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fandomhigh_ooc2010-05-03 09:56 am
bigbadgunn.livejournal.com) wrote in fandomhigh_ooc2010-05-03 09:56 am
Meme: Writing Sample!
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?
So let's see some of those writing samples you put together for your newer characters, shall we?
no subject
Cassidy had decided that today was one of those days that she just needed to get outside and renew her connections with the land. This land wasn't the same as home, but she could still feel the life in it and it would give her an outlet for some of her tension, as well. She looked outside to see that the sky was a little cloudy, but she couldn't smell rain in the air. That meant that a hat wouldn't be needed to protect her face. She hurriedly changed into "working"clothes and pulled her unruly red hair back into a braid. Feeling a lot better now that she had a plan of something to do, she headed downstairs and then out to the gardens she had spotted in back of the dorms.
As she knelt down in the soil and placed her hands against the ground, she immediately could feel the tension starting to ease within her. She let some of her energy out into the ground and closed her eyes as she started to relax.
She would have relaxed more if something hadn't suddenly landed on her head with a loud *plop*. She frowned, eyes opening as she reached up to pull whatever it was off of her head.
"Bacon? Where in the Hell did Bacon come --"
*plop* *plop* *plop*
Cassidy scrambled to her feet as she watched pieces of bacon start landing all over the garden. She turned around and looked everywhere she could, but she didn't see anyone that looked like they could be close enough to be throwing bacon at her.
Though, having bacon thrown at her would be something new and bizarre for her to tell her brother about. She had yet to have food thrown at her for any reason, but this didn't mean that it couldn't happen.
When she didn't see anyone, she reached out with her power to see if someone was nearby and they were shielding themselves from her. No, she didn't find anyone that way, either. She shook her head and looked up at the sky as a last resort. Because, really the idea that it would be *raining* bacon was --
*plop* *plop* *plop*
--ridiculous.
That thought was followed up by several pithy curses as she pulled the stuff off of her face.
"How in the hell is it possible that it's raining BACON of all things? It's not even logical!"
That would be when the sky opened up and slices of bacon came pouring down on her and for as far as the eye could see.
After fighting unsuccessfully to get it all off of her, she realized that until she got inside and away from this weird and illogical rain, she was going to be covered in bacon. Hoping that there wouldn't suddenly be a pack of hungry animals or humans that started chasing her, she put a shield around herself and started running back to the dorms.
Too bad that even after a shower and cleaning her clothes and washing her hair twice, she could have sworn she still smelled like bacon.
"This place is just weird."
no subject
The best thing about this place, so far, was that his fake ID hadn't left its cozy little spot in his wallet in the whole week since Puck had arrived on this dinky little island. No one had carded him at the liquor store any of the three times he'd been there to buy some Natty Light, or when he'd come in to get a forty last night.
Puck figured it was because he looked so mature, or something. That was what all the ladies he'd left at their poolsides used to tell him. "Oh, Noah," they'd breathe as he tested the little stick in the pool that told him if he had to dump in more chemicals, "you're so mature for your age!" And he'd always smile, and call them "Ma'am," and they'd see his nipple ring and he'd get up close and personal with them on some mouthbreather's Space Battlessheets.
Man, he missed Lima.
In any case, the test of the liquor store was one thing. Tonight, he was trying out the bar, and seeing whether they'd be more strict. If not, hey -- at this point, all he needed was to score some weed, and he'd be juuuust fine here, thank you.
When he moseyed on into the bar, a couple things struck him at once: the bartender was hot, and the guys playing the music looked really jacked up. Like, so messed up that he was momentarily distracted from said hot bartender.
"What the hell is wrong with them?" he asked, staring over at the band as he took a seat.
"Hm? Oh, crap, you're a new kid," the woman sighed, rolling her eyes slightly. "They're zombies. Yes, yes, I know -- zombies, how amazing, that's so weird, yeah I was shocked too, it's crazy, welcome to the island, et cetera." She leveled a look at him. "What can I get you?"
Puck just stared at her. "Zombies? Really?" he asked in tones of deep, deep skepticism.
She ignored that. "What do you want to drink?"
Puck quietly weighed his options, and decided that hot older ladies were allowed to have mental problems, and that those guys were totally just wearing some makeup. Like KISS. "Beer. Please." He smiled cutely.
She returned his look flatly as she got the beer and gave it to him. "Anything else?"
Score. She totally thought he was twenty-one. He could keep working this. "I'm Puck," he said, grinning sweetly at her after debating whether to go with 'Noah' this time. Nah. "What's an accomplished-looking woman like yourself doing in a place like this?"
She raised a brow at him. "Accomplished?"
It only took two more minutes of attempted flirting before Puck found out three things.
1. No one carded anyone in this town, regardless of age.
2. 'Accomplished' was pretty transparent as a code word for 'old.'
3. The hot bartender was from Canada, and her accent made her less hot. And apparently in Canada, throwing perfectly good beer at people was acceptable. Damn.
no subject
Also BACON RAIN! I LOVE IT!
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The first time Sookie used her disability when she was in Fandom, it was by accident.
She honestly hadn't meant to, but when she'd had to hold hands with Brooke (a good Southern girl, and she knew her Gran would approve of anyone from North Carolina, even if for some reason she didn't have an accent) for the stupid class activity, she'd gotten a whole rush of hope and nerves directed at the handsome blond boy across the room.
"You like him?" she asked the other girl, dropping her voice conspiratorially.
