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> Daily Writing Thread, For works in progress you need help with
Alexanzer
Posted: May 17 2014, 03:33 PM
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As near as I can tell, you just make any finished works a stand alone thread and wait for "constructive" flame. This daily thread seems like it is for partial pieces and heavy critiques on parts you can't quite get right.
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Xelfixtheimmortal
Posted: May 21 2014, 08:50 AM
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I don't thnk I can make threads.
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Reonn
Posted: May 31 2014, 10:53 AM
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A piece of poetry for revision. It is aimed at iambic trimeter (with spondees and trochees as well, remember iambic is only mostly iambs). Just working on actual form and voice rather than just random poetical rambling.

Acceptance

And with his head held high,
Does the prisoner walk,
Like King under the sky,
Or headsman to the block.

Though he may soon be dead,
All his fears he had matched;
He would not lose his head
While it was yet attached.
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Magusman
Posted: Jun 2 2014, 05:44 AM
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I feel this scene is lacking. Please help me out in expanding and improving it:

Grand Army Barracks, New Eden
Sir Perth anxiously shifted his weight as he fiddled with the straps of his cuirass. He had already triple-checked his armor with his squire and knew the armor was secure, but could not help himself. Overwhelmed with doubt and worry, Perth wished he knew where the Countess was and hoped she was still alive.

“Mr. Perth…” Dr. Church walked in the door, a pistol tucked into his trouser’s waist band.

Perth hesitated in his reply. After a couple moments, he finally made eye contact with the notorious Dr. Church and folded his steel-plated arms. “Eh? What brings you here?”

“You know,” Church began with a roguish smile. “Curiosity kills the cat.” Church began pacing back and forth, hands behind his back in that professorial manner. “But I am,” he continued. “No cat.”

“Aye, you are not.” Sir Perth said slowly and flatly.

“What brings the great dueling second of the Volta dynasty and the champion of New Eden to the barracks headquarters?” Church’s smile relaxed into a conspiratorial expression.

“I am here to—hold your horses, Church.” Sir Perth narrowed his eyes, the only visible part of his head, through his steel bascinet’s eye slit. “You had her kidnapped, didn’t you?”

“I can,” Dr. Church hastily began his blatant lie. “neither confirm nor deny this most wounding accusation.”

Grand Marshall Horatio Slaymaker descended the spiral staircase of the barracks, entering the lobby where Dr. Church and Sir Perth glared daggers at each other. Slaymaker, dressed in a white surcoat emblazoned with a stylized watchful eye contained within the outline of a tower and leather breeches, tapped his wolfskin boots against the ground to shake off some dust and dried mud that had collected over the past day of patrols and appointments. He was a short, built man of approximately 180 pounds of pure muscle and discipline. And he wasn’t going to abide by Dr. Church’s intrusion into his headquarters.

“Get out of my barracks.” The Grand Marshall ordered, pointing to the double doors that served as the main entryway. “Now.”

Church grinned malevolently and slinked out the door, slipping on a pair of black silk gloves to accessorize his scholarly attire.

With their intruder gone, Slaymaker and Perth both relaxed several degrees. “What happened to the Countess, Sir Knight?”

“I scared off two Thieves’ Guild practitioners and killed a cultist, by the looks of it, and rushed into the master bedroom at our estate only to find her missing, Horatio. We need to act quickly while the Grand Army’s forces are out in the field. With only a skeleton crew manning the city’s walls, I found no help among the militia earlier. This is why I come to you,” Perth said, updating the grey-haired commander. “I need your help, Horatio.” Volta’s defender implored. “Desperately.”

Horatio nodded and closed his eyes to think...

- Source: More Than This (my fantasy novel in progress)

The second to last paragraph is especially worrisome. Tons of talk talk talking. I'll go over this again when I've had more sleep.
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Reonn
Posted: Jun 2 2014, 03:36 PM
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I kind of got lost in who was talking shortly after church arrived, and I was never too sure where the scene was or what event was currently happening other than a guy wearing armor and a guy carrying a pistol of some mysterious kind (I assume some kind of flintlock or single fire since someone has a gun and someone is wearing armor I would assume the era to be sometime around late 1600s) there is really not much happening. Focus on action in a scene, movement helps, but a picture of the scene painted in my imagination helps more.

