –”
“You’re one of them!” Keith hissed. “You’re one of the English –”
“Look at me,” Angel said, patient. “Do I look like I’m English? Did Holly look English?”
“I can’t believe I didn’t see it before – you’ve got it written all over you – you’re one of those James Bond types, aren’t you, all public schooled.” Heat began to flare in the palms of Keith’s hands; his skin itched, begging him to let flames coalesce on his skin.
Angel sighed. “Keith, you don’t understand – I’m just like you. I understand how you feel. Your country wasn’t the only one that the British overrode, captured and subdued. Do you understand?”
A fireball burst alight on Keith’s palm. “Why should I trust you?”
“Look at me,” Angel said, and something in his voice made Keith go still, and for the first time he looked.
“Oh,” Keith said. “Oh. But you – your lot had Ghandi, and...”
“The mark of the English hasn’t gone away,” Angel said. “Surely you know that.” His voice was low, his expression solemn. He met Keith’s gaze and held it, waited, and after a few minutes, the flames in Keith’s hands dissipated.
“I do know that,” Keith said.
Angel smiled. “Good. Now, if you think you’re ready, I have a job for you.”
“I’m not,” Caomhin - Angel - said. He had a smooth, upper-crust British accent, and all along, he’d been a bloody spy for MI6, hadn’t he? Keith knew he was breathing hard, that his gift was crackling dangerously under his skin, but he didn’t care. Maybe he should set this bloody impostor on fire - only he knew that the man before him had dangerous talents of his own.
“You lied to me all this time,” Keith said, voice low and dangerous.
“Yes and no,” Angel said. “I lied about who I am, yes, but I didn’t lie about why I’m here or what I believe –”
“You’re one of them!” Keith hissed. “You’re one of the English –”
“Look at me,” Angel said, patient. “Do I look like I’m English? Did Holly look English?”
“I can’t believe I didn’t see it before – you’ve got it written all over you – you’re one of those James Bond types, aren’t you, all public schooled.” Heat began to flare in the palms of Keith’s hands; his skin itched, begging him to let flames coalesce on his skin.
Angel sighed. “Keith, you don’t understand – I’m just like you. I understand how you feel. Your country wasn’t the only one that the British overrode, captured and subdued. Do you understand?”
A fireball burst alight on Keith’s palm. “Why should I trust you?”
“Look at me,” Angel said, and something in his voice made Keith go still, and for the first time he looked.
“Oh,” Keith said. “Oh. But you – your lot had Ghandi, and...”
“The mark of the English hasn’t gone away,” Angel said. “Surely you know that.” His voice was low, his expression solemn. He met Keith’s gaze and held it, waited, and after a few minutes, the flames in Keith’s hands dissipated.
“I do know that,” Keith said.
Angel smiled. “Good. Now, if you think you’re ready, I have a job for you.”
Monday, March 15, 2010
Repeated Orders
"Hey boss," Steve called out as they hunched further down behind the makeshift barrier as bullets flew past overhead.
"Yeah Steve?" David yelled back to his second in command over the chatter of the machine guns.
"How long have we been chasing this guy?" Steve popped up for a brief second and laid down a spray of bullets.
"Boogieman Bates," David said with suppressed anger, "that man is a ghost. Each time I get close, he slips away. And it usually takes me years to find him again." David returned some of the incoming fire; screams from the other side of the room confirmed the hits. "I can guarantee that he is gone by now. He is always one step ahead of me."
David could hear the other men on the team talking about the same thing. David thought back to when he had first been assigned to take care of Bates. All he had was a grainy surveillance photo, and a cock sure attitude of one that had never failed.
That attitude and picture had landed him in the hospital for three weeks with a bullet wound in his leg. Bates had gotten away.
The next time, he was more cautious and methodical in his hunt. David still only narrowly escaped being blown up in a carefully laid trap.
David sighed in frustration. Killing Brody Bates was his one ongoing failure. He still had the original kill order tucked into his wallet.