"...how can you tell? I'm not that obvious, right? And he's just my roommate," Brooke said, looking a little flustered, and Sookie didn't have to be telepathic to feel the confusion and now, slight insecurity, radiating off her.
The second time Sookie used her disability, it saved her a whole lot of trouble.
"I'm Chuck Bass," the boy with the bow tie was saying. She hadn't seen anyone except old men wear those back in Bon Temps. He was intriguing to say the least, and Sookie found herself smiling back.
"Sookie. I'm, um, I'm Sookie Stackhouse," she said, feeling herself blush.
"Sookie," his mouth was saying. "What an unusual name. Is that short for something?"
His mind, however, was a different story. It's been forever since I had sex with someone from a red state. And she looks like a virgin. And she's got a nice little body there, and she's probably dumb enough that I can just
"You keep those nasty thoughts to yourself!" Sookie exclaimed, angry enough that she didn't care if he was staring at her like she was crazy, now.
His thoughts were saying she was, too.
The third time she used her disability, she got the nicest surprise of her life.
She'd entered the common room, and feeling a little insecure about herself after her recent outbursts, she did a quick scan of everyone's thoughts.
The tall, nervous-looking boy in the corner was mentally figuring out how to double a pie recipe. The odd-looking boy with the springy hair on the couch was thinking about his girlfriend's breasts, as well as about cookies and marmalade and cricket. (His thoughts were a jumbled, strange mess.) The aforementioned girlfriend, Sookie guessed, was the girl beside him, who was thinking that if the market didn't recover soon she didn't know what she was going to do. The shirtless boy in the corner was a nice respite -- he wasn't thinking about much of anything of substance. The sweet-looking blond boy was just trying to watch television, though he wished he had some Cheetos. The girl whose curves Sookie envied was debating the pros and cons of another cookie, and the tawny-skinned young woman near her was just hoping the squirrels wouldn't bother her today.
But all those stopped being important when Sookie tried to read the boy with the braid.
Nothing. Like turning to a TV channel that was outside your cable range, except there wasn't even the static hiss of white noise. Just nothing.
"...I can't hear you," she breathed, staring at him.
"...I didn't say anything," the boy said, looking confused.
"No, no, I mean -- " She paused, staring at him, trying to look into his eyes like that might help. It didn't. "Oh my stars. What -- how -- who are you?"
"....I'm Ben," he offered simply.
-----
YES I USED ALL THE CURRENT ADMINS AT THE TIME OF THAT APP. I did that back in the day with Greg's, too. :D
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And yes, I was hoping you would do this soon.
I was trying not to laugh the whole time I was writing it. :D
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Chloe had only been in the area for about two weeks when she decided that she should try to get a job or something to earn her own money. She didn't want Andrew to think he had to keep paying for stuff for her while she was here. It wasn't his responsibility, and since she didn't dare contact her father, a job would have to be the solution. She was hoping that no one in a town next to a private boarding school would have trouble with hiring a fifteen year old girl.
The first hint that she had that this was not your normal town and obviously not your normal school was that there was what appeared to be a bar there. There was no one at the door checking IDs like she was used to seeing on TV and in New York, so out of curiosity, she decided to step inside. The worst that could happen was that they'd tell her to leave for being underage, right?
Feeling bolstered by courage she wasn't even sure she really had, she went into the bar called Caritas. There were a few people that looked like they were around her age in there already. Shaking her head in bemusement, she approached the bar and made herself comfortable on one of the stools. The bartender came down the bar to her and she smiled.
"What can I get you," he asked in a bored tone.
Chloe started to ask him for a soda when she felt that strange prickling sensation along her skin. She had begun to recognize it and turned to see what she had accidentally brought with her this time.
The sight that greeted her caused her to squeak and almost fall from her stool.
Chloe looked from the bartender in shock back to the four zombies that were watching her with what she assumed to be smile. "I didn't do it," she stammered. "I just came in to ask for a job! I didn't mean to bring them. Stop. You guys need to go back--"
She probably would have fallen if it wasn't for the fact that the bartender had grabbed her by the collar and held her in place.
"Don't freak out, girl," he said. "They won't hurt you. They're the band."
"B-band?" She managed to get out as she stared at them.
"Yeah. Band. You know, they perform music and sometimes sing." The bartender was looking at her like she was an idiot.
Chloe moaned in embarrassment and dropped her face in her hands. That was so not the best impression to make on somebody that she was hoping would hire her to work for them.
As the bartender moved down the bar to get her something to drink, one of the zombies came over to her carrying his microphone. Chloe looked at him in confusion, not sure what he was going to do. Could she make zombies go away that she hadn't woken up in the first place?
"So, you make zombies and call them forth or something?" He asked.
"Yeah... why?" No point in telling a zombie that she didn't have control over her budding powers yet.
"We're in need of a new bass player. Or even a couple of girlfriends and --"
Chloe banged her head on the bar. It was going to be a long year.
no subject
Also, as I post this, I realise I could've just socked up Denise's writing sample rather than write her up an info post. Says enough, really.
---
Very, very slowly, Denise closed the door behind her, making sure the jackass inside didn't wake up. Because that would just be a drag. Click. Okay, mission accomplished. She glanced down at the bills in her hand. Twenty, twenty, a hundred, another hundred, another-- who was this guy, anyway?
Maybe she should've asked.
Denise snickered out loud. Hard. "Oh, that's hilarious," she muttered. She turned into the hallway. She was... what, two stairs up? Three? From her dorm room? Something like that. Damn, she should've paid closer attention--
"Ohmygod!"