I would also try to avoid using a persons weight in a description of them, unless the veiwpoint character seeing them can tell or otherwise knows weight. Think about what your character knows or sees not what actually is. It also helps in speech to create you character as an individual with a unique view. Phrases of speech or terminolgy differing between people helps create a sense of irony in some situations.

I would like to know more about what is actually happening, though. So hard to tell. The gist I got is some countess was kidnapped and sir perth thinks doctor church did it. I would be inclined to belive dr church didn't bit knows who did and wants perth to think its him.
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Magusman
Posted: Jun 2 2014, 04:03 PM
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QUOTE (Reonn @ Jun 2 2014, 05:36 PM)
I kind of got lost in who was talking shortly after church arrived, and I was never too sure where the scene was or what event was currently happening other than a guy wearing armor and a guy carrying a pistol of some mysterious kind (I assume some kind of flintlock or single fire since someone has a gun and someone is wearing armor I would assume the era to be sometime around late 1600s) there is really not much happening. Focus on action in a scene, movement helps, but a picture of the scene painted in my imagination helps more.

I'll work on the passage. I have approximately 9200 words preceding this passage.

QUOTE
I would also try to avoid using a persons weight in a description of them, unless the veiwpoint character seeing them can tell or otherwise knows weight.

Third person omniscient narration.

QUOTE
Think about what your character knows or sees not what actually is.

Hm...

QUOTE
It also helps in speech to create you character as an individual with a unique view.  Phrases of speech or terminolgy differing between people helps create a sense of irony in some situations.

Of course. I'll comb through the entire story with this in mind at a later date.

QUOTE
I would like to know more about what is actually happening, though.  So hard to tell.  The gist I got is some countess was kidnapped and sir perth thinks doctor church did it.  I would be inclined to belive dr church didn't bit knows who did and wants perth to think its him.

I can shoot you a PM if you want to read the other 9200ish words. The posted passage is right before I delve into the chapter on the Endless Horde led by Khan Ganbaatar.
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Reonn
Posted: Jun 2 2014, 11:02 PM
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Just remember that anything posted on a forum counts as self publication and will in fact make it harder to get published if that is you end goal. Snippets like you did are usually best.

Your second to last paragraph almost seems to surmise the story, but by the way it is worded it seems almost sarcastic. Did he kill the cultist or is he being blamed for it? Or is the line about " ... by the looks of it, ..." him not being sure it was a cultist? Choice wording helps. Try getting someone else to read this section aloud to you. It sometmes helps with speech to hear it spoken.

I like the beginning descriptive of a nervous action the character exhibit. It helps flesh out worry, but the sense is lost throughour the rest of the scene.

A second readthrough clarfied a lot of the problems I was having with understanding the speech. The main thing I don't like though is Churches "curiousity killed the cat" bit. It comes off as rather cliche. Find a witticism that your fond of or better yet, create one yourself! Curiosity killed the cat is way over used, and him answering with him not being a cat just doesn't make a whole lot of sense for the response and just seems an out of place statement meant to build character. Speech helps build character, but actions help more. And it's sometimes small things like Perth fiddling with the strap on armor he knows to be tightened that will help build your character. Find an unnerving quality or trait like chewing fingernails till they bleed to make him seem sinister or eerie. Or a habit like kicking rocks as he walks to make him seem playful or short on attention span.

Also him coming in to the barracks and confronting Perth about why he is there seems a little odd since Perth would have reason to be there and not, I presume, Church who was described as intruding. Kinda strange to bust into someone elses house and demand to know why your not friend is having dinner with them.

Good luck though, and keep it up.

This post has been edited by Reonn on Jun 3 2014, 12:16 AM
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Reonn
Posted: Jun 3 2014, 01:55 AM
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This is a short story I wrote for my Nieces which was never really supposed to see the light of scrutiny, but I figure it is almost worth it. I had to change the ending away from the direction I would normally have gone with my storytelling, but thats because it was meant for children.

The Smile

In a land founded on rules but with no ruler lived a young boy named Aren Scott. Aren came from a poor family and worked long amd hard days to be able to feed them, even if it meant working all day for a loaf of bread. Despite his having to work to support his family at such a young age, Aren was happy, and he smiled to show it.