From: Office of General Command
To: Captain David Cole
Attn: Brody Bates
Captain Cole; you are ordered to eliminate the terrorist known as Brody Bates. Methodology is to your discretion. Further intelligence provided by Commander Hayes.
David pulled out the order from time to time and tried to put himself in Bates's shoes. Tried to think as he would think; tried to get a few steps ahead of him.
David sighed and shook his head. It was near impossible to think like a psychopath like Bates.
Steve broke into David's musings, "so what are we going to do boss?"
"After we eliminate these, then the hunt begins again," David said.
"Yeah Steve?" David yelled back to his second in command over the chatter of the machine guns.
"How long have we been chasing this guy?" Steve popped up for a brief second and laid down a spray of bullets.
"Boogieman Bates," David said with suppressed anger, "that man is a ghost. Each time I get close, he slips away. And it usually takes me years to find him again." David returned some of the incoming fire; screams from the other side of the room confirmed the hits. "I can guarantee that he is gone by now. He is always one step ahead of me."
David could hear the other men on the team talking about the same thing. David thought back to when he had first been assigned to take care of Bates. All he had was a grainy surveillance photo, and a cock sure attitude of one that had never failed.
That attitude and picture had landed him in the hospital for three weeks with a bullet wound in his leg. Bates had gotten away.
The next time, he was more cautious and methodical in his hunt. David still only narrowly escaped being blown up in a carefully laid trap.
David sighed in frustration. Killing Brody Bates was his one ongoing failure. He still had the original kill order tucked into his wallet.
From: Office of General Command
To: Captain David Cole
Attn: Brody Bates
Captain Cole; you are ordered to eliminate the terrorist known as Brody Bates. Methodology is to your discretion. Further intelligence provided by Commander Hayes.
David pulled out the order from time to time and tried to put himself in Bates's shoes. Tried to think as he would think; tried to get a few steps ahead of him.
David sighed and shook his head. It was near impossible to think like a psychopath like Bates.
Steve broke into David's musings, "so what are we going to do boss?"
"After we eliminate these, then the hunt begins again," David said.
High School Horror
“Just go in there, speak to the lady at the office and...wait until you see the target.” Angel smiled encouragingly.
Tobias ran a hand over his new, shorter hair and sighed, shifting his weight from foot to foot like a nervous colt. “You know I hate high school. Why would you send me back to one?”
“I’m just the operational lieutenant,” Angel said. “Sector Three picked this mission.” He smirked and pinched Tobias’s cheek. “They probably picked you because you have such a cute little face.”
Tobias scowled and swatted Angel’s hand aside. “I’m not going in there. I can wait until the target is alone, shift into a poisonous snake or spider or something and just - finish the job.”
Christian sighed. “Look, the whole point of this is that we send a message with this kill - that we have eyes and ears and hands everywhere. A death that could be written off as naturally caused will hardly have the effect we need.”
“Who says we need such an effect?”
“The brass.” Angel planted a hand in the small of Tobias’s back and shoved him toward the front steps of the school. “Now go. I shouldn’t expect to hear from you for at least a month, and then you’ll have to finish out the semester to make it look good.”
Anxiety and fear, all too familiar and sickening, curled in Tobias’s gut. With his grip on his bag white-knuckled, he marched toward the stairs. Halfway up someone jostled his shoulder. Tobias glanced up and saw a thick-necked, square-jawed teenager in a letterman jacket bearing down on him. A football player.
“Watch where you’re going, freak,” the football player snarled.
Tobias ducked his head automatically and mumbled an apology. Then he darted up the stairs and into the relative anonymity of the hallway. Now he just had to talk to the lady in the office, get his schedule and locker assignment, and everything would be fine. If he kept his head down, no one would notice him, no one would --
And then he saw her, the target, standing amidst of a group of admirers - her fellow cheerleaders. She tossed her long blonde hair, and her smile lit up the entire room.
Remember - you need to get the target to trust you, Asia had said. You have to get her alone so you can take your time with her.