... and now she would be turning back into the other direction. A stunned look was what she got from the wee Asian chick with the disturbingly red hair. "Oh my God, ponytails, am I going to have to beat you up?" she chirped, the smile so huge it nearly cracked her cheeks.
"You slept with Chuck Bass! I thought you of all people would be above that, Denise." The disappointment was cute. Really.
"Huh," she said, eloquently, and shot the door another look. "So that's what that was." Eh. She shrugged her shoulder. "Yeah, he's a big giant girl. I figure he's got one of those, whacha callit-- Uh." She quinted at the girl. "Help me out, here. Like when a guy acts big because he's really a gay little tiny girl on the inside?" Red didn't answer. What was it, what was it, what-- she snapped her fingers. "Right. Inferiority complex. Daddy and mommy issues, that kinda crap. Hot, if you're into overcompensating." Which she was, so hey, bonus.
The redheaded girl in the heart pyjamas stared at her, clutching her plush animal close.
"Oh, don't worry," she said, holding up her hand. "I took his cash after. And now that we've banged, I can't stand the sight of his moist, sweaty skin." She nodded encouragingly. "It makes me want to bludgeon his face in with a hammer."
The girl gave a big ol' squeak. Denise shrugged. She beamed again.
"Anyway, the sex was only middlingly kinky," she continued, "I still think it would've sucked less if one of us had been rocking a hockey mask. Him, so I wouldn't have to stare into the abyss of those beady little eyes." She gestured at her eyes, helpfully, and took a deep breath. Then let it go. Let it go. "It was nice sharing with you," she said, "Totally gay, but nice."
The girl gave her an incredibly weak smile.
"Didn't you hear me? Gay sharing time over." She scowled. "Now shoo. Fucking scamper."
The girl scampered.
Denise turned back around, humming the Sesame Street theme as she headed back up to her room.
Hey, now she could afford new hockey equipment. Awesome, right?
no subject
Tim returned to his room after class and flopped down on the bed with his laptop. He figured he had about half an hour's worth of biology homework and then he'd have two hours to play BioCore II before he headed out to Baltimore for patrols tonight. He checked his encrypted e-mail account and found a message from Bruce.
---
Subject: Independent Study
I've selected fifty sounds that you should recognize. Please identify each of them and email a list back to me by tomorrow afternoon.
-B
---
Tim sighed. So much for BioCore II. He loaded the sound files onto his iPod. None were longer than five seconds. He stretched out on his bed with a notebook and played the first sound.
He was on the third train noise - was it over Kane Bridge or Aparo Expressway? - when a shadow dropped over the page. "Gah!" he cried, looking up.
"Check it out!" Harper grinned, twirling to show off her outfit. "Isn't it awesome? Ninja chic!"
She had a ninja action figure strapped to her hat, tiny plastic ninjas sewn all over her sweatshirt and - was that *foam* strapped to her feet?
"What's with the foam?" he asked, taking his earbuds from his ears and closing his notebook.
"Duh! To be sneaky! I snuck up on you, didn't I, Mr. Paranoid?" She shuffled over to to sit on her bed, barely able to move her feet in the bulky foam. "What're you working on? Homework?"
"Puzzle of the month for the Sherlock Holmes club, and it's not paranoid to want privacy," Tim said, chiding himself for not keeping the door in his peripheral vision. "Aren't those shoes kind of awkward?"
"Fashion doesn't have to be practical," Harper said. "Oh, almost forgot to tell you there's pizza in the common room."
"Oh, cool, thanks!" Tim said. "I'll be out there in a minute. I just want to send an email."
---
Hey Dick,
I think my new roommate might even have worse fashion taste than you do....
***
no subject
Just a little background on me and the character of Dandelion. I believe this is the fourth or fifth time I've apped Dandelion as a character but usually as a backup for at least two years. So the admins have seen this writing sample as many times. I never changed it except for the names this time as the people who were originally in it ALL GRADUATED.
I still love it though...
*****************
The group stood in shock and awe at the rubble that was once their dorms. There was even a moment of silence as the reality of it all sunk into the heads of the students and teachers.
This moment was quickly shattered by Dandelion Naizen.
"Well! I think we've all learned something today," Dandelion declared as she skipped over to hug Anakin. "Mr. Skywalker learned that it's always good to share his afternoon snack with the people he loves the most!"
She then bounced over to Jean and tousled her hair. "Jean learned that whipped egg whites are an adequate replacement for C4 explosive when mixed with paint thinner and a sugar substitute."
And finally she bounced over Merlin and pulled down his pants. "And Merlin learned that there's no good substitute for a talking horse when it comes to dancing naked in the pale moonlight. Unless you're a Viking. In that case those creepy fuckers should be tossed into the ocean with a box of Calgon so THEY CAN BE TAKEN AWAY!"
Kurt leaned over to Didi and whispered: "Don't you think the gremlin bite should have worn off by now?"
"What did you say?" Dandelion said whirling around to face Kurt.
"Um. Nothing? You just seem to be acting a little weird that's all."
"Are you saying…. Are you insinuating Are you-" Dandelion stopped in mid rant and looked at Kurt. "Wait. Was the depantsing thing too much?"
"Just a little."
Dandelion nodded and immediately went back into her rant "-CALLING ME A VIKING?!"
Didi gave the girl a crazy look. "I don't think anyone called you a viking."
Dandelions whirled on Didi. "I'll have you know that the secret government agency I work for has authorized me to use DEADLY FORCE!"
"That's really not a very nice thing to do. Threaten friends," Elena pointed out.