Aren's father had left them to do his duty, a soldier bound for war, never to return. His mother was sick and ailing and had grown too weak to spin a loom. His sister was just a babe, too young to know her distress. Aren worked to support and feed them, and though his mother's health was failing, he did not it eat at him. He continued working and smiling, hoping to someday get her the care she needed.

Aren smiled as he did his daily work, looking forward to a brighter future. Many people in the land knew of Aren but even more knew of his smile. Though it brought cheer to some to see this boy smiling, some did not like him for it. Pinter Peddler was the wealthiest man in town, and he did not like Aren Scott.

It was not the boy's smile itself that vexed the man, merely that the boy could smile, while Pinter himself could not. Pinter had been born into a rich family, his father being a merchant who had lied, stolen and cheated to get everything he had. He taught his son how to lie, cheat, bully, steal, and bribe to get more. Pinter had always been a good learner and had heen taught those lessons well. Now he had all that money could bring him. Anything of material value, he could possess. Now that he had everything, he just wanted to know what it was like to be happy. His father had assured him that money could buy happiness, but Pinter's father was a miserable man, and despite being wealthy, Pinter was never very happy.

Pinter could not understand how Aren could smile with such ease when tue boy had nothing. So Pinter devised a plan in hope that he could steal the boy's smile for his own.

As the first step of his plan, Pinter decided he needed to find out what it was that made the boy smile, so he disguised himself in the rags and cloths of a poor man and set out to follow Aren as he did his daily work.

Aren rose early in the morning to fetch water and prepare wheat meal and bread for his mother and sister before setting off to find work. He was smiling already. He did not see the bum who looked through his window as he left; he did not see the confusion on the man's face as he found no reason there for the boy to smile.

The bum proceeded to follow Aren through town as the boy stopped by shops and stores checking if there was any work to be had. Many of the shopkeepers turned him away, which did not dishearten the lad, amd others found a menial task for him to do for menial pay. Aren thanked them for the pay, and continued on his way, smiling all the while.

The day carried on in much the same way. Aren found work and was rewarded with small amounts of pay. After working for a baker, the boy was rewarded with a few honeycakes, which he returned to his house with post haste to share with his mother and sister. He left his house smiling even wider after that.

The next day, Pinter went out in disguise again, this time with a plan. Aren left his house to work, his smile still in place, and Pinter followed. When the boy made enough money to buy food to bring home to his family, Pinter made sure to "accidentally" run across the lad. He sat on a corner near Aren's house, and when Aren arrived carrying a loaf of bread and a sack of grain, Pinter called out to the boy. "Young man! Young man! Come and help ajd old man will ya?"

Aren smiled amd approached the bum sitting on the corner. " How are you good sir? How can I help?"

Pinter faked a cough and stared at the boy. "I am old and poor and have not eaten in days. The shopkeepers look down on me and the wealthy spit on me for begging. If I could have but a bit of that bread you would spare me at least another day." He said not expecting the boy to part with the bread.

"A man shouldn't starve." Aren said as he handed him the loaf. "It was to feed my family, but I can still make them some soup. I wish you well, and hope the bread will satisfy your hunger, but I must be going now. Good day sir." Aren said with a smile as he left.

Pinter stood baffled by the boy's act of kindness. He had never expected the boy to so easily part with the bread but he had done so without hesitation. It was almost enough to make Pinter smile. Almost. Not knowing how to smile, Pinter could only frown as he found help for the next part of his plan.

Since the boy did not need food to smile, it must be the money he worked for that made him smile. So pinter arranged a meeting between himself and a local cut-purse of some reknown. He offered the thief a bit of money if he would steal what money Aren had. The thief laughed a lt the simplicity of being paid to steal from a child and agreed to be part of the plot.

And so it happened that the next day, as Aren was going home from where he had been working that a man in dark clothing cake upon him and forced him to hand over all of his money and, being a thief, took all of his food as well.

Aren was saddened by this, but he was a headstrong lad and he remembered having some grain and a few vegetables at home so he could still feed his family. Content with that, he kept going home, his smile hardly faltering.

The story keeps going, but I think I'll stop there. If you feel you must read the rest of it just let me knowand I'll go back to work. I'm typing this with a phone so I'm aware there are probably typos.