Tobias looked down at himself, at the clothes he was wearing, and realized there was no way in hell a girl like the target would look twice at him. He was Tobias, that freaky kid who lived in a trailer park with his drunken uncle because his own parents didn’t even want him --
He swallowed hard and lifted his head cautiously, caught the girl’s eye, smiled. She sniffed and turned away. His throat tightened. How was he going to get this job done?
Tobias ran a hand over his new, shorter hair and sighed, shifting his weight from foot to foot like a nervous colt. “You know I hate high school. Why would you send me back to one?”
“I’m just the operational lieutenant,” Angel said. “Sector Three picked this mission.” He smirked and pinched Tobias’s cheek. “They probably picked you because you have such a cute little face.”
Tobias scowled and swatted Angel’s hand aside. “I’m not going in there. I can wait until the target is alone, shift into a poisonous snake or spider or something and just - finish the job.”
Christian sighed. “Look, the whole point of this is that we send a message with this kill - that we have eyes and ears and hands everywhere. A death that could be written off as naturally caused will hardly have the effect we need.”
“Who says we need such an effect?”
“The brass.” Angel planted a hand in the small of Tobias’s back and shoved him toward the front steps of the school. “Now go. I shouldn’t expect to hear from you for at least a month, and then you’ll have to finish out the semester to make it look good.”
Anxiety and fear, all too familiar and sickening, curled in Tobias’s gut. With his grip on his bag white-knuckled, he marched toward the stairs. Halfway up someone jostled his shoulder. Tobias glanced up and saw a thick-necked, square-jawed teenager in a letterman jacket bearing down on him. A football player.
“Watch where you’re going, freak,” the football player snarled.
Tobias ducked his head automatically and mumbled an apology. Then he darted up the stairs and into the relative anonymity of the hallway. Now he just had to talk to the lady in the office, get his schedule and locker assignment, and everything would be fine. If he kept his head down, no one would notice him, no one would --
And then he saw her, the target, standing amidst of a group of admirers - her fellow cheerleaders. She tossed her long blonde hair, and her smile lit up the entire room.
Remember - you need to get the target to trust you, Asia had said. You have to get her alone so you can take your time with her.
Tobias looked down at himself, at the clothes he was wearing, and realized there was no way in hell a girl like the target would look twice at him. He was Tobias, that freaky kid who lived in a trailer park with his drunken uncle because his own parents didn’t even want him --
He swallowed hard and lifted his head cautiously, caught the girl’s eye, smiled. She sniffed and turned away. His throat tightened. How was he going to get this job done?
Sunday, March 14, 2010
Project Assignment # 64 - Challenges
So the order to issue a challenge turned into this weeks challenge.
This week we are to write challenges our characters are going through. Is James just not getting his lines right or a particular fight scene? How about DJ he is always saying that being pretty is a challenge. How do the special ops boys respond to various challenges in the field? What was their reaction when they were challenged with even joining the service? How about Ariana; what are her challenges?
Have fun!
Max word is 500
This week we are to write challenges our characters are going through. Is James just not getting his lines right or a particular fight scene? How about DJ he is always saying that being pretty is a challenge. How do the special ops boys respond to various challenges in the field? What was their reaction when they were challenged with even joining the service? How about Ariana; what are her challenges?
Have fun!
Max word is 500
Overview #63: This is the Last Time
So I got nailed with an epic bout of writer's block this week, and so every piece I posted after the second was pretty much like pulling teeth. None of them were what I wanted them to be, but let's face it - with these boys, pretty much the best parts of their stories would be the last kisses. All of them. I think I captured James's pretty well in that it parallels the original but was also its own moment. Overall, however, I was dissatisfied with what I churned out this week.
Maybe it's me, or maybe's a pattern, but I feel like I do worse at my own prompts than on someone else's.
Figures.
(Also, Madness, it is your turn to pick a challenge.)
Maybe it's me, or maybe's a pattern, but I feel like I do worse at my own prompts than on someone else's.
Figures.
(Also, Madness, it is your turn to pick a challenge.)
The beatings will continue until writing improves
okay so it was epic fail of all time for me. I only got in one post. I did however finally pick up a copy of strunk and white. So Master can smack me around and I will be reformed. (hopefully)
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