And then Dandelion took a moment. Her mind went back to the time on the playground where she was a young thing sipping on a juice box and everything seemed right in the world. Except for the Vikings. Creepy little fuckers.
"C'mon everyone!" Dandelion declared as she marched towards the cafeteria. "It's time for juice boxes and cookies before our nap time! YAAAAAAAAAY JUICE BOX!"
At which point Dandelion hopped skipped and jumped all the way over to the cafeteria.
"If I could have everyone's attention please?" Barney Stinson said stepping in front of the group. "I know this is a tragic moment in our loss of personal property but after Miss Naizen's little speech I think it's imperative for me to once again go over the crazy vs. hotness scale."
no subject
And I continue my trend of using my own characters for my writing samples.
***
Sara had been warned about this when she first arrived: this, and a host of other strange events that by all accounts happened in Fandom with regularity but still seemed to test the limits of even her capacity for imagination. The alarm had gone off in the middle of the night, leaving all the students in the dorms to rush out onto the front lawn in their sleeping clothes . . . and into a downpour of maple syrup.
Sighing and holding her head up with as much dignity as one could be expected to muster when one was rapidly getting drenched in sticky-sweet syrup, Sara tried to make her way through the throng of grumbling youths – past one boy muttering something about how this wouldn't be so bad if only he had some bacon to dip in the rain – toward the relative shelter of a nearby tree.
“Syrup,” a girl was complaining vigorously, with a poisonous look out into the rain. “Freaking syrup. How come the weather always has to suck whenever they haul us out of bed at insane o'clock for these things? Freaking syrup!”
“I know a story about maple syrup,” Sara volunteered; just because some people had to have a poor attitude about the situation did not mean she would follow suit.
“And that's going to make it better how, exactly?”
Sara ignored the acidic query and went on in a haughty tone, “Back in the days just after the world had been created, maple syrup flowed freely from the trees all year long. A young trickster named Glooskap happened to return to his village one day to find the fields unplowed, the animals untended, and all the houses strangely silent, because all his people were lying beneath the trees simply letting the syrup flow into their mouths. Well, Glooskap thought there was something wrong with this, and since he had special powers --”
The girl snorted. “Oh, great. Powers again. Rub it in, why don't ya.”
Sara fixed her with an indignant glare. “Do you want to hear the rest of the story, or not?”
After a moment the girl relented, diffidently, and shrugged. “Why the hell not? It'll kill the time.”
Really, she was lucky Sara was gracious enough to overlook her language, though not without a scornful look that seemed to cow her momentarily. “He took great bucketfuls of water and flew up over the trees, pouring the water into them and making the syrup thin and runny. He told them from now on they would have to tend the fields and houses, and during the spring, the only time the syrup would run, they would have to work to earn it. He taught them how to tap the syrup and boil it, and though it was hard work they were eventually rewarded.”
“And now we're reaping the benefits of their hard work by what, getting soaked in it?” muttered the clearly ungrateful if somewhat mollified girl. “Well, that was an educational five minutes, actually. Thanks.”
“As long as you got something out of it, I suppose,” Sara conceded.
“Sure. See what you come up with next time, when it rains like licorice drops or something.”
Right then and there, Sara made up her mind to take a trip to the library in the morning, smiling at the challenge. “Oh, you just see if I won't.”
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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."
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Katchoo had wandered off in search of somewhere to smoke where people wouldn't bitch at her about it -- not that anyone had, yet, but she wasn't remotely in the mood to put up with bitching today.
She hadn't been expecting to come across an arrangement of statues in a clearing this deep into the preserve. Random art in the middle of the woods. Go figure. Really pretty tacky art, but it was there and that was enough to draw her closer. Lighting up her cigarette as she circled the statues, Katchoo couldn't quite suppress a shiver.
She'd always thought angel statuary was slightly ominous at best -- in her bluntest moments she might call it a joke -- but these were downright disturbing. The longer she looked at them, the more they reminded her of Darcy Parker: harmless and maybe, possibly even benevolent at a fleeting glance, but the inner ugliness was there like a flawed vein running through the heart of the stone if you knew how to look.
"What does this piece say to you?" she asked out loud in a mocking tone of voice. "'It's hard work being an angel?' Puh-leeze. More like 'Look at me, I'm trying to pass myself off as a powerful but kind benefactor but really I'm an evil predator who won't think twice about using you until the fun wears off and then chewing you up and spitting you out for the biggest profit I can possibly frikkin' get because it's not enough that I already have more money than God and really I just get off on controlling people, and if you hack into my security cameras you'll see what it is I really do when I look at my bank balance and . . ."
Katchoo stopped there, not so much because she'd run out of things to say as because she was about to take a drag off her cigarette. And maybe because the longer she looked at the statues, the more she thought she could see herself there.
The rustling of leaves caught her attention, and she looked toward the edge of the clearing where several bright bluish-green fawns were blinking at her expectantly until an adult teal deer leaped from behind the shrubbery to shoo them away, then turned to Katchoo with a reproachful look in its big deer eyes.
If it had been a statue and you asked Katchoo what that piece said to her, she'd say it said 'Not in front of the children!'
Which was probably a pretty accurate translation.
Instead, she just gaped at it. "Oh, you have got to be frikkin' kidding me."
no subject
Lacey had heard talk of the radio’s newsgathering squirrels, but she’d dismissed it as some kind of elaborate town in-joke on the new arrival. She’d lived in Dog River, after all; she knew how these small-town things worked. Sure, most of the news broadcasts she’d heard so far were wildly inaccurate – honestly, a zombie band at the karaoke bar? – but there had to be a rational explanation for that, she decided, as she relaxed on a bench in the park and looked out over the duck pond.