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Magusman
Posted: Jun 4 2014, 01:36 PM
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QUOTE (Reonn @ Jun 3 2014, 01:02 AM)
Your second to last paragraph almost seems to surmise the story, but by the way it is worded it seems almost sarcastic. Did he kill the cultist or is he being blamed for it? Or is the line about " ... by the looks of it, ..." him not being sure it was a cultist? Choice wording helps.

Your second guess is correct. Sir Perth does not know if it was a cultist, but was making an educated guess based on his knowledge of the city of New Eden.

QUOTE
Try getting someone else to read this section aloud to you.  It sometmes helps with speech to hear it spoken.

Will do. Never thought of someone else reading it aloud, but I have read my own prose aloud to find mistakes.

QUOTE
I like the beginning descriptive of a nervous action the character exhibit.  It helps flesh out worry, but the sense is lost throughour the rest of the scene.

I figure Perth is more confident by the time an intruder, Dr. Church, shows up. Church is the antagonist and is there to satiate his curiosity and see if his schemes are working out. I am considering cutting out Church from the scene though.

QUOTE
A second readthrough clarfied a lot of the problems I was having with understanding the speech.  The main thing I don't like though is Churches "curiousity killed the cat" bit.  It comes off as rather cliche.  Find a witticism that your fond of or better yet, create one yourself!  Curiosity killed the cat is way over used, and him answering with him not being a cat just doesn't make a whole lot of sense for the response and just seems an out of place statement meant to build character.

Right, show don't tell and actions speak louder than words even in prose. It's a rough draft so I'll get rid of the cliche as you are right.

QUOTE
Speech helps build character, but actions help more.  And it's sometimes small things like Perth fiddling with the strap on armor he knows to be tightened that will help build your character.  Find an unnerving quality or trait like chewing fingernails till they bleed to make him seem sinister or eerie. Or a habit like kicking rocks as he walks to make him seem playful or short on attention span.

Yeah, you're correct. Good examples too.

QUOTE
Also him coming in to the barracks and confronting Perth about why he is there seems a little odd since Perth would have reason to be there and not, I presume, Church who was described as intruding.  Kinda strange to bust into someone elses house and demand to know why your not friend is having dinner with them.

Church is a mean, malevolent villain. So he just wanted the pleasure of seeing Countess Volta's dueling second in despair and anger. As I said, I am considering cutting him out of the scene entirely.

QUOTE
Good luck though, and keep it up.

Thanks. Working on the story today as my company artist works on sketches 5 feet from me.
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Magusman
Posted: Jun 4 2014, 01:58 PM
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OK, I think I improved the passage. It got more interesting too because the two characters talked more.

Grand Army Barracks, New Eden
Sir Perth anxiously shifted his weight as he fiddled with the straps of his cuirass. He had already triple-checked his armor with his squire and knew the armor was secure, but could not help himself. Overwhelmed with doubt and worry, Perth wished he knew where the Countess was and hoped she was still alive.

“Mr. Perth…” Dr. Church walked in the door, a pistol tucked into his trouser’s waist band.

Perth hesitated in his reply. After a couple moments, he finally made eye contact with the notorious Dr. Church and folded his steel-plated arms. “Eh? What brings you here?”

“I happened to see you in here,” Church began with a roguish smile. “I wanted to say hello to the city’s champion.” Church began pacing back and forth, hands behind his back in that professorial manner.

“Aye, I suppose uttering my name with improper title is a greeting nowadays.” Sir Perth said slowly and flatly.

“What brings the great dueling second of the Volta dynasty and the champion of New Eden to the barracks headquarters?” Church’s smile relaxed into a conspiratorial expression.

“I am here to—hold your horses, Church.” Sir Perth narrowed his eyes, the only visible part of his head, through his steel bascinet’s eye slit. “You had her kidnapped, didn’t you?”

“I can,” Dr. Church hastily began his blatant lie. “neither confirm nor deny this most wounding accusation.”

Grand Marshall Horatio Slaymaker descended the spiral staircase of the barracks, entering the lobby where Dr. Church and Sir Perth glared daggers at each other. Slaymaker, dressed in a white surcoat emblazoned with a stylized watchful eye contained within the outline of a tower matched with a pair of leather breeches, tapped his wolf skin boots against the ground to shake off some dust and dried mud that had collected over the past day of patrols and appointments. He was a short, built man of approximately 180 pounds of pure muscle and discipline. And he wasn’t going to abide by Dr. Church’s intrusion into his headquarters.

