Mod Post and Apologies

Hi. So I clearly failed last week's challenge as well as getting a new challenge underway this week. The weekend was a little psychotic, to say the least, and I'm sorry that real life intruded upon our cyberspace fiction haven. Take the rest of this week to rest up, recuperate, and get those creative juices going, and I'll get a new challenge up for the coming week. >.< I'm so, so sorry. Keep up the good work, and keep those stories coming!

Seeing Clearer

Ariana rolled out her mat and toed off her socks as she quickly pulled her long hair through a rubber band, hands trembling with suppressed frustration, trapping the long mass of curls, before reaching over to turn on the radio. A CD whirred to life and Moroccan music began to pour into the stiflingly warm room.

Ariana stepped to the front of her mat, feet together and her hands centered in front of her chest. She began to breathe in and out heavily through her nose as she brought her hands up above her head before she bent at the waist. Her flow was rough as she stepped back and lowered herself towards the ground before pushing her chest forward and up, arching her back just before bringing her hips upwards, her body bent at a ninety degree angle, hands and feet pressing hard into the mat, as if trying to push all her frustration and anger into the ground.

Ariana never once opened her eyes as she flowed through the Salutations and the postures that opened up her body and released tension as sweat trickled down her face from the heat and the intensity of the workout.

When she opened her eyes after the final posture, it seemed she could see clearer.

Normal As We Get.

"What is that?" David asked as he rounded the corner into the dining room in the team's house. He could hear beeps, whistles, clangs, and explosions coming from the living room.

Steve and Joe were in the kitchen making dinner and talking quietly while mark was at the table processing some paperwork from a recent mission. Mark looked up quickly, "cartoons, Sir," he said, "Bugs Bunny cartoons," at his commanders confused look.

"Why are there cartoons on and why is it so loud?" he asked. He could hear Bryan's laughter coming from the couch in front of the small television set that they seldom used.

"Bryan's been in a pretty rotten mood all day and cartoons are one of the few ways to snap him out of it fairly quickly. It's been that way ever since we were young; when he has a problem he can't or wont deal with or he is in a foul mood, the slapstick comedy of cartoons always helps," Mark explained, "And judging from the laughter, he seems to be almost normal again." Mark paused and grinned, "well, at least as normal as any of us ever get."

Island of Peace

A black Camero roared down the sharp turn of the off ramp, nearly sliding into the guardrails. It accelerated wildly as it came out if the turn and onto the flat desert road, nothing but pale dirt, scrubby brush and Joshua Trees as far as could be seen.

David's hands clenched and unclenched on the wheel as the speedometer edged past ninety-five, his face a dark thundercloud, teeth clenched. He only hit the breaks long enough to turn onto a seldom used road, winding and almost overgrown. As David made his final turn a small oasis came into view, tall trees surrounding a tiny lake that shimmered in the afternoon light.

David was stripping off his clothes as he climbed out of the car and walked quickly to the water. As soon as his toes hit the warm natural spring water he started to breathe easier and his face started to clear.

He sloshed quickly into the warm spring of water, the warmth creeping up his body and easing the tension from his muscles. Soon enough he was neck deep in water, suspended in the comforting warmth of the silent spring. With a few twitches of his hands and legs he rotated onto his back and began to float, the water buoying him, seeming to embrace him. He stretched out his arms to the sides, tiny movements keeping him stationary, and listened to his breathing as he felt the sun beating down on him.

David began to breathe easier as he let his eyes fall closed.

For a time, he had peace.

Hopefully

“I wouldn’t bother him,” Elise said. She and Marsh were huddled at the rickety kitchen table in another run-down safehouse, sharing tepid, watered-down tea and watching Cody out in the rain.

For all that Kyle was the best fighter of the lot, being small and quick and wiry, Cody was physically the strongest. Marsh and Elise were steady fighters, competent, generally quick-witted, but Gabriel had been training Kyle forever, and Cody was just...husky. Not big enough to be imposing, but he had enough weight to make his hits hurt.

And right now he was hurting a tree pretty solidly, over and over again. Half an hour from now, he’d be worn out and his hands would be bruised and scraped raw, and he’d come inside. Even Asrael had given up trying to make Cody see sense. He’d be out there working on his punches until the anger was gone.

Until then, the others would leave him be. Marsh watched a particularly wild swing go awry and cringed. Then he pushed back his chair and went in search of a first aid kit.

Hopefully Cody would get over it soon.

(193 words)

Gonna Kill Him

An irritated growl issued from the nest of blankets on the bed when Bryan flipped on the lights in the room that he shared with his twin. The blankets shifted slightly, curling tighter into itself as another hiss of displeasure came from Mark's general direction.

"Hey, you okay?" Bryan asked casually, knowing the answer before his brother spoke.

"Go away," Bryan's muffled voice came from the bed, clipped and tense.

"You know, there are better ways to deal with a bad mood," Bryan said flippantly as he poked the pile of blankest that enshrouded Mark.

"Nothing will help as much as sleep and your absence from this room," Mark said, poking his head out of the covers and glaring at his brother.

"Okay, chill bro. I'm outta here," he tweaked Mark's ear and then scooted through the door just as the shoe that Mark threw hit the wall where he had been standing.

Mark huddled back into the blankets and pulled them over his head, the warmth and darkness beginning to work their magic.

He sat bolt upright in bed as a shattering beat started pounding through the house. Every muscle tensed and his fists began to clench and unclench.

"I'm gonna kill him."

Meanings Change

“This isn’t going to end well, is it?” Elise asked.

Cody shook his head and jammed his hands into his pockets. “Nope. Not at all.”