“Squirrel reporters,” she muttered to herself. “Who comes up with these things, anyway?”
So naturally that was right about when she heard indignant chittering by her left foot.
Lacey let out a surprised titter. “Squirrel. Of course.” One of these days she’d learn not to open her mouth and just say things. Today was not that day.
. . . most likely, that day would never come, if you asked anyone who knew her.
The squirrel chittered again and scampered closer, paws on – well, on a human Lacey would say its hips, but it wasn’t like she’d ever studied squirrel anatomy, was it?
“Aww. Hi there,” Lacey said, leaning forward. It was cute; she couldn’t help it. “Honestly, isn’t it awful that people in this town blame the crazy news reports on you? Oh, this is bad. I’m talking to a squirrel. It’s awful, it’s like I’m turning into Hank!”
Another chitter, this time inquisitive.
“Hank,” Lacey tried to explain. “He's this . . . you know, I’m not really sure what he does, but someone I know back in Dog River; you wouldn't know him." She paused and tilted her head. “Or maybe you wou – oh, what the heck am I doing? I’m trying to explain things to a squirrel!”
This time, when the squirrel chittered, it sounded distinctly offended – and it whipped out a tiny reporter’s hat and notepad, the former of which it put on its tiny squirrel head and the latter of which it brandished at her while it glared. There was really no mistaking that expression, no matter how small and furry the face.
Lacey gaped at the squirrel for a full five seconds. “You have got to be kidding me! You seriously do the newsgathering?”
More chittering – in fact, a veritable tirade of it.
“Well then,” Lacey said, her chin jutting forward slightly as her own voice took on an affronted tone, “you have got to do a more responsible job of it. Has anyone ever given you lessons in ethical journalism? Because let me tell you, I think you could use them. For starters . . .”
If you asked the squirrel to recount that lecture, it would tell you (if you spoke squirrel) that it looked a lot like Lacey in soft focus making sounds a lot like this: “Blah blah blah blah blah blah-dee blah blaaaaaaaaaah.”
Ten minutes later, after a lecture that had somehow gone from ethical journalism to good hygiene tips, the squirrel scampered off -- quite possibly fleeing for its life or its sanity -- and Lacey went back to relaxing on her park bench, feeling accomplished.
Funny how quickly that feeling dissipated later on that night when she listened to the broadcast and heard herself described in highly unfavorable terms.
Lacey groaned and put a pillow over her face. “Bossy little know-it-all? What is it with these small towns?”
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"And that's when she attacked me, with a dildo. It felt like a taser too, a dildo taser. She used a dildo taser on me!"
Slouched low in her chair, legs akimbo, Cara had been tuning out most of the noise coming from the other girl with an ease that came with long practice, focusing instead on picking off the sticky residue that odd square of parchment had left on her leathers. It probably would have been easier without the gloves, but that would have meant admitting defeat. "It's called an agiel."
"I don't care what it's called, the point is I was attacked with a weaponised sex-toy!" From the way she was shrieking, you'd think she'd been struck with something resembling force, when instead the agiel had barely made contact. "I demand justice, I demand recompense, I demand expulsion."
Given Cara's complete lack of desire to be here in the first place, expulsion would hardly have been a punishment. But then Richard or Kahlan would make that irritating 'we're not angry, just disappointed' face. Spirits, she hated that face. "It was a case of mistaken identity." One that would never have happened if she'd waited for the other girl to open her mouth, Triana had occasionally been this annoying, but never quite this high pitched. "I said I was sorry." And had sounded even less sincere then.
"You were rolling your eyes...just like you're doing now!"
"I'm rolling my eyes because you're an idiot." Which meant it probably wasn't going to stop any time soon. "So you have a least that much in common with Triana."
"Now she's insulting me!"
"No, the comparison is far more insulting to Triana," Cara retorted. "I suppose I should thank you for making me miss her whining, it was so much more pleasant."
"Whining? Is that what they call responding to an unprovoked attack where you come from?"
Cara's grin had entirely too many teeth. "Oh, I was very provoked when attacking her. At least until I killed her. With justification."
"Now, she's threatening to kill me!"
"If I going to kill you, you'd already be dead."
Barney cleared his throat. Nervously. "Normally we don't process roommate changes until the middle of term, but I think we can make an exception here."
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Today, however, was his lucky day. He spotted a princess wearing a golden bikini and sunning herself on the rocks. Chained to the rocks was his usual preferred style, but the Kraken was not terribly picky at this point. He happily paddled over to the beach, cleared his throat so she would know he was there, and roared.
"Don't even think it," the princess said warily, cracking open her eyes as the Kraken loomed over her. "My father will kick your ass."
"FATHER NOT HERE," the Kraken chuckled. "SO MAYBE KRAKEN EAT YOU BEFORE HE GETS HERE, HMMM?"
"Not like it would take more than one bite," the princess pointed out, sitting up. "Look at me -- I'm awfully small. Princes probably have more meat on them than your average princess. Why take the risk for something that's won't even satisfy your hunger for a few minutes?"
"THEN WHAT KRAKEN SUPPOSED TO EAT?" the Kraken demanded.
"Well, who says you have to eat princesses?" the princess asked.
The Kraken thought for a minute. "ZEUS RELEASE KRAKEN, KRAKEN DESTROY CITIES, KRAKEN EAT PRINCESSES."