“Get out of my barracks.” The Grand Marshall ordered, pointing to the double doors that served as the main entryway. “Now.”

Church grinned malevolently and slinked out the door, slipping on a pair of black silk gloves to accessorize his scholarly attire. The night was unusually chilly with a light breeze rattling the wind chimes hanging outside the main entrance.

With their intruder gone, Slaymaker and Perth both relaxed several degrees. “What happened to the Countess, Sir Knight?”

“I scared off two Thieves’ Guild practitioners and killed a cultist, by the looks of it, and rushed into the master bedroom at our estate only to find her missing, Horatio. We need to act quickly while the Grand Army’s forces are out in the field,” Sir Perth said, filling in the old commander.

Horatio nodded and absent-mindedly ran his fingers through his cropped grey hair. The old man stood visibly disturbed at the news. “A cultist, you think?”

“Aye, I killed a red-robed fellow clearly skilled with the blade. He said something to me as his life leeched from him… what did he say?” Perth removed his helm and tucked it under an arm as he thumbed his stubble in thought. “Ah, right.” His eyes lit up as he remembered the last words of his opponent. “You will never kill us all,” he repeated, omitting the last unnecessary word.

“Very good memory,” Horatio quietly commented. The commander then concluded, “Clearly then, more of them are out there. What makes you think he was a cultist though?”

“Call it an educated guess. I have lived within these walls for many summers. But this is why I come to you,” Perth said to the grey-haired commander. “I need your help, Horatio.” Volta’s defender implored. “Desperately.”

Horatio nodded and closed his eyes to think...

This post has been edited by Magusman on Jun 4 2014, 02:00 PM
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Reonn
Posted: Jun 6 2014, 04:23 PM
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This take is better than the last, the characters a bit more defined. I didn't have any problems following the conversation and Dr. Church seems a little more menacingly friendly with Perth.

I struggle with conversation when I try to force my characters into saying things. Sometimes it comes off better letting them think and speak for themselves (eisier to do with viewpoint than omniescient narrative) .

I had a conversation with J.C. Phelps, who wrote the Alexis Stanton Chronicles, and she said sometimes her character would speak for herself in a scene, which would leave her wondering how she was going to write the character out of that situation.

I have heard speech advice for developing characters or bringing emotion into a scene and making it show through speech is to go out and more or less eavesdrop onto people's conversations. Sometimes ackward conversation is appropriate, and people use cliches (a lot) when speaking. Anyways, not all conversations need be formal, and not everything in speech described accurately. The word "thing" could be used to describe an object (in speech) and someone know what is being referred, but not everybody (characters, not readers).

Just tips though, not critique. You cleared it up pretty well. Good job.


This post has been edited by Reonn on Jun 6 2014, 04:24 PM
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Magusman
Posted: Oct 20 2014, 05:50 AM
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On the way to the client, I decided to stop at a convenience store. What was the client’s name again? I checked the grimy scrap of paper I had scribbled on earlier, alcohol stains evident. Waters. I was supposed to escort him to a safehouse. Pretty standard op though I can’t remember which safehouse or why.

I was standing in line and noticed the kid in front of me had one of those Logo Haircuts. His hair was permed and coiffed, swirled into little logos for Krome Entertainment; something new and trendy in the urban youth. The familiar [logo design] reminded me of the time my wife and I had played Krome Krush together; a silly puzzle game.

Augmented eyes saw little surgical scars in inconspicuous places; the little pipsqueak was biografted. He had fuller cheekbones, a smoother knob of chin. Didn’t the guy that ran Marie down in the street have biografting? Yeah, I’m pretty sure of it. He was some beefed up power-muscler with designer abs, a trendy sports car, and that same stupid haircut… Of course, I remember the sports car was daubed and splashed with my wife’s blood. I remember the driver had one of those pipsqueak voices; absolutely bizarre in someone with a barrel chest like his.

I snapped back to reality just as the kid reached for his wallet. Except it wasn’t his wallet, it was the biggest pig sticker you ever saw; a combat knife with 10 inches of blood-flecked steel.