Marsh had strutted into the bar with probably more arrogance than he’d deserve if he didn’t have Tabris at his back. The other choirboys knew, of course, that having Tabris at one’s back meant taking a chance, because Tabris was all about chances, but when Marsh was in a mood like this, he didn’t care.

The pool game started off well enough; Marsh was cautious, but the others could see tension lining his every limb, taut in every motion. He won a little, lost a little, came out marginally ahead. And then he slipped up, showed off, proved he had too much skill for an easy bar game like this.

The fools betting money on a pretty blond dandy like Marsh regretted it quickly, quickly enough for Marsh to earn a black eye and a split lip before he dove into the fray.

“He always did say he liked to use his hands,” Elise said.

“I don’t think,” Kyle said, “that’s what he meant.”

Cody shrugged. “Sometimes meanings change.”

(194 words)

Around and Around

The pavement flowed under Steve's feet as he ran through the dark streets. His hands were clenched and his body ridged; jarring with every step as his feet pounded the ground. Narrow eyes took in his surroundings, irritation radiating from his body.

Steve shook his head, trying to dislodge his dark thoughts, but his mind kept skittering back to his problems; brooding.

Left right; Left right.

Breath in; Breath out.

His mind circled his problems as he circled the base. Again and again, around and around, from every angle, every possible solution. Sweat poured from his body, his shirt sticking to his sculpted abs and chest.

Gradually he settled into a rhythm, his pace becoming smoother, his strides long and controlled, his breathing easier.

As he slowed to a stop he stretched his long limbs, shaking out the tingling that came with a long run, and wiping the sweat from his brow.

His problems weren't gone, the darkness still lingered, but he could ignore them for a while longer.

Chain of Balances

“Where is he?” Serena asked.

“Out on the grass, likely sending wardrobe into a tizzy because he’s still in costume,” Fiona said.

Riley peered out the window of the catering tent and saw James standing on the grass in full armor where they’d shot a duel earlier during the day. James was bouncing a soccer ball on one knee, over and over and over again, a surprising display of coordination and concentration given how James usually acted like an overfed, over-caffeinated puppy between takes.

“He’s not happy at all,” Stuart mused and sipped his tea.

“Yes, well, that harpy woman hit a sore spot,” Serena said, “asking about Asia like that.”

Stuart almost choked on his tea.

“It’s all right to say her name when he’s not around to hear,” Fiona said.

“Is he going to keep that up all night?” Stuart asked.

“At least until the director calls him back, but I suspect it’ll take a while to fix the lights down in the cave.” Riley sighed and rested his chin on his hands. He wouldn’t admit to the others, but he’d been counting James’s successful chain of balances, and James was nearing two hundred.

He was furious.

(200 words)

Project Assignment # 66 - Bad Moods

How do your characters deal with a bad mood? Does Keith start burning random things to cheer himself up? Does Bryan drive Mark mad when he is in a bad mood? How do our boys exhibit their powers, or lack thereof?

let set a limit of 200. Short and simple

happy writing!

Prize to the winner at the end of the week.

Overview #65: Armed & Dangerous

So this was a lot of fun. A very short word count each day helped a lot - I think my understanding of brevity has gotten a little lax with such massive word counts as of late. Certain things are sacrificed in the name of brevity, certain things that maybe don't have to be sacrificed. I definitely learned from this week's exercise, not just about my characters but also about writing short again.

And...I take it back.

This week's winner is totally me. Self-prize to follow at the usual place.

This One Thing

“Well?” Tobias asked.

“Well, everything’s gone to hell as much as it can, given that we have a telepath, a telekinetic, a pyrokinetic, an astral projectionist, a shapeshifter, and someone who can see the future on the team,” Keith said, his voice heavy with sarcasm.

“So I take it nothing we can do will get past the guards,” Gabriel said in a mock-reasonable tone.

“Yes,” Keith said.

Christian sighed. “There is this one thing.”

“What thing?” DJ asked.

Christian peered up over the edge of the barrier, cupped his hands, and blew.

Quislai diamond dust exploded across the gate.

Every Inch

"Would you like a copy watch?" Angel held open his coat. The irony was that all the Rolexes in his coat were real. There were never any takers, though, not when he greased his hair back and mocked up a thick Bengali accent and smelled faintly of curry. The man grimaced and waved a dismissive hand, turned away.

"Really, a new watch would help you attract the ladies, yeah?" Angel slung an arm around the man's shoulders, every inch the pushy salesman. The man turned, ready to protest, and Angel reached up with his other hand, snapped the man's neck.

Recipe for Death

Mark carefully combined his ingredients, scrupulously making sure that all of his skin was covered and his face mask and eye protection were in place.

Various vials of chemicals and other toxins were neatly arranged on his work surface. Mark worked precisely, adding a few drops of Potassium Cyanide to Japanese puffer fish venom, forming a clear toxic fluid.

Mark added exactly five drops of the poison to a bottle of fine cologne and packaged it neatly in a gift box.

Three days later the death was reported in the news as a heart attack.

Dance of Death

Bryan beckoned the pretty lady towards him, his smile seductive and full of the promise of adventure. His eyes glittered with something mysterious and his hips moved sinuously in time to the music.

Bryan pulled her close as she stepped towards him, their bodies moving in synchronization, his lips brushing her neck as they twined together.

"Let's get out of here," Bryan whispered in her ear, his voice low and husky.

The woman smiled and took his hand to lead him outside.

She was smiling up to the point when he neatly slid a knife between her ribs.

Mission accomplished.

Precision Strike

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.