"Is Zeus here?" the princess said.
The Kraken shook his head, sending droplets of water flying. "ZEUS ON VACATION. KRAKEN SNEAK OUT."
The princess held up a hand to try to shield her from the spray of water. "So, Kraken doesn't have to do what Zeus says right now," she said. "Kraken can eat whatever he wants."
"WHAT IF KRAKEN WANT TO EAT PRINCESS ANYWAY?" the Kraken demanded.
The princess sighed. "You eat me in one bite, you're still hungry, and you have to deal with my father, and trust me, you don't want to do that," she said. "And then there's the rest of my family, and my friends, and a lot of other people who don't want students getting eaten. You'll get yourself killed all for just one little morsel? That's not a wise idea."
"KRAKEN NOT WISE, KRAKEN HUNGRY."
"So go swimming and find a giant squid or something," the princess suggested, pointing out toward the ocean. "Much more filling, and you won't get the residents of this island angry. Everybody's happy that way."
The Kraken thought about this for a moment. "ALL RIGHT. KRAKEN GO FIND CALAMARI. BUT IF KRAKEN NOT FIND SQUID, KRAKEN COME BACK."
"I'll wait right here," the princess promised.
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Rilla sat at her desk, glancing over the letter she’d written home in between bites of the shortbread cookies that had come in the latest care package. She was currently ignoring the mustard plaster that also had been sent to “draw the blood from her brain” after her last letter detailing the purple monkey invasion.
Dear Miss Oliver:
Please tell Susan thank you ever so much for the sweets—they are divine as always and my roommate is quite jealous that she doesn’t get such missives in the mail. I am sharing, of course, even if she doesn’t go to church (not even a Methodist one, but don’t tell Miss Cornelia, as this will only reinforce her thoughts about Yankees). I, of course, am attending weekly, even if the only service available isn’t entirely orthodox…
Rilla tapped her pen against her lips thoughtfully before deciding that telling Miss Oliver the only church on the island was a Catholic one presided over by a very nice but insane man professing to be an angel would get her more than a mustard plaster in the mail in return.
…this week I was escorted into town by a very nice young man named Puck (like the character in Shakespeare, I believe, which made me feel quite at home. Not that I would ever agree to being escorted anywhere by Bertie Shakespeare Drew). He did (and you mustn’t tell Mother this) attempt to kiss me, but I was Quite Firm in telling him that I wasn’t a shore girl, thank you very much and he would get nothing more than a handshake from me until he was ready to become engaged…
Rilla decided that she would also not mention that the boy had then laughed until his drink had erupted from his nose. It was hardly a romantic moment.
…I must dash. There is a small group of us heading to the shore to watch the stars come out. I am so glad that this school is located near the water. I am sure my spirit would just shrivel if I couldn’t hear the waves crashing as I sleep. It’s not the Glen, of course, but it will do for the moment…
--Rilla
She put her pen down and smiled before going over to the mirror and wondering if she could get away with putting her hair Up tonight. It wasn’t like Mother would ever know, and she was practically fourteen…
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You already know I love the hell out of this writing sample, but that's my favorite part right there. :D
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* * *
A figure came streaming in over the causeway as the sun rose, his body held strangely upright, almost to the point of leaning back. He seemed to bound more than run, weaving his way back and forth in a tight zigzag along the yellow line down the middle of the road. He shouted as he ran, looking back over his shoulder every three steps or so, as though to check on his progress. Or perhaps his lead.
Several feet further down, almost invisible in the shadows of the dawn, was a small round shape. It didn't seem to be moving.
"What's the matter, melon? Can't cut it? Soon you'll be nothing more than pulp for a fresh, tasty smoothy!" He ran a few more steps and glanced back. "Even the pony is beating you!"
Indeed, a few feet further down the road than the cantelope, and moving at a steady, if leisurely pace, was a pink, mechanical toy horse. It paused every few steps to lower and raise its head, letting out a high pitched and somewhat strained sounding "neigh".
"That will teach you to challenge the likes of me! For I am Artie!" He stopped and danced around in place for a bit, ending in a heroic, if slightly awkward and strangely balanced, muscle man pose. "The strongest man . . . in the world!"
He glanced back. The pony had progressed about six inches. A breeze across the ocean nudged the cantolope forward. Artie squawked and burst back into motion.
As the causeway drew to an end and the island's parking lot came into focus, Artie gasped delightedly. "Fandom!" He sprinted the last few yards and threw himself face down onto the beach at the side of the causeway. "You've grown!"
The pink pony's gossamer fairy wings fluttered. The cantolope rolled back an inch. Artie snuggled his face down into the rocks, his glasses falling askew.
On the other side of the causeway, a young Klingon holding a stop watch shook his head. "I do not understand that behavior. He acts as though he hasn't seen the island in some time, and yet he has been here for more than a week."
Next to him, a boy with a colorful mohawk sighed. "You have no joy in your life." He looked at the box at his feet. "What do you think, deck of cards next, or the tiki idol?"
"I thought for certain the pony would win."
Priestly looked back towards Artie, who was back on his feet and had somehow gotten a hold of the cantolope while they weren't looking. He was balancing it on his chin.
"Maybe next time, man. Maybe next time."
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Man... I have soooooo missed Artie.
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Technically, she wasn’t supposed to be up on the roof. They were all in cabins and her understanding of the rules meant that... she was bending them a bit, just by having fled to the roof of the dorms. It was a silly rule. And she’d wanted some place that didn’t have the chance of her coming across her sister or Reno or Zack. The windswept roof qualified as that.
