Meme: Writing Sample!

[bigbadgunn.livejournal.com]

It's Monday. I'm mourning my loss of Worf and I need distractions from the monotonous work task I have in front of me today.

So let's see some of those writing samples you put together for your newer characters, shall we?

Comments

[brat_inslayage]

Kennedy's writing sample has been posted before, but I still find it amusing.


So there was a bar in this town that didn't card, and a sex toy shop that apparently didn't care too much about age restrictions either, and Kennedy couldn't decide which was better. Granted, as she wandered around the shelves at Dite's Decadent Delights piling things into her arms, she'd need to score at the bar before she could actually use -- okay, half of the things she was picking up. But why risk getting caught with your metaphorical pants down in a literal pants-down situation?

Her Watcher was always blathering on about the importance of being prepared, and Kennedy took a certain perverse (heh) glee in applying that lesson to a context that would make the woman blush. She wondered if this store would show up under an alias on the charge slip; probably, since most places like this did. That was kind of a shame. Would've been fun to see the look on Dad's face -- again -- when that Visa bill came in. Oh well.

"Hey there," she said to the girl at the register, or drawled more like, with a big grin on her face as she sauntered up to dump her armload of merchandise on the counter. She wasn't terribly subtle about giving the girl a look, either, but she wasn't trying to be. Couldn't help it if the girl was cute in a Gothy kind of way. "Nice . . ."

She gestured toward the jewel in the girl's forehead. "That. Where'd you get it done?"

The girl shifted uncomfortably, almost like she could pick up on Kennedy's interest. Yeah, right. Must just be shy, and that had its attraction too. "It was a gift," she said simply, almost evasively.

"From who?" asked Kennedy, grinning. "Friend? S.O.?"

The only answer she got was a quick, hesitant headshake, and the girl said softly, "It is not important. Do you need any help with your purchases?"

"Well." Kennedy leaned forward, resting her arms on the counter, and took on a conspiratorial tone of voice. "I was hoping you could give me some advice on some of the stuff I picked out."

"Why do you think I could do that?"

"Hey, you're the one who works here, right? That makes you the expert, not me." Actually, Kennedy figured she was wrong about that, but when was a little bit of flattery ever inappropriate? "So? Go on. Give me your expert opinion. Like, say, for example, that chocolate body paint. Is it really as orgasmic as the label claims it is?"

"I -- I merely work here," the girl stammered, and hurriedly began to punch prices into the register as Kennedy allowed herself a grin at her increasingly flustered body language with every item she picked up. "I do not claim to be an expert in such things. You would do better to ask my employer."

"Aw, come on," Kennedy wheedled. "You stock the goods. You've gotta know something about them."

The girl just shook her head and said, hastily, "That will be $137.62."

Kennedy finally relented. "'kay," she said, handing over Dad's Visa without a second's hesitation. "Maybe I should've sprung for the pricier one after all."