I reacted without thinking. Thinking is meat-time and in meat-time, you only move as slow as your stupid flesh allows. My hand holding the coffee pistoned out and crushed the styrofoam cup sending out scalding hot coffee down my metal and all over the would-be jackbooted criminal. His scream was loud and echoed in my aug’d ears before they quickly adjusted to the volume. Everything happened in slow mo and I was already ahead of the game. My foot came down at the peak of his calf and my metal was already grabbing a hold of his head.

His calf bone snapped loudly under my step and the force of my hand shoved him to the side catapulting him out of the line. He slammed into a display for ROBOWARRIOR XXIV, another Krome game.

The built-in Friend-or-Foe software had written the kid off already and it was my turn at the counter. I stepped up to pay for my coffee, and there was a moment where the shocked and still-reacting clerk and I stared stupidly at the tattered shreds of styrofoam still clinging to my hand, coffee dripping off the scuffed chrome. Guess no coffee.

“Deck of Cancer Angels, unfiltered.” my voice grated. “And some matches.” It wasn’t a meal, but it was close enough.
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Magusman
Posted: Apr 13 2015, 12:14 AM
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My heart settled down as I FORCED IT TO WITH MY SHEER WILLPOWER, GODDAMNIT. Then I sat up, realizing I was arrayed at a diagonal up on the curb. Corporal Waters, that poor bastard, came out and tapped on my Sheila’s side.

“Hey. So. Oh. Shit. Son!” I swiveled my head to hear him speak as I came off an adrenaline high.

Then I replied simply and courteously with only a dash of sarcasm at an old friend. “Why yes, Corporal. It’s time for parade!”

I got out of Sheila and clapped him on the back in the most gentle of bear hugs. “Old battle buddy, it’s been the longest fucking goddamn sonuvabitch time. How’s your dead fucking wife?” I questioned in the most comrade way possible. We burst into tear-filled laughter tinged with sorrow and joy.

“Dear god, man. Is it really you?”

“Fuck yeah, it is. In the synthetic.”

“Well holly gorram Jesus hopping shit. This is the best. Goddamn. Day!”

“Alright, so how’s the kid?”

“Who? Ceilidh?”

“Yeah, Kaylee.”

“She’s actually right behind you.”

Like a ninja, she was already in my field of view recognizing her godfather; yours truly.

“Hi, Uncle Drake.”

“Hey, sunshine and sprinkles,” I crooned aloud. “How’s the doll house holding up?” I gave her a doll house last Christmas. It was ace.

“Uncle Drake, Barbie and Ken had children!” She beamed and twirled her brocade party dress. I deduced Waters had a party before my appointment without even needing to decrypt Trillian’s file. I was home again. At fucking last.

You see, Corporal Waters and little Kaylee existed as my only family after my wife Marie died thanks to the Russian mafiya gun running job gone wrong in winter 2041. It was a harsh Detroit winter caught up in the worst of climate change since I was stationed in Baghdad years prior to the “Mafiya FUBAR.”

The Mafiya FUBAR, was we all affectionately called it involved a younger spry Waters mucking up our op and blowing our element of surprise. We were gun running on a contractual basis as night joggers just as it was picking up steam in Detroit. I didn’t forgive him for being a fuck-up until Kaylee grew up a bit in 2043. But I digress.

In any case, the FUBAR involved a ton of diesel and a metric fuck ton of small arms smuggled in from the New Soviet Union, specifically the Ukraine. Ukraine had turned into a Merchant of Death paradise for the small arms industry in that decade exporting 100 kilograms of rifles, pistols, shotguns, and a veritable smorgasboard of hardware to North America by the end of the year in question.

But, uh, let’s not get into that.

“So how’s Tril?”

“Great, actually. I got mad at her usual antics, but she’s doing perfect. Got into shape, picked up new eyes from Vanlith, and we just had dinner last night that was romantic as fuck, buddy.”

“Cool,” he nodded and lightly embraced his daughter who leaned on his waist in a playful manner as the adults talked.

What happened that day wasn’t a coincidence. It was an act of God. I was exfiltrating an anonymous client and it happened to be Corporal Waters.

This post has been edited by Magusman on Apr 13 2015, 12:15 AM
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Magusman
Posted: Apr 13 2015, 12:31 AM
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Continued from last post
Source: The Price of Metal
==
VERSION 1
It was then that I heard the whir of a window, but it was too late.