Tucking a strand of hair back behind one ear, Rosalind peered down at the ground from her vantage point (it was sunny, here; another reason to take advantage of it for as long as she had to be at Fandom) and suppressed a smile. She wasn't entirely sure why there were so many tiny men and women out and about today or why they all seemed to be dressed in red, white and blue but that certainly wasn't going to stop her from...
Not thinking too hard about them. They were amusing. Somehow they had miniature fireworks that they delighted in setting off whenever they thought they had an audience. The whys of that escaped her too.
American holidays were not this Gaian girl's strongest point, no. She was more concerned with how to explain this all in her next report. It was hard finding ways to explain this sort of thing without sounding like she'd gone entirely mad and winding up with her bosses thinking she was unfit for duty.
Bang! The roof door crashed open as she just about jumped out of her skin at the unexpected noise. (How embarrassing!) Rosalind whipped around, half-expecting someone to have followed her, perhaps a teacher even, and about to order her off the roof.
She was not expecting a group of the wee men and women to stampede in and begin setting up fireworks.
"That's not a good idea," she said, the words slipping out as her eyes narrowed. "You'll attract attention to the fact that I'm up here."
The little men and women did not seem to care. Rosalind bit her lip and debated options. She didn't want to hurt the little people but she didn't want those fireworks to go off. Shooing them away, a few at a time, only made them think she was playing with them.
And frustrated her. Her talking to them didn't help matters either. Explaining didn't work. Ordering didn't work. She didn't quite hit the stomping her feet level of demanding but it was close.
Eventually they did manage to get the fireworks to go off. Even as she sank down as low as possible, in hopes of avoiding being spotted, Rosalind's face tilted upwards. She hadn't wanted them to go off but now that they had…
She could admit that they were pretty spectacular. It might even be worth the hassle of having to put extra care into avoiding getting caught on her way back down.
Might.
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As grateful as Ashley was that Druitt (it was just too hard to think of him as 'Dad') and Tesla had found this place for her and given her the funds to take care of herself until she was ready to go back to Old City, she was going stir crazy sitting around doing nothing. It wasn't in her nature to be so inactive and the downtime made it all too easy for her to think about everything that had happened.
Since she wasn't big on the whole reflection thing, she decided the best thing to do would be get a job, even though money wasn't an issue. Wellspring Arms and Meditation sounded promising - at least the arms part. Meditation was too passive and thinky for her to enjoy.
She pushed open the door to the shop and stared in disbelief at the... man? creature? behind the counter.
"What do you want?" he asked in a gruff voice.
"A job," Ashley replied, not the least bit bothered by his unconventional customer service since she was far more interested in the shiny, shiny weapons on display.
"They aren't for sale," he said.
She gave him a puzzled look. "The weapons aren't for sale? Why not?"
"Owner doesn't trust people," he said. "Why do you want to work here?"
"I'm something of a gun enthusiast," Ashley explained. "And I was hoping to buy a few pieces since I had to leave most of my collection behind when I came here. Plus I heard there was a shooting range here and I'd like to keep in practice."
"You're a gun enthusiast?"
"Don't be so shocked," she said, glaring a bit.
"Okay," he said. "Tell me about this one." He pointed to one of the guns in the case.
Ashley rolled her eyes. "It's a Heckler and Koch P7," she said. "A nine millimeter semi-automatic pistol produced in Germany. Fires eight rounds and is excellent in low-level lighting conditions. Want the dimensions too?"
He held up a hand. "Not necessary. I believe you. I will call Mr. Summers and let him know there is a potential employee asking for him."
"Thank you," Ashley said, favoring him with a smile. She desperately wanted to ask him where he was from and what the deal was with those forehead ridges, but she figured insulting him was not the best course of action. Besides, there was time enough for that later. After she got the job.
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This was some pretty weird shit. Like, mind-blowing, make Reno have to stop and kind of stare for a minute, absolutely freaking crazy shit. Totally unreal.
It all started that morning, when Reno had gone into his office to grade some papers, or some junk. He'd assigned the in-class papers yesterday, telling the students to write about one time that they were new at something, about one way that they'd managed to completely screw it up, and if and how they managed to make it all okay in the end. He was only on his third paper before Fandom's daily dose of crazy was tossed his way.
Fandom's strangeness today came in the form of a few of his students (it took him a good deal of effort to call them his students instead of his Rookies, but somehow he managed), considerably shorter than he remembered them ever being, marching into the room with pots on their heads like makeshift helmets, each with a frying pan in one hand, a wooden spoon in the other, and a bedsheet cape dragging on the floor behind them. Once they'd established their presence with a rousing chorus of 'Polly Wally Doodle' complete with frying pan accompaniment, they made their demands. Reno was to hand over all of his candy, or else they'd infect his entire office with cooties, and then he'd turn green and get all warty and die, and nobody wanted to die that way, did they?
Reno stared at them for a long, long moment. The students, in all of their suddenly-kindergarten glory, stared back. Reno made a slow, careful reach for his desk drawer. Out came one lone, boring pack of peppermint chewing gum. His emergency stash for nasty tasting mornings after particularly interesting nights at Caritas.
And that was when they attacked, tossing their frying pans to the floor with a clatter in favor of group-tackling the teacher with a most fearsome wooden spoon assault.
"Candy!" They demanded in unison.
"Leggo!" Reno demanded right back.
And the battle raged on. There was a fair bit of Reno hopping around the room, attempting to dislodge a particularly plucky little blonde ninja from one leg while what he could only assume was some sort of tiny, furry blue elf vanished in a puff of smoke, and then reappeared on his head in a bid to stick his wooden spoon up the Turk's nose.
It was probably a full fifteen minutes before he managed to convince the children that he didn't actually have anything more interesting than the gum, and he promised them each a cookie in class on Tuesday if they'd get the hell out of his hair so that he could finish marking these stupid papers and get out of here.
That dealt with, Reno snorted, reached for his (only lightly 'Irished') coffee, and got back to trying to wrap his head around the crazy, crazy thing which was currently completely blowing his mind.
After all, how fucking weird was that? That Reno was once again living on Fandom Island, and they actually went and gave him an office?
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Those gone before:
Door (Which borrows the Winchester bros)
Eliza Doolittle's (Which vaguely borrows a student version of Oz)
Illyria (who's leaving)
Her original app (From Fall 2006, when I went with Door instead, which borrows the sadly-gone Tommy Gavin)
2009 app
Current folks:
Xander's teacher app (Which borrows wee!Rory and several Madri.)
Xander's townie app (Which borrows Seely Booth and was set before we'd worked out the MCA management setup)
Francine's (Which borrows no one.)
Emmett's, in which I play with myself.
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* * * *
Peter Bishop wasn't going to be outdone. He'd played the game perfect so far. He started losing, just to figure out who had the easy tells, learn how the other people were playing. Peter Bishop didn't gamble, he had a system.
"You know, you could just give up now," he said, oozing on the charm. He wasn't bluffing, but he was entirely certain that she couldn't have a good hand. What he definitely knew was this was a game of strip poker with a very attractive girl. He was just having to remember to play the game with the right brain. Not that hard, given his intellect. He'd seen the other two players fold, both after staying past the first round of raises. He had a straight, ten high. Nothing too big, but it was a real hand. This was his first big event at this school, and he knew he just had to play this right. "But I'm going to make this interesting and go all in. The rest of my clothes, on the line." He smiled at her, a bit of smugness in his expression.
"I think I'll stay in," said his opponent. Peter knew her name. Emma Frost, she'd said. He'd filed that away for 'fellow students to get to know better', no matter how the game went. She had a strong personality, and he liked that.
"Well, then," Peter said. "Here's where I show I wasn't bluffing." He smiled, laying his cards out on the table. "Straight, ten high. Hope I didn't break your heart."
"Actually, my five hearts say I win," Emma said, showing her own hand. "Flushing away that smug smile of yours."
Peter blinked and looked at the cards. "Well, that's impressive. How could you tell, I've got to know your secret." He definitely thought he could learn a thing or two from this girl.
"I'm not telling you anything until I get my winnings," Emma said.
"Well, far be it from me to go back on a bet," Peter said, standing up. He also realized that he hadn't properly introduced himself "By the way, I'm--"
"Peter, yes," Emma said, looking a little bored.
Peter himself just stared for a moment. How could she possibly have known that, he wondered. There was definitely something up with this girl. And he was going to love finding out what it was.
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As he learnt about the school and the strange happenings that occurred, Goose couldn't help but wonder just what type of school that Walsh had sent him to, even though he knew he should have picked up on something when he had been accepted as a student at Fandom High. No other school in his universe would have accepted on the grounds of who or what he was.
At least writing his weekly reports to Commander Walsh was never dull.
The Commander unfortunately didn't see it that way.
"Goose, I want to talk to you about these reports of yours!" Walsh had barked one evening when he had called over the video link, Walsh had often checked up on a Goose on a fairly regular basis whenever they were apart so it wasn't too surprising when the computer had signalled that there was an incoming call.
Goose was just relieved that his roomate was out for the evening, his roommate came from a relatively normal background by Fandom's standards and something about his current situation would take more explaining than he would have liked to.
"Sir?" he replied, making sure that he wasn't betraying any emotions are he stared back to the screen.
"You know what I mean!" was the response, he held up several papers that showed the reports in question, "different realities, from the past, present or future ...people turning into children, animals, swapping genders, invasions happening every other week and that's not even everything covered in these reports!"
"It's true sir," Goose paused and then added, "including the fact that it's currently the year 2010 here, you know I can't make this kind of thing up...I'm not that creative,"
Walsh sighed, "I should have known it was too much to ask that you just decided to be particularly creative when composing these reports, you certainly wouldn't have been the first to do that, especially since I know that you hate paperwork,"
"Well it's been more interesting to write," Goose admitted, "the Board of Leaders aren't going to be reading them are they?" the thought had just occured to him.
"No!" Walsh said sharply before softening his tone, "at least not the original versions, they're not that happy about you being at boarding school as it is, if they knew what went on there judging by these reports ..."
"I know, I know..." Goose sighed, "it'd be more ammunition to put me on ice,"
"It was hard enough to get the necessary approval to get you to Fandom," Walsh went on, "you need a chance at proper schooling and this is your only chance to get one,"
"I know," Goose knew that one all too well, he had heard it time and time again since Wolf Den and he knew that being a Supertrooper there was little opportunity for him aside from enlisting as a Galaxy Ranger, well when the alternative was that or being cyrogenically frozen it hadn't been that much of a choice.
Eventually the conversation was switched to a different topic and Goose was grateful to talk about something else for a change. Even though he'd had his reservations at first, the school had started to grow on him and he was grateful for the opportunity to be there, he didn't want to jeopardize the one chance he had to be able to be normal for once, or at least as normal as he was ever going to be able to get .
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