Moving at superhuman speed, I sprinted into the trajectory of the 7.62mmX51mm NATO round hurtling towards its victim: my battle buddy Waters. In less than six seconds, he expired messily like a crushed sack of meat crushed underfoot that had been baking in the humid tropics. It was truly grisly and the wet pop I heard surprised even my battle hardened self.

As Kaylee’s face contorted into shock, I managed to cover her eyes with a hand and scoop her up with the other still in full sprint. I sprinted through the open front door of Waters’ burbclave house. Then I skidded to a halt in front of a pile of luggage he had haphazardly arrayed in the foyer. In my mind’s eye, I was calculating at over a thousand tactics a second. It was the 955th one that made the most sense and had the highest probability of survival.

The plan became simple and crystal clear as I gained focus. Run to cover, first guest bedroom on the 2nd story, and open up the trap door to Waters’ “panic room.”

VERSION 2
We loaded up his vehicle as I finally decrypted the rest of the file Tril sent me on the highway. With a chirp in my mind’s eye, I uploaded the information into the superhighway of my brain and nanocomputer. In an instant, I knew a hit squad was on its way and we had a leisurely 5 minutes to spend loading up my Sheila’s trunk.

Once settled in and buckled up, our happy crew lurched into quiet morning traffic as the fog began to thicken around us. The skies were gray like charcoal and luminescent with particles of radioactive dust; a leftover from a terrorist attack by the infamous Daxter Demoney.
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Magusman
Posted: Apr 13 2015, 11:23 PM
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"To err is human; to forgive divine."
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Source: Yakuza Wardog
==
"Do you hear me?" asked Tatsuya in that dangerous tone.

"Today," he told the bleeding man before him, tied-up and lying in a pool of blood. It soaked into that man's white suit, that previously clean suit.

"You will see with eyes like you have not before." The man nodded, spitting out blood from a mouth full of crimson taint.

"Zho clb..." the captive man repeated. Without a warning, Tatsuya tore out Chuang's eyeball. Chuang screamed.

"uh tld u," he whimpered, whimpering like a dog.

"You are paying for your arrogance." Tatsuya breathed out those words. Chuang shivered and pissed his pants, soiling that white suit.

"Cry. You are a dog tonight." Tatsuya nodded ever so slightly and crushed the eyeball in his gloved hands. It squished, oozing as he applied force. Out of the corner of his eye, the hitman saw his comrade-in-arms blink and gape at the sight before her. Calmly, the yakuza's wardog patted Chuang's destroyed eyeball into a white suit pocket.

"Keep it," Tatsuya said coldly. "It's your souvenir."
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Magusman
Posted: May 7 2015, 05:42 AM
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"To err is human; to forgive divine."
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Posts: 4633
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Source: American Empire
---
Jack got up to take a leak, moving at a brisk pace to the men’s restroom. He made it to the urinal in record time and sighed in relief as he answered nature’s call. Then an uncomfortable situation popped up at the next urinal over.

A young man, no older than 29, settled in at the adjacent urinal. He was a stranger, but a cursory sidelong glance indicated he had a Homeland Security badge on.

“Beautiful day, isn’t it?” His Japanese accent was light, but Jack knew right away. He owed such a conclusion to his mastery of the Japanese language and proficiency in Kansai-ben, especially yakuza vocabulary.

“Aa. Hai. Ii otenki desu ne.” Jack shook off and zipped his navy blue pants back up.

Still evacuating his bladder, the Japanese man turned his head and smiled with a hint of surprise in his eyes. “Your Japanese is very good.”

Jack nodded respectfully and went to thoroughly wash his hands with Lowest Bidder soap. He was still cleaning up when the young man came over to the sinks. Both washed their hands in silence. Jack quickly left and headed for the lounge. I could use something tasty, he thought to himself as he navigated the maze of hallways and cubicles.

Now in the lounge, the senior operations officer picked out a good, clean table. He draped his suit jacket over a chair, yawned, and took out his wallet to get at the credit card. Card in hand, he swiped it at the soda vending machine. Jack pocketed his belongings before reaching for the NeoStim Cola #23 Cherry Flavor.

This post has been edited by Magusman on May 7 2015, 05:43 